# Carnifex's Story Hour (Updated January 20th, "The Union")



## Carnifex

*[size=+1]Acrozatarim: Fire and Ice[/size]



If you wish to go to Chapter 1: The Arcanists Tower, go here: http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=591847#post591847

Note that the prologue section itself is several pages of campaign gaming!

And you can find the 2nd story hour thread, following on from this one, here:
http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=75957

You can also find a thread will crunchy bits from the campaign - monsters, spells, prestige classes etc. here:
http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=39102
*

Well, seeing as how I've just recently started up a new campaign online and things are progressing nicely, I thought I'd take the time to start writing it up as a story hour here on the ENboards .

I'm running the game on www.roleplayinggames.net - the actual game can be found at:

http://roleplayinggames.net/adnd/board24/

Under the Campaign Details section on the menu there you can find a bit more background and detail on the various nations and gods in the pantheons. It's a world with a bit of a steampunk feel in places, such as thaumineering to blend magic with technology, and Manipulation, the art of bio-thaumaturgy and genetic manipulation

The Cast of Characters:

*Burl Overton: 1st level Necromancer*
Burl's the son of a cryomancer, one of the ice mages who rule Cryosia. His mother though was purchased from slavers, and her mental illness and wish to return to her home land of Corinthia influenced the young Burl. He eventually tried to leave south to take his mother home, but even as he finally finished the arduous trek over dangerous lands his mother fell ill and died.

He encountered a hermit, who took him in - it turned out the old man was a necromancer who schooled Burl in that art of magic - since he had already been groomed to become a cryomancer, Burl had the necessary understanding to make him a good student. At the age of 21, Burl decided it was time for him to leave his tutor, Raymond, and make his own way into the world.

Burl has a familiar hedgehog called Spike.

*Melisande: 1st level Sorceror*
Carthagian by birth, her mother was a minerologist who after an unknown event in some deep mine became pregnant and gave birth to Melisande. She's an aasimar with blue skin and natural magic in her veins, as well as being rather naive and having a fascination with nature and living things. She ended up being trained as a Manipulator - basically a bio-thaumaturgist. They're common in Carthagia, where they do things such as the selective breeding of fang dragons to create a stupid, placable breed, the flesh-twisting of goblin slaves to cerate tough mine workers, the Manipulation of animals like horses to create steeds with more muscle (sometimes directly surgically implanted) and things like that. Of course, Melisande really didn't like the rather sinister and disturbing side of the work she was carrying out in the labs.

As a result of this, her mother sent her north to the land of Naseria, a land ruled by sorceror-nobles, to make her way there - the senior Manipulators were not going to just let her leave the labs with the knowledge of their techniques that she had, so she had to flee into exile.

She has a two-headed toad familiar called Pierre that she Manipulated herself.

*Wyshira: 1st level cleric of Ishrak*
Wyshira is a water genasi, and one of the clerics of Ishrak (the Storm Lady) in a Cryosian village. However, her sister was groomed to take over the role of priestess there, so Wyshira set out to see the world.

*Sandslipper: 1st level psion (nomad)*
Sandslipper is an earth genasi psion, and a desert nomad from the Myrmecian desert in the south. Her family has the 'Blessing of Grumand' in the form of the genasi bloodline, that the nomands believe the god Grumand granetd to certain families long ago as a reward for their faith. Of course, her appearance is less accepted everywhere else.

She doesn't realise she is 'psionic', believing her powers come from her Blessing and the spirit of her mother helping her. She was forced to flee north afetr she had a relationship with another woman - something frowned upon by the nomads - and reached the land of Huron.

_*Update: Sandslipper's player has sadly had to leave the game due to illness - in Story Hour timeline, she left about the time that the Cavern Company encounter Asak and his kobold followers. I sincerely hope she gets better as soon as possible, and wish her well in the future.*_

*Kale Amegrion: 1st level rogue*
A Corinthian, Kale had a priviledged childhood but couldn't settle down doing any one thing. Eventually his exasperated parents entolled him in a military school. He railed against this but at the end of it realised that, in fact, he really did want to be a soldier. However, he had such a reputation as a troublemaker by then that he didn't have the connections to become an officer, instead joining a mercenary band. Exasperated by their lack of competence he then left - without their consent - looking to make his own way in the world.

*Sebastion Cornell: 1st level fighter*
Born in a border-town between Carthagia and Huron, Seb is the son of the local farrier, who once was a soldier in an elite unit for the Huronese army but due to some disaster he was involved in - he wont speak of what - he retired and became a mercenary for a while, before finally settling down. Sebastion himself has been a member of the town guard for a while, but wants to se more of the world, and has recieved proper military training from his father.

*Ebri Zol: 1st level cleric of Immar*
This character is something a little special - she is in fact not just a level 1 cleric, but that is all the other players know. Her story is that her parents died in a city due to plague, adn she has taken to wandering and travelling - Immar being the patron deity of travel. She's very attentive and interested in gathering information.

*Meg'anna Liadon: 1st level druid*
Meg'anna's village was slaughtered by fleshtearers when she was a tiny child. Fleshtearers are the shock-troops of the Church of Toran in Carthagia - they are made by Manipulators, then some closely-guarded ceremony by priests of Toran brings them to life. A druid found her and took her into his care, bringing her up.

The druids of the area live in harmony with the gnoll tribes (IMC gnolls are not slavering evil psychopaths), and there is a lively political arena amongst the druids, especially over the split between those who follow the nature goddess Lliras and those who simply believe in the fundamental force of nature. They all answer to the High Druid though (currently a gnoll). Meg used to be very active and vocal in such debates, but then she and her mentor were trading at a gnoll village when a fleshtearer squad was deployed by the Carthagians (who border the area the gnolls inhabit) and killed her tutor and most of the gnolls, while one tore at her throat and ruined her vocal cords.

She fled back to her grove, and lived there in isolation and mourning. Oddly she found she no longer needed to speak the words of spells, now that that she was mute, but instead strange soudns would be invoked when she cast them - basically the character manifests audible 'displays' psionic-style instead of having verbal components to spells.



That's the characters in the campaign. Soon I'll write up the events thus far...


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## Broccli_Head

Interesting world. Will have to check back from time to time....
I like the diversity of the characters and the bio-manipulation. Will definitely check out website and world background.


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## Carnifex

Note that the campaign started at the end of winter/beginning of spring.

Now for the tale of how Burl has fared so far...

Burl left his tutors cabin on the southern reaches of the Khaya-Dan mountains, and headed south into Corinthia proper, soon passing the last undead sentinel that marked the limits of Rayomnds domain - a skeleton sunk into a tree, a few bones just poking out of the bark. After a days walk - fairly tiring for the necromancer, since most of his days were spent in study while the undead servants did most of the menial work - Burl came to the village of Irlain.

Nothing unusual about coming across a village in Corinthia - he had after all spent the last couple of hours walking amidst cultivated fields, and had expected to find one. There was something odd though - it wasn't yet _that_ late, yet the villagers had already all returned to within the safety of the settlements walls.

Approaching it, he was questioned by a sentry at the gate, who told him there was word of orc-kin raiding down from the Khaya-Dan mountains recently. The guard let him in, and he spent the evening in the local tavern, picking up information - one particularly talkative drunk telling him that rumour had it robed figures were helping the orcs - who were acting far more intelligently and orderly than normal orcs - and even claiming he had seen orc scouts himself. The innkeeper advised Burl to take little notice of the man, who was a notorious story-teller. He also picked up information that one of the powerful merchant families of Corinthia, the Irilsons, were sending some troops to deal with the problem.

He settled down for the evening, but was awoken when the gates of the settlement where blasted apart in the early hours of the morning - looking out his window revealed a column of armoured orcs marching in, accompanied by a red-cloaked rider on a horse and a white-robed figure as well. The red-robe conjured up some fire in its hand for the orc soldiers to light their torches rfom, then they dispersed into the village, taking slaves and killing those who resisted.

Burl got the hell out of there, running out the back door of the inn and heading for some animal pens near the palisade running round the village. He nearly made it but then two orcs saw him and came charging after him, one climbing up onto the palisade - a magica missile took care of one while a daze slowed the progress of the one on the palisade.

It looked like he might make it out.

Then the white-robe turned up, and with a telekinetic blast levelled the animal pens and sent terrified livestock runninf everywhere.

Burl faced off with the figure, trying to convince him to let Burl, who had after all only been in the wrong place at the wrong time, go free. The robed man pulled back his hood, revealing an aged, bearded man, and in irritation used magic to cause two blocks of ice to solidify around the necromancers feet, giving him time to think over what to do with Burl. Surprisingly, the man seemed to recognise Burl's features from somewhere though he couldn't remember where.

He conversed with the red-robed man as some more orc soldiers turned up and kept crossbows trained on Burl. From what the necromancer could hear of the conversation, the red-robed man proposed taking him as a slave with the rest, but the white-robe decided that he would just be a liability. There was some mysterious talk about something to do with Manipulating intelligence into the desired bloodlines more easily, then the orcs and men departed, the red-robe instructing one soldier to deal with Burl.

It fired a crossbow at him, the bolt hitting him solidly in the chest and knocking him over, ice shoes and all, into unconciousness.

* * *​
Burl awoke in some sort of tent, bandaged and being tended to by a young woman. She informed him that he'd been badly burned by the village burning down - and that they'd found him in the wreckage of the place with a crossbow bolt in his chest. He also discovered this was the camp of the Irilson vanguard, before lapsing into sleep again.

When he came round, someone was arguing with the nurse - a tall half-elven man in dark, gothic plate armour, with long lank black hair and pale skin. Eventually bargin his way into the tent, he began to question Burl over what had happened in the village in a particularly unfriendly manner, hinting that he'd had the mages spellbook looked at and knew he was a necromancer. He also introduced himself as Lord Morgrim Pendarme and claimed command of the expedition, which he said was a combined operation between his troops and the Irilsons men.

Burl decided to resort to the truth, recounting his story to Morgrim who really didn't look very impressed...

* * *​
That's Burl so far. I'm sorry that this isn't very well written as yet - the party has yet to come together and is scattered far and wide, so I'm recounting the story as different strands for the different characters. It'll all become easier as more and more of the characters come together into a party...


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## Carnifex

Thanks Broccli_Head. The world is actually based on a previous homebrew of mine that sort of petered out - I completely 'refitted' it into the newer version, adding the elements of science and technology into it. They make for a graet ideological conflict, between the 'advance' of bio-thaumaturgy and thaumineering, and the 'primitiveness' of some societies such as the gnolls, who have a society very much centred round druidism and shamanism (they call their psions shamen, and believe they draw their power from the spirit world).


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## The Sunderer

I like the look of this!  Good stuff!

I am particularly intruiged by the Fleshtearers


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## Carnifex

Now onto the tale of Melisande...

Her story began on the edge of the borderlands between Carthagia and the nation of Naseria, a land ruled by noble Houses of sorcerors, and defended by the elite Elemental Orders of the Mage-Knights, the Flame Hawks, Iron Hawks, Wind Hawks and Wave Hawks. She'd never travelled there before but had heard tales of the land; and it seemed a good place to start her new life.

Carthagia and Naseria have often been in conflict, most recently in the Fang Wars of 20 years ago, so named after the Carthagian fang dragons involved in the conflict. Due to this there is a thick swathe of no-mans land wilderness between the two nations, seperating the northern lands of the brutal militaristic and feudalistic nation of Carthagia (ruled by a Warlord) from the lands of the southmost Naserian Houses (Thrazan, Corvus and Merlihr). This was what Mel was going to have to cross.

To her south, the mighty mountains of the nation of Carthagia rose up, while to the north, the wilderness of forest and wastelands stretched. She set off without any real worries - Mel can be well described as 'naive'...

She wandered along a path through the forest. It was drizzling, the onset of spring bringing such weather, and the forest was still largely rather barren and leafless, but Mel and her love of living things was happy to see things such as foxes skittering away occasionally, reassuring her of the cycle of nature here. Then she heard cries of alarm up ahead.

She stepped out of the clearing to see some two-dozen Carthagian men clad in chainmail clustered in the middle, shields up in a protective wall. At her appearance one of the men gawped at her, amazed at her blue skin.

She was used to surprised reactions but this was a bit much - then she suddenly realised that a score of soldiers clustered togather was unlikely to be purely due to her skin colour. This was reinforced when an arrow from outside the ring of trees tore the mans throat out. It was accompanied by shrill whistling like that of birds, that sounded like it was being used as communication.

Mel suddenly felt fear as the men began to shout more orders and brought their shields back up again, the odd-looking woman forgotten in the face of the unseen enemy. She rushed up and wormed her way inside the shield wall, trying to find out what the hell they were up against, but in their panic, firing crossbows at the slightest movement amongst the trees, they just ignored her. After an entangle spell had caught some of the men and odd coloured lights amidst the trees had cries of 'shamen' rising up, gnolls swarmed out from the trees as the Carthagians fell into absolute panic.

Mel had only ever seen bits of gnolls in the bio-labs - to see a real one was impressive. Think of Native American style decorations - the gnolls festooned themselves with little bead charms and feathers, as well as being covered with extensive tattooes and warpaint depicting patterns and totem images. One particularly decorated individual must have been the druid, while two more gnolls loped out of the trees with hands twisted into claws and muzzles full of fiercely sharp teeth - shamen (_egoist psions in fact_).

Seeing that some elementary nature magic and some bright lights had spooked the humans, Mel invoked her natural ability to create light to light up the point of her spear and hold it up, trying to rally the men.

This failed miserably when instead it distracted one man enough for a gnoll archer to bring him down with an arrow.

Battle erupted, the shamen and gnoll warriors scything through the humans; but the Carthagians weren't green novices and were putting up a fight. A dual-wielding gnoll ranger struck Mel and sent her toppling over into the mid as he eviscerated another Carthagian, and as she squirmed in pain and tried to avoid getting stepped on, the druid _called lightning_ to incinerate one of the men. That was pretty much it for the Carthagian morale, and they began to get slaughtered.

Once the battle was over, the gnolls proceeded to move amidst the carnage, finishing off the injured. The ranger moved over to Mel, preparing to finish her off; rather than the bloodlust she expected to see in its eyes, instead she saw only sadness and maybe even fear, and it sighed unhappily, weaving the sign of Immar with one hand, as it prepared to finish her off.

It was halted by the druid. As the gnolls vanished back into the forest again, leaving only the carnage, the druid spoke to her in poor, snarled common, pointing deeper into the forest in the direction of a path.

"Look at truth, there."

Then it too left her, all alone, severely injured and lying in the mud. Using her spear as a walking stick, she slowly hobbled off, determined to see the 'truth' the druid spoke of before she died.

She found the truth, as after a long time she came across a druid grove - a ring of stones, next to a small brook. The plant life around it was abundant and green, despite the time of year.

It would have all been a beautiful sight apart from two things.

One was the line of gnoll graves, each marked with the sign of Immar.

The other was the crucified fleshtearer; the beast was pinned up with large wooden splinters. It looked, from the blood on its talons and spilled over its furred chest under its muzzled face, as if it had been in battle, with most of the blood on it probably being that of enemies before they finally managed to bring it down.

She settled down in the peace of the grove, crying because she felt awfully alone, hurt and wanted the protection of her mother, before washing herself in the brook. She considered all that she had seen and came to the conclusion that what must have happened is that the fleshtearer had killed many gnolls, but in the end they'd brought it down. She had no idea why it had been released out here, and assumed the Carthagian warriors had been attacked as retaliation, although since Carthagian soldiers usually wore heavy metal armour made from the ore of the mountain mines, the lightly armoured humans must have been militia or scouts.

She'd only ever seen a fleshtearer once or twice, been allowed a quick view into a containment chamber where one was crouched in the corner devouring a meal. She knew some of the basis of the theory, had seen 'tearer parts being grown in thaum-tanks and put together with Manipulation magic and science, but the final ritual of creation was done with priests of Toran.

(Unlike other Carthagians, who almost all worship Toran, Mel is disillusioned by what she has seen in the Manipulator laboratories, and has rejected his faith).

That night she had a strange dream of a shadow-figure looming over her, and strange words:

I take a risk / dare I break / the silence of duty

Strange, alien words, not words at all but... feeling.

Too late perhaps / yet too early / to judge

And
that / is what / I must do

Judge

It is my task

Then it reached out for her and she'd woken up in terror, to find a small package next to her. She detected magic on the contents; this had the side effect of showing her the sheer amount of natural magic flowing around the stone circle, and she could see the magic still draining out of the 'tearer corpse (Transmutation and Necromancy - staples of Manipulation, along with Abjuration and Conjuration). In the parcel was a vial of herbal liquid (couldn't tell what school of magic, but she drank half of it and it healed her wounds somewhat), a vial of shadow (evocation), and a small emblem of an eye within a triangle within a circle (divination. She was a bit apprehensive but then put it on anyway, and nothing bad seemed to happen). Also 12 tindertwigs at the bottom.

Lighting a fire to dry herself off a bit and warm herself up, now healed, she wondered about her mysterious benefactor then set off again.

Deeper into the woods, as night fell again, she came across a suitable area for camp. The only problem was that there were odd footprints around, but Mel didn't really worry about it and went to sleep anyway.

And here another of the characters, the druid Meg'anna, comes into the story. She was wandering through the woods that evening. Something in the balance of nature was wrong, she knew it - something was despoiling the area. She knew there was a group of bizarre creatures called dreadspawn in the area. She also knew the gnolls were around, though she hadn't actually encountered them - their druid had left a message for her carved in some bark in the druidic language. It said:

Battle - despoilers - dreadspawn - ambush.

And that was all.

Puzzling over this, she almost walked onto the waking Mel, who had been awoken by her familiar at the druidesses approach.

And thats as far as those two have got so far.

I do wish I could be more detailed, but there's a fair bit to go through and I don't want to have to rewrite each and every post I've done for the players  I'm missing some stuff out or just not going into much detail, but hopefully not missing anything important.


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## Carnifex

Thanks Sunderer  At the moment I'm just recounting everything that has thus far happened so its all a bit rushed, but hopefully as the campaign progresses the quality of the story hour will improve too 

And of course, more will be revealed about Fleshtearers (and perhaps even their bigger cousins, Fleshrenders! )


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## Carnifex

And onto the next character - Sebastion Cornell...

Seb came back home one evening after his guard duty to find that his father had some business - a row of well-kept stallions outside the farriers were waiting. The fifth one was clearly Manipulated since it was bigger - with visible bulges where additional muscle had been implanted on legs and neck - and had hooves more like claws, a mouthful of sharp teeth and worryingly intelligent eyes.

It turned out that five Blood Ravens had stopped into town on their way north into Carthagia, to fight for some lord on the nations northern border. The Blood Ravens are a fairly prestigious mercenary company in Huron - these five men were a small detachment acting independently after a campaign in southern Huron against sarsniks in the desert (sarsniks are halfling-like creatures - think Mongols).

That evening one of the mercenaries slept out the front of the farriers, with the horses and packs, when the rest went to the tavern, and Seb brought him some food out. They struck up conversation and Argus, the mercenary, told Seb tales of things he had seen - blue dragons, the Black Knights of Zhatan in their steam-powered armour, and more besides. It fired up Seb's imagination and wish to travel, and when he despondantly noted he had little future other than as a town guard, Argus offered him to come north with the Ravens, since it was apparent to the mercenary that this man was a cut above the usual guardsman material.

Seb decided to think over it, adn after a talk with his father which revealed that the older man understood how his son had felt - indeed, that was how his father had once been himself - Seb left with the Ravens the next morning.

That evening when they settled down to camp, Seb found hidden amidst the baggae on his horse his fathers two-bladed sword. His father had trained him how to use it effectively, and as a parting gift had secreted it amidst the bags, giving his son his trusted weapon.

The next day they set out again. Carthagia borders in the east with the wilds of the Drakkath, the name given to a huge area in which there are several nations but alos a lot of wilderness. The edge of Carthagia descends down from mountains into foothills, where the borderlands are called the Sudokan valley, before rising up into the Sarokean mountains which run north-south on the Drakkath's western border. The band travelled north up the Sudokan rather than through Carthagia since it would be faster - but then they came across the remnants of a band of Carthagians who appeared to have been slaughtered by gnolls. Whole they were checking through the bodies they disturbed two scything slayers - think five-foot tall mantises with scythe-arms - which were hidden under bodies and feeding on the carrion - as Seb approached one corpse the slayer suddenly unfolded from beneath and pushed it off. It badly injured him with its claws and emitted a shrill nosie that grated on his nerves, making his aim poorer and alerting the other slayer nearby. As the others quickly dealt with the second scything slayer, Seb reacted with his two-bladed sword and in one round cut down his foe, impressing Argus (the leader of the band).

They headed north for many days after that, Argus leading them into Carthagia proper since while it might take longer, at least that way it would be safer. Eventually they arrived at the northern border, where the no-mans land with Naseria started.

Enterimng the camp of the Carthagian lord Colchis, they were informed they would be taking part in a sweeping operation into the borderlands to destroy some creatures called dreadspawn there. Several infantry units led by scouts would be taking part, whith magical support from Flame Guildsmen, an influential invokers guild. They also met the Deacon Lukus Naerban, a priest of Toran, who informed them that the strike unit they would be accompanying would also be accompanied by a fleshtearer - something the Blood Ravens weren't too happy about.

At the moment, Seb is in camp preparing with the other Ravens, since the next day they will be moving on the dreadspawn...


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## Carnifex

And moving on to the tale of Wyshira and Kale so far...

For Wyshira, the story begins as she leaves her village in southern Cryosia, wandering towards the nearest town, Kriel. Without much clear idea of where she's going, and feeling unhappy at leaving home, she came on her wanderings to a river and a ford. There she found Kaerval.

He was lying by a tree on the other side of the road, where it disappeared into fir forest, with an arrow embedded in his shoulder. It was clear he'd need help soon, because even int eh wound didn't kill him, the bitter cold of Cryosia, even in early spring, would finish him off for sure. She hurried over and used healing magic to heal him, even as she did so a shrill cry ringing out over the treetops. Once he had come round, the man introduced himself as Kaerval, a young bard heading south-east to the border between Cryosia and the Drakkath to meet his mercenary uncle who had promised to show him the sights of the world. He also explained that he had been atatcked by mine goblins, been hit by the arrow but managed to escape. Then a drazhikar - the source of the cry, he said, describing it as 'winged fury' among other things, some sort of massive eagle-beast - had picked up his blood trail and had been following him. He also noted it was extremely rare to find a drazhikar around here.

Together they headed on to Kriel, Kaerval capturing Wyshira's imagination with his stories and eagerness to see such sights as the massive Dawn Fortress or the ship-filled harbour of Iril. She decided to head on with him and meet his uncle, to offer her services as a healer to the mercenary, a man called Wolf. After a brief stay in Kriel - where she gets odd looks due to her skin colour, though as a priestess of Ishrak she also gets respect - they head on.

Then as they near their destination, they are attacked by some mine goblins, led by some odd, tall goblinoid with a rhino-like head and off heavy build. They are pinned down behind a rock by arrow fire...

Kale's story begins on the coast. A mercenary called Wolf, (a fighter/ranger Cryosian) had taken the young man under his wing. Right now, they were doing a job. A small village on the southern border of Cryosia, near the coast, had been marauded by some aquatic monster that took animals and even villagers occasionally. The pair were currently stalking it through the mist, after it had taken another animal and they'd found the tracks. The coast here was bare rock for about a hundred meters between waters edge and land, all rock pools and slime-slicked stone.

Chasing it down to its lair, Kale moved to flank through the mist while Wolf headed to tackle it head-on.

As he approached, Kale saw the brine beast through the mist. Appearing like a flabby, water-logged fleshed ogre-thing of pale blubbery skin, shovel-like claws and a strange fin running down its back, the thing smelled his approach when Wolf charged out of the mist, attacking with javelin and sword. It turned on the ranger as Kale then closed to sneak attack it - at this it turned round and disarmed him.

The struggle was fierce, with Wolf taking a beating while Kale tried to injure it with his darts. Then it knocked Wolf over and turned on Kale, who grabbed a half-submerged short sword from the slimy muck of the things nest. As Wolf got up again and clambered onto the beasts back, shoving his sword into it and hanging on for dear life, Kale took a wild sweep with the blade and with a critical hit severed the monsters arm. It finally collapsed into death.

Back at the village they recieved their payment and Kale realised the weapon he had grabbed was quite ornate and elaborate, depicting waves along the blade. Wolf revealed his plans to head north to try and find his nephew, whom he had arranged to meet with in the village but who was a few days late...

So Kale and Wolf arrived just as Kaerval and Wyshira were pinned down by arrow fire. As three goblins closed in on the boulder they were hiding behind, Wyshira's _obscuring mist_ spell let them escape a short way whiole confusing the goblins. Then Kale and Wolf pelted out of the trees, Kale hurling darts while Wolf tackled the leader-goblinoid. The goblin arrows injured Wolf as he closed but Kale, partially behind a tree, was saved from becoming a pin cushion by his cover (it blocked at least a couple of critical hits!). He hit the leader with a dart but even as Wolf closed in on it they both saw the wound already healing up!

With the three goblins still lost in the mist, Kaerval saw his uncle in trouble and led the charge against the goblin archers. Kale took one out with a dart while Kaerval skewered another - then a solid javelin hit from Wyshira brought down the goblinoid leader, whom Wolf beheaded with a coup-de-grace.

This was too much for the goblins, who fled.

After some brief introductions, and Wolf agreeing to have Wyshira along as a healer, he has proposed to the group that they now go north-east to the port of Jormungand, and then take a ship south to the port of Iril - the alternative being to walk there, which would require crossing an area of the Drakkath ruled by hobgoblins, and then the perilous Khaya-Dan mountains...


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## Carnifex

And now onto the final character so far (Ebri Zol has yet to actually begin in the campaign, though she's almost ready now)...

Sandslipper, the nomad psion. Her tale begins as she wanders north along the western boundary of Huron, the Cliffs of Zhatan. These massive cliffs seperate the nation from the goblin-infested wastelands to the west.

She wasn't used to the damp and rain of early spring. The desert was, above all, always dry. She also didn't like much the reception she often recieved - in the desert her people held her in respect as one of the 'Blessed of Grumand', yet here people stared at her like she was some sort of a freak...

That evening she stopped off at a hostel, one of the government-run stopping places on the roads. Entering, she saw five well dressed, muscular men, who took interested note of her odd appearance,while the innkeeper approached her. When she told him she had no money he angrily told her to leave since they weren't a charity, but one of the men intervened, offering to pay for her food and lodgings in return for her to tell them of herself and her people. The innkeeper, obviously in awe of the men, went along with this.

So she told them of herself, and she asked them questions as well. They were Dracoverr, they said, the elite troops of the Lord Commander of Huron, on their way to Huron - which was where she too was heading, since she'd heard of it as a big and important city. The Dracoverr seemed to have mixed views on the place, at best considering it as a 'melting pot'. They explained how the city had grown up chaotically around the Tower of Zhatan, a massive tower-fortress, hence its confusing and unruly nature. Her request to travel there in their company was accepted.

The next day they left, th Dracoverr no longer in their fine clothes, but now in master-crafted armour that had much of the protection of plate yet with the flexibility of chain, allowing them to fight incredibly well on horseback  - for which they were famous. Later that day they reached Zhatan.

On a bluff of the Cliffs, the massive fortress dominated the city which sprawled around it. They passed through the main gate, guarded by soldiers and a Flame Guild invoker, and then the Dracoverr left her, saying they had business in the Tower to attend to.

Wandering the streets of Zhatan a little confusedly, Sandslipper saw many sights - a fire genasi Flame Guildsman surrounded by lesser evokers; dwarves jostling through the crowds; a compound with the sign 'Pumping Station 3' which held some sort of machinery, guarded by troops with repeater crossbows and a heavily armed man with a brace of pistols. Eventually during her wanderings she ended up outside a gnomish workshop warehouse, gnomes rushing around inside using magic and welding tools to put together machinery. Here a man introducing himself as Mercurius approached her, offering to hook her up with some people who wanted to meet her. She agreed and followed him.

As they passed by an alleyway entrance, he used _ego whip_ on her and bundled her into the alleyway, but before he could do anything else two more men turned up on the scene - a younger man in a long cloak and an older man wielding an ornate looking pistol. Mercurius's hands shifted into claws as he manifested another psionic power but then the younger man took him down with a thrown dagger and after some insults being bandied back and forth, the older man executed Mercurius with his pistol. Rather than the usual crack of gunfire though, magical thaumineering on the pistol created a sound dampening field so there was just a dull _thud_ as it blew the psions head apart.

Sandslipper lay dazed and confused through all this, having been caight flat-footed by the psionic attack mode; the older man told her he'd been sent to take her to 'Mr. Fireball', and that if she tried any psionic stuff he'd kill her too, no questions asked. Sandslipper was confused since she doesn't call herself psychic, thinking her power comes from her mother and the Blessing, but she accompanied them at gunpoint.

They took her to a deserted street and into the cellar of an old house, where many more people were meeting and quietly discussing plans - she figured it must be some sort of illegal organisation. Then she was shown into Mr. Fireballs room (having found out from her captors that exactly _what_ Fireball is was unknown.

Half the room was cloaked in thick shadows that even her darkvision couldn't penetrate, apart from an impression of a faint figure sitting behind a desk there. Some conversation took place, Fireball indicating he knew a fair bit about her, and also that his men had saved her from probable death at the hands of the ones that Mercurius worked for, though he doesn't elaborate. When she irritates him a little, his eyes flare up red, though revealing nothing else of him - she assumes this is why he is called 'Fireball', though he seems to treat names as unimportant from the way he speaks about them. Eventually he offers her a job - he wants a package transported to a Naserian sorceror he calls a 'Truth Seeker', going by the name of Ecurius Tarravus - Tarravus is the royal family of Naseria and Ecurius is a member of some side-branch of House Tarravus. The payment he offers is quite substantial since Sandslipper is pretty much unknown by the power-players of Zhatan and thus they wouldn't make a connection between her and the package to Fireball, which is how he wants things. She agrees, and after recieving some payment up front and buying some equipment she heads north from Zhatan.

She crosses the border with Carthagia and heas up the Sudokan valley. As she sets up camp one evening, on the first night she's in the valley proper, a tattooed gnoll silently approaches, suddenly walking out of the shadows across the other side of her campfire. Since he doesn't seem immediately hostile, and she doesn't know what a gnoll is nor has ever seen one, she greets him and offers him to sit and warm himself by the fire.

The gnoll crouches down, and begins to speak in a bizarre, mystical way, in fluent and melodic common. Here's its actual words from the post:

"A strange web-weave-thread is here," it began in a singsong tone.

"The web dips round you, an alien weight in the weave-plan, drawing others in and down. Shadows dance along the path but do not take notice; why? Shimmering eyes of light that see you as a tool do not see you as more, yet round the threads they weave so skilfully you bring new spider-walking ways. Far travel elicits close retaliation of kind, perhaps, if thread-weaving shadow-spiders merge with the dark."

"Intriguing patterns you weave, yet do not realise? Shaman-sight grants weave-walking, yet here the web is fractured, failing..." 




So that is it so far - the campaign as it stands...


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## The Sunderer

This is all _very_ interesting 

I hear you on the difficulty of catching up with an old game... I am having exactly the same problem with my Sundered Sky Storyhour.

I like the mixture of steampunk and firearms, again given that Sundered Sky is a pirate setting, I asm attempting the same thing...

Good stuff, I look forward to the next installment.


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## Carnifex

Thanks 

I've put in a smattering of technology around the place - firearms are hardly common, however, in the nation of Adbar, a highly religious nation devoted to the sun-god Solanthar, often pistols are used by officers and Inquisitors as a symbol of rank, while the elite Dawn Guard actually use muskets. Of course, there's the whole aspect of magical firearms opened up there, such as the thaumineered pistol with the sound-dampening field.

Then there's the Black Knights of Zhatan, a favourite of mine... think steam-powered armour and a rather nasty magical/technology mix that allows them to gout super-heated steam from their dragon-helms


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## The Sunderer

I really like that sound dampened Pistol, and seeing as the rogue in my party has chosen the pistol as his ranged weapon I might just "procure" it... 

His sneak attacks are literally stunning at the moment


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## Carnifex

.


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## Carnifex

Right then, the first of what will hopefully be weekly updates! Since it's been under a week since I posted up the original story thus far, this update will probably be a little shorter than usual.

Anyway, on with the story...

Still lying bandaged in a tent in a Corinthian military camp, with Lord Pendarme listening to him, Burl has just recounted what happened to him in the village - and it's pretty immediately obvious that Morgrim doesn't believe he's telling the truth. In a rather unpleasant manner, he tells Burl this, even going so far as to accuse him of being in league with the robed mages leading the orcs; he then informs the protesting Burl that they'll head back to Iril, the port-capital of Corinthia, where he'll have people check whether the wizard really is telling the truth or not - and makes it fairly clear he believes that Burl will fail that test. Then he leaves the injured man, sending the cleric along to heal him because he needs to be fit enough to travel.

The cleric, a big man in gleaming plate armour wearing a holy symbol of Solanthar the sun-god, storms in, intimidating the nurse (who tries her best to convince him to heal Burl) by ranting away. He's clearly upset at the thought of having to heal a necromancer, since the sun-gods followers hate undead with a passion, but eventually climbs down from his high horse enough to agree that if Burl can give him one good reason, he'll heal him.

Burl starts off by mentioning he worships Charon.

Bad idea.

The priest goes absolutely ballistic in sheer amazement at the prospect of someone asking him to heal a follower of the death god, and storms out angrily. The nurse sits down resignedly.

"Oh bugger," she sighs. "You screwed that one up, didn't you? You do realise that Charon and Solanthar hardly _get along_ don't you?"

Pendarme returns, exasperated but also somewhat amused at what has happened - he informs Burl that whether or not he's been healed, they're heading south - him, Pendarme, Karai, and a small contingent of troops. When Burl tries to stand up and leave, Pendarme throws a bag of his clothes at him (knocking him back onto the bed), telling him to get dressed and get ready to leave quickly; and not to trry and escape, seeing as how he's in the middle of a military camp.

They set off south-east towards Iril. Pendarme leads the column of soldiers (all wearing the pendarme livery of a black lion on red), while a little behind him, Burl can see an elven woman riding side-saddle, whom he assumes is Karai; with a dark blue dress and thick fur cloak, she seems richly attired, but more striking is her lustrous gray hair and also gray skin.

When they strike camp that night, Burl hemmed in next to his campfire by the soldiers all around, Karai pays him a visit, and he can see now just how beautiful the strange gray elven woman really is. She returns his spellbook to him, and seems sympathetic, especially towards his being a necromancer, saying it can be a long and hard path to follow.

Karai then mentions something about the wisdom of acquiring a patron; Burl protests that he has no power or standing in his field to offer a patron, but she informs him that fealty and service can be as valuable, since a seed planted now can grow into a mighty oak, emphasising this by performing some minor magic to send some of the dead grass twining up into a tiny humanoid figure that totters for a few steps, then closing her eyes and invoking a thunderbolt on the horizon with a thought; this latter magic startles the camp sentries into alertness, amusing Burl.

He asks her about herself, but she proves evasive, only going as far as to say that while Burl and Morgrim are really both as much captives here as each other - Morgrim by his position as head of the Pendarme family - she is here of her own free will. She also says that she believes Burl's story but she will not intercede on his behalf, since she feels Morgrim - who is yet young and inexperienced - needs to learn from his mistakes; she reveals that Morgrim is in fact her nephew.

With that she leaves him, and the night passes uneventfully.

The next day they reach Iril, a wealthy and important city, since it is the only port on the eastern coast of the Drakkath, and so several nations have to send their trade routes through it. Lying on the river Saphrin (which is filled with merchant barges and boats), the city is home to a number of powerful merchant houses such as the Irilsons, the Dubois, the Pendarme, and others. While there is a weak feudal king nominally in control of the nation, it is really these merchant princes who rule in truth.

The column enters the city and heds through the North Quarter, where many wealthy citizens live, to the Pendarme residence. There Morgrim heads inside with an aged councillor filling him in on events while he has been gone, Karai quickly following; Burl is led to his quarters by a guard where he is given a fresh change of clothes and new bandages - the injuries are starting to heal up quite well now. Then a message arrives from Karai:

_Burl,
When you are ready, come down to the main hall. I shall then take you to meet Tewlcroghen.

- Karai_

Burl surmises that Tewlcroghen must be the patron Karai has in mind, and sets off to find the main hall.

* * *

There is confusion for a few moments as Melisande and Meg'anna stare at each other; Melisande thinking for a moment that the druidess is an ogress, while the mute Meg'anna tries to convince the sorceress that she's not there to harm her. As things calm down a little, Melisande realises the druidess is mute.

However, before anything else can happen, a dreadspawn wanders out of the trees along the path. Both Meg'anna and Melisande know what they are; Meg'anna has heard of them vaguley, while Melisande has read about them in texts while studying as a Manipulator. They originated during the Dread March, a huge army of undead and horrors gathered together by a might necromancer about a hundred years ago; some rumours say he Manipulated the dreadspawn to use as cannon fodder, others say they were created as a pact between the necromancer and the shade of the Elder god Hashrukk (the Elder Gods were the original gods, defeated by the Younger Gods about a thousand years ago after the mortals locked the secret of the Elders power away - though they remained mighty beings).

Either way, Melisande knew they had remarkable qualities of regenerative healing; the best way to describe their appearance might be as small ogres, between five and six feet tall, hunched things with large lower jaws and small beady eyes. This one was carrying a blade more akin to a cleaver in one hand, wearing only a loincloth and a bandolier; when it saw the pair it stopped for a moment then charged Meg'anna.

She set her spear to recieve the charge, but there was no need; Melisande acted faster, raising her shortspear and using her natural ability as an aasimar to make _light_ shine from it. This display of magic sent the superstitious and primitive dreadspawn running back into the trees in fear.

Melisande tries to sound savvy afterwards, talking about the technical properties of their fast healing, but in truth its the first time she's ever seen one other than in a sketchbook. Thinking on that, she decides she had better do a sketch herself now; then she realises that since she has a journal and pencils, the mute Meg'anna might be able to communicate to her in writing.

* * *

In the camp of Lord Colchis, Sebastion listened to the tales of the other Blood Ravens about what they were to face, asking tentatively about fleshtearers and dreadspawn. Jarrus, one of the mercs, tells him the rumours about dreadspawn - how some say they were created from a pact with the shade of Hashrukk - and also that they apparently heal very fast, so it's necessary to finish them off quickly before they get back up again. Agrus speaks in quiet horror about fleshtearers, about how they are basically little more than psychotic vessels of pure rage designed for killing. Seb looks at Argus's Manipulated horse, and wonders how the man can be so attached to an animal that has been fleshtwisted while so disgusted at another of the Manipulators creations.

The next morning he understands. The troops are forming up; the Carthagian foot troops all wearing heavy armours - banded mail, splint mail or half-plate - apart from the more lightly armed scouts. The Blood Ravens have formed up by some scouts when Deacon Naerban approaches and calls the fleshtearer to him, which comes loping through the camp as warriors scurry to get out of its way. Some nine feet tall, leaning forwards and muzzled mouth dripping with salivam the furred things claws are like sabres. The previous night Seb had asked what the 'tearers were made out of; none of the others had known for sure, and he'd had a horrible thought it might be humans. This thing before him, however, radiated an unnatural, alien malice that made him understand Argus's standpoint. His steed, Korellius, might have been Manipulated but at essence it was still a horse. These things, brought to life by the Toranese Church, were something different altogether.

Naerban started preaching the praises of Toran, telling the troops just how lucky they were to have a fleshtearer by their sides this day, and how it showed the favour of Toran upon them. Seb really wasn't so sure about the 'lucky' part...

* * *

Wyshira, Kale, Kaerval and Wolf made their way over the mountainous terrain of Cryosia to Jormungand, Kaerval recounting how it was named after Ishrak's servant Jormungand, a mighty sea serpent. Seemingly having perked up again, the bard recalled a tale of how, when Cryosia was still ruled by a single Grand Cryomancer rather than the High Council of Twelve, the ruler had become suspicious of the Church of Ishrak and began to oppress them. In anger at this, Ishrak sent Jormungand, and one day when the cryomancer was walking the docks he was eaten by the great serpent.

_"There was such trouble after that event that from then on the cryomancers resolved to be ruled by the wisdom of twelve rather than the potential blindness of one, and the Church of Ishrak was never troubled by the mages again."_

Jormungand itself is built on an area of flat land protruding from the mountainous coastline. Dominated by the Night Tower, a huge obsidian tower rising from the cryomancers compound, and the cathedral of Ishrak out on a peninsula that also acts as a lighthouse for the docks, it's a packed city of narrow streets and tall houses. The docks bustled with activity as the four wandered along them, Wolf reiterating his warnings not to get lost or end up in a fight (and above all not to annoy cryomancers, several of whom were wandering the docks in their blue robes at the time, talking to merchants), they split up, Wolf heading off to see what he could to about a ship south and arranging work. As he headed off, Kale saw him jam a small piece of paper into a notch in a wooden post nearby; the mercenary watched carefully to se who might pick it up, assuming this was part of the trade of being a mercenary - learning how to contact people.

Meanwhile Kale, Wyshira and Kaerval decide what to do next. Wyshira is in favour of a meal first although she does also want to visit the cathedral, and they agree they need some supplies too.

* * *

Sandslipper listens to the gnoll shamans words carefully, interpreting that the 'shimmering eyes of light' he mentions must mean Fireball; but she's unable to work out any more than this from the mystic's words. She shows him the package Fireball gave her, to see what he would make of it; immediately the gnolls psionic tattooes start actually moving, the eagles flapping their wings and the bolts of lightning arcing around as he gets quite fraught, telling her to put it away because _"Shadow-weavers walk the threads of the life-web, searching, watching..."_

Then he narrows his eyes, and tells her to listen. There, on the breeze, an insane, faint whispering can be heard getting closer. From what she can make out of it, Sandslipper realises something is searching for her - with intention to kill her and take the package. It gets louder and louder and then the shadows nearby coalesce into a large, ebony black arachnid with a row of glittering red eyes and two alarmingly human-like arms underneath its head. The gnoll barks at Sandslipper to leave as he draws a greatsword and begins to manifest psionic powers; she _bursts_ away as the spider tries to get round the gnoll, but the shaman blocks it. Taking a swipe with his blade he misses, hitting a tree instead - and to Sandslippers surprise smashes the trunk into splinters, felling it.

Wasting no more time, Sandslipper runs as fast and as far as she can, manifesting _skate_ to put as much distance as she can between them. She runs until finally fatigue takes her, and she can do nothing else but fall asleep on the road.

More of the arachnids appear round the shaman, demanding to know where Sandslipper went, but he resists their mental commands even though he knows he is running out of energy. The swarm closes in on him...

The following morning, Sandslipper woke most uncomfortably, picking herself up on the road. At least it was light now, and the shadows no longer seemed as menacing as they had when she had been racing through the darkness the previous night...


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## Ruined

Great stuff, Carnifex!  I'm looking forward to see how you tie all of the characters together.

I'd also be interested to see what kind of info you have on the cryomancers. I always loved mages that specialized in cold magicks.


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## Carnifex

Thanks, theRuinedOne 

On the subject of cryomancers, I have created a number of new ice-based spells, and have created a full new Cryomancer PrC. I may post it up in the House Rules forum or wherever else you're supposed to put things like that... The spells have all already been submitted to Ps3e.com and should appear on there at some point, as should the PrC when the site gets its prestige class section up.

I've also done quite a few other new PrC's and spells for the campaign, which should begin to become evident here and there as the story progresses...


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## Carnifex

*Guessing Games *

Heh, guesses are starting to come in from the other players about just why the soon-to-appear-in-the-campaign PC, Ebri Zol, is starting with 27 hit points and 3,000 xp. Sandslippers player guessed that Ebri was a gnoll  - nice idea, and I can see where it came from (2 extra hit die explain the hit points, and I have a fondness for gnolls ), but they'll soon see it's wrong...


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## Broccli_Head

This is a really good story. I too am looking forward to the party forming together. You mentioned this was a story from an old game.  How did you weave the tales together? Was it a PBEM or did you have separate sessions with each of the characters?


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## Carnifex

Well, I was planning to only update once per week, but seeing as I have plenty of time on my hands right now I might as well give a 'mid week' update...

*Burl:*

Burl heads down to the main hall of the Pendarme residence, where Karai is waiting for him. She leads him into the left wing of the residence, down long corridors, where he notes the many ornaments and paintings - the Pendarmes are rich in a way he's never come across before.

Karai advises Burl that Tewlcroghen is a *very* powerful individual, and _must_ be treated with respect. Eventually she leads him into a bare stone corridor lying down a flight of steps, at the end of which is an oak door. Then the elf leaves him to it.

Burl pauses to straighten out his clothes and generally make himself as presentable as possible, then knocks on the door. A deep, powerful voice replies _"Enter."_ and he does so. The chamber beyond is impressive.

Large and rectangular, the stone walls are bare apart from vines climbing up them. The ceiling is mostly a skylight of grey and green stained glass designed to give a dappled effect on the room below. The place is dominated by a big rectangular pool of murky water, around which four statues trickle water into it from marble horns.

To his left, there is an arcane laboratory and shelves of books against the wall. To the right, a greatsword is held up on brackets and a suit of black armour stands. On the far side of the pool, ahead of him, is a huge tapestry depicting the Pendarme arms, and below that a large mahogany chair - more like a throne.

There sits Tewlcroghen.

Tall, powerfully built and with short black hair, the mans skin is extremely pale, and he wears simpple-cut black clothing. His eyes seem to be pits of blackness from this distance.

They converse, Burl being respectful and awed, complementing Tewlcroghen on his arcane laboratory and on the manner in which the room is so obviously someones home, unlike the rest of the building and its ostentatious style. The man takes well to the praise, and offers Burl a chance to pledge his alleigance to Pendarme, and with it all the benefits that would bring - support and resources, in particular free use of Tewlcroghen's lab - and emphasises the freedom the necromancer would still have - indeed, his patron _wants_ him to go out and gain experience of the world, so he will be more useful to Pendarme. Now that the man has approached closer, Burl can see his eyes are not entirely black - the iris and pupils are, but the 'whites' are dark gray.

Before the beginning of his journey into the world, Burl had been unwise to the ways of subtlety, not realising the potential problems his path of necromancy and worship of Charon might cause - hence the fiasco with the priest of Solanthar. Now a bit wiser, he tentatively asks whether Tewlcroghen knew about those things. His patron did indeed and seemed perfectly happy with it, though professing not to follow a god himself.

Reassured, Burl agrees to become an agent for Pendarme, and Tewlcroghen gives him an amulet through which the man could contact him - one way only, and only a simple message. The amulet, the glossy scale of a young black dragon on a silver chain, had another property too, he said.

Once Burl had put it on, Tewlcroghen asks for him to put his hand out, which he does. Tewlcroghen then takes hold of the outstretched hand in a grip like that of steel.

Then he pulls out a small vial and pours acid over Burl's hand.

The wizard tries to yank his hand away but then realises all the acid is doing is causing a faint stinging sensation. Once his patron has poured alkaline over it to neutralise it, he explains the amulet also gives some small amount of acid resistance - "Don't try anything stupid like swimming in vats of the stuff," he warns.

_The Blackscale Amulet grants Acid Resistance 5_

Burl is impressed and thankful for the gift, and Tewlcroghen informs him that there is a week until Morgrim has him taken before clerics to check the veracity of his story - then orders him to go to one of the side gates when darkness falls and meet with another of Pendarme's agents; there is a task to be undertaken, it seems, that the agent will fill him in on.

Once again, Burl is told that Morgrim doesn't know about the necromancer pledging alliegance to Pendarme, and as yet doesn't need to either. He's allowed to speak to Karai about it - the mere mention of her name makes Tewlcroghen soften in attitude somewhat, and he claism that they keep no secrets from each other.

So Burl heads off, leaving Tewlcroghens chamber, and gets some food from the kitchen, before wandering around the residence, finding Karai's observatory in the roff, a small secret garden near Tewlcroghen's chambers, and other areas of the house such as barracks and armoury. When the time comes, he heads out to meet the other agent - who turns out to be an elf called Irial, wearing studded leather armour and with two short swords strapped to his belt. The rather sinister elf hands Burl a crossbow, saying he's going to need it because they're heading in to flush out a cell of cultists of the Bringer of Pestilence...

*Melisande and Meg'anna:*

The two women talk mroe now that the dreadspawn has fled, with Meg'anna using Mel's pencils and paper to write messages - it turns out she can write four languages in fact, common, sylvan, gnoll and elven. They're a bit worried the dreadspawn might come back with friends, and Melisande asks the druid whether she'll accompany her into Naseria.

Meg'anna is troubled by this. Part of her wants to wander, to see the world, but part of her is afraid to ever leave her druid grove and walk into the unknown out there. With the fleshtearer and everything, she feels extremely uneasy, in the end deciding she will let the forest decide. She sits down and waits, praying to Lliras that if she is to stay in the grove, nature should give her a sign.

Mel watches the mute druidess sitting in silence, worried she's said something that means the woman is going to stay and not accompany her. Then, after a while, Meg stands up, resolved in spirit that she will travel - for it is clearly the forests wish, which has sent her no signs to remain. The two, buoyed up emotionally, head into the forest through the night.

They walk on, and dawn breaks, the dawn chorus trilling out as Mel chatters incessantly to the silent Meg - a one-sided conversation if ever there was one. Then as the day wears on they hear sounds of battle nearby, and Mel gets in a state - because she doesn't know which side she should be on. In this conflicting borderland of gnolls, Carthagians and Naserians, she's cut off from any of them and unsure as to her place.

Then things go from bad to worse. A line of dreadspawn can be seen advancing through the trees from the other side - they haven't seen the pair yet, but it means they're hemmed in between abttle and spawn. Then Meg'anna feels the _wrongness_ of nature rebelling due to a fleshtearer being nearby. A dark figure flits among the trees nearby.

Their situation really couldn't be too much worse right now...

*Sebastion:*

The troops head out of camp, each group given a war horn to blow if they encounter a group of enemy that is more than they can cope with. Argus instructs the Blood Raven cavalry to stay a bit behind the skirmishing scouts, so the scouts can fire their crossbows with clear line of sight and so that if they are engaged in melee the horsemen can charge in. The fleshtearer spends its time ranging ahead and around, rarely in vision.

They head into the forest, and quickly hit trouble with a band of dreadspawn. The scouts have some trouble since their bolts rarely kill a spawn outright before it starts healing, and many reach melee; then the Ravens charge, smashing through the line of enemy and killing many outright with the impact of the cavalry charge. They pile straight on into the next line of enemy; two ogres. As they bear down on them, Seb wonders in fear just _where_ the 'tearer is...

The cavalry charge kills one ogre but the other survives unscathed and with a slap sends Seb's horse reeling, before closing in to hit him with its club. Then its chest sprouts claws as the fleshtearer rends into it from behind, tearing its torso in two with a great crunch. It then lopes back into the trees again, covered in gore.

The strike force is regrouping when they hear the sound of horns blowing nearby - one of the other detachments is in serious trouble, it seems.

*Sandslipper:*

Sandslipper picks herself up from the road, still exhausted, and presses on.

She travels for many days, never seeing another gnoll nor one of the shadow-arachnid things, and eventually after a good deal of distance reaches the end of the Sudokan valley and enters the edge of the borderlands between Carthagia and Naseria. As she wanders through the woods there, feeling terribly alone and claustrophobic due to the way the trees block her vision (so totally unlike the empty, open desert), she hears the sounds of battle nearby. Deciding to head towards the conflict and cehck it out, she suddenly finds that closing in from behind her is a line of strange creatures - dreadspawn, though she doesn't know that because she's never encountered them before or even heard of them. Though they don't seem to have seen her yet, she finds they are closing in, also heading towards the battle...

*Wyshira and Kale:*

Wyshira, Kale and Kaerval head into the _Great Serpent_ tavern, which proves to be a cut above the other dockside inns - this one's clearly for the merchants and captains rather than the common sailors. They're quite surprised to see a tall, blue-skinned lizardman serving at the bar, a crest running down his head and back.

After ordering food, they pick up the news and rumours. The barman is apparently a lhazakk, a subspecies of lizardman that can generate an electric current through its skin - hence he's good at keeping order. They mostly live in teh Limnus Glade swamps south-west of Corinthia, and apparently also over the Azure Sea on the Avorasa continent.

There's other news too - apparently eight of the High Mages recently ambushed and killed a leading religious figure of the Ascarian's religion of Fenris.

_Cryosia abuts to the west with the tundra-lands of Ascaria. In the east of Ascaria, nomadic barbarian tribes are the main inhabitants, and they're often in conflict with the Cryosians. Recently an expansionist war with the barbarians has begun, since the population of Cryosia has grown and the cryomancers have decided to 'appropriate' the lands from the tribes, whom they see as primitive irritations. However, the religion of Fenris and its priests have done remarkably well in holding the tribes together in defence against a better equipped and magically supported foe._

Other news - rumours of a potential coup against the weak king of Corinthia, and fears of famine if the years grain crops in Huron and Adbar are poor.

The food is excellent, and after asking the lhazakk for advice on the best way to reach the temple of Ishrak, they first head to the market, with Wyshira picking up bits and pieces and some leather armour, and Kale buying a scabbard for the blade he took from the brine beasts lair. KAerval buys some spell components - the young man really intrigues Kale, who thought he'd dislike the bard but has found him to be a very agreable person. He usually doesn't think much of mages either, but finds the concept of Kaerval as a spellcaster really doesn't worry him.

Then they head to the cathedral, along the rocky peninsula. There are lots of sailors and captains heading up to pray to Ishrak for good weather on their next voyage - a common custom.

The cathedral compound is impressive - a massive building of gothic architecture and huge blue stained glass windows... well, sod it, I'll just cut and paste the description straight here:

_The walk along the peninsula of rock rising from the water, at the edge of the port, was cold and windswept, but nonetheless there was a great deal of traffic - mainly sailors and captains heading back and forth to give praises to the Storm Lady before their next voyage over the seas. Occasionally a cleric would pass the trio by as they made their way towards the massive temple complex, usually wearing azure or white robes, often with one of the three central emblems to the religion of Ishrak highly prominent on their garb - a lightning bolt, an eagle, or a fish or dolphin.

The main building was huge, gothic arches rising high above, and the tower-lighthouse climbing even higher towards the skies. Two massive, metalbound doors were the entrance - closed shut, with smaller doors in the wall next to them admitting the worshippers in and out. A walled compound of buildings attached to the cathedral must have been where the clergy lived and worked.

Great swathes of blue-hued stained glass allowed great amounts of light into the building, and they could see a great dome of dappled blue glass atop the main section of the building. As they approached the doorways into the interior, they could see guards; men and women wearing gleaming armour and blue robes, lightning bolt emblems clearly visible and holding greatswords or halberds, carefully watching those entering or leaving the temple._

One of the temple guard - Storm Knights, the order of templars dedicated to the Storm Lady - walks up to Wyshira as they approach, seeing she is a water genasi, and bows, introducing himself as Levarian Imaskar. The big man asks what he can do for her, a blessed of Ishrak, and she replies that she is a priestess and would like to see the Cathedral of Storms, requesting the man lead them to a cleric who can perhaps show them the place and answer her questions. He does so, leading them inside.

Once again I'll copy/paste the interior description:

_The Storm Knight turned round, blue cloak whipping round to reveal, emblazoned on the back, a large white circle emblem with a lightning bolt striking across it. He strode forwards through the doors, the trio in tow, into the interior of the cathedral.

It was quite a sight - huge arches rising high above, massive stained glass windows and domes letting in swathes of dappled light onto the mosaics covering the floors - depicting the seas, the skies, and all kinds of creatures that inhabited them. At the far end a massive banner hung behind the altar, depicting in cerulean blue and gold thread the serpent Jormungand coiled around the emblem of Ishrak.

Clerics and worshippers wandered the huge central chamber, quiet, reverential hushed conversation going on as at the far end an aged male priest - wearing a gold-edged aquamarine robe and obviously of high-standing - conducted a ceremony by the pool of water that lay before the altar, a line of supplicants bringing gifts for the Storm Lady to be cast into the waters. Two Storm Knights wearing golden helms stood to either side of the altar, resting their hands on the pommels of their greatswords which they held with points on the ground._

He leads them up to a blue-robed elderly priest quielty lighting some candles, and hands them over to him. The old priest is extremely affable and friendly, delighted to see a water genasi, and is happy to talk to them as Levarian returns to his post at the entrance.




All that, in some three days of play-by-messageboard game...


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## Carnifex

Broccli_Head - this story isn't from an old game (though it is based on an old campaign setting that I ran a game in, which I revamped for the new time round), it's one I'm running at the moment on a message-board gaming site - 
www.roleplayinggames.net

The first post of the story hour has the URL straight to my particular board, where you can see the game in progress as it happens! 

The real advantage of message boards is that you can do this - you can have all the characters separate, although it means more writing has to be done, which'll reduce as they come together into parties - which'll be fairly soon...

Thanks for the praise  Actually, as they all come together it'll give me less to write in the story hour, as I wont be recording a seperate storyline for each character - but then we'll get to see their antics as a party, which will hopefully be worth it. I really am blessed with an excellent group of roleplayers for this one, better than I've had in any campaign before


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## Carnifex

*Physical Descriptions:*

I was thikning I might post the physical descriptions of the PC's onto the story hour, to give you all a slightly better idea of just what they look like, along with alignment...

*Burl Overton:* Lawful Neutral
A little under six feet, 23 year-old Burl has shoulder length black hair and black, dark eyes; perhaps a little unnerving for many to look upon, as there's something in them that speaks out that here is a person of dark spirit... He wears a black hooded cloak most of the time.

*Melisande:* Neutral Good
At 5'8", Melisande would definitely be considered an extremely pretty eighteen year old girl - except for the small matter of her skin being light blue. Her hair is dark blue, and her eyes a shade of sapphire. In fact, even her blood is blue, so that when she blushes her face goes a deeper azure colour. She's of medium build, with a practical gray travelling dress, over which she wears a blue robe, and a warm, white rabbit-fur cloak is clasped at her throat with a plain bronze brooch.She usually wears her hair with two swaths at her temples braided and pulled back with a white ribbon.

*Wyshira:* Chaotic Good
Quite short at five feet, the 18 year-old Wyshira has pale, curly hair, and faintly blue-green skin (her lips often seem quite blue), which tends to give the impression that she is frail or even sickly. But she is actually quite fit, if not tremendously strong. Parts of her body - her brow, the insides of her wrists and arms, her belly and the small of her back - show traces of silvery-green markings that look at first like tatoos. On closer inspection, it can be seen that they are actually scales. Her eyes are large and round in her narrow face, and are sparkling green.

Disliking restrictive clothing, she usually wears loose-fittingm green sleeveless tunics, though she accepts the practicalities of wearing light armour in dangerous lands. Over everything, she wears a hooded, light-weight cloak of light gray.

Another effect of her genasi heritage is that her skin is rather cool to the touch - sometimes disconcerting but for those being healed by her magics, they often find the coolness comforting.

*Sandslipper:* Neutral Good
The 18 year-old earth genasi Sandslipper is certainly an attractive woman - and will use her stunning looks to get the attention of people if she has to, hopefully so that they will listen for long enough to hear what she has to say. Her skin is a milky, pale brown and looks like polished stone; she looks like a statue imbued with a lifeforce, being whose skin looks like stone but moves like flesh. Her hair is long, thick and as black as onyx. Of her eyes, there is no discernable feature to them, the entire eyeball is as black as onyx. She stands 5'5" tall, and though she doesn't look it, weighs 270lbs (the extra weight is a attribute of her race). Due to her life in the desert, Sandslipper is a very fit person.

_Note: Since as a desert dweller it seemed a bit odd for Sandslipper to have Swim as a class skill, I allowed her to swap it out for Wilderness Lore instead._

*Kale Amegrion:* Chaotic Good
The young 24 year-old mercenary is lean, and stands 6 foot, but is neither broad nor particularly tall - though he is fit and healthy. Visibly armed most of the time, he wears a functional chain shirt, dark linen breeches, and  hard boots for hard miles, over which is a well-worn woolen cloak.

*Sebastion Cornell:* Lawful Good
The 18 year-old Sebastion, of medium but reasonably athletic build, with shoulder length dark hair, and a neatly trimmed beard and moustache, hides intense deep blue eyes beneath craggy, usually frowning brows. Equally at home with either hand, he has a natural grace and
elegance that serves him in combat where strength does not, and a flair for horsemanship that will only grow with time.

Favouring the flaring trousers, long boots and tight tunic with sleeveless vest that his father sported for many years, Sebastion tends towards blues and dark greens, occasionally venturing to grey, but staying clear of black and pale colours. Armour-wise, Sebastion wears a light chain shirt.

*Ebri Zol:* Neutral Good
The 25 year-old Ebri stands 5'4", is a stocky, brown skinned woman, a little shorter than average height for a human. Her face is broad, with full lips, a flat nose, and almond shaped brown eyes that give the impression of a pleasant, open demeanor. Her brown hair is a mass of tiny braids that fall unbound to her waist. She wears a loose homespun tunic and trousers, favoring browns
and greens, and a length of similar cloth which she drapes variously about her self and head. This doubles as a sling, bag, or shelter as needed. She carries an unmarked quarterstaff, and wears comfortable sandals with woolen socks. She wears no jewelry of any kind. 

*Meg'anna Liadon:* Neutral Good
The 23 year-old Meg'anna stands an even six feet tall, standing over most other women. Her build is slight,
that of a person who is active, yet not overly concerned with keeping in shape. Her skin is a dark walnut color, giving the woman a exotic-looking appearance. Her face is a bit too
round for her build, though not notice-able until examined intently. Her chin comes to a soft point, and her nose is slightly-upturned, giving her a very pretty face. One of Meg'annas eyes is a steel gray color and the others is a deep emerald green. Her dark brown hair, serving enough to highlight her dark brown skin, is rather thick, falling upon her shoulders and part way down her back.

Meg'anna wears simple drab garments, mostly made of sack-cloth. Her simple brown blouse and trousers hang loose on her lanky body, tied at the waist with a rope belt and simple soft boots. She walks with her short spear used as a walking staff, which is heavily decorated with scenes from the wood. She is often seen with a small red fox which tags along most of the time (her animal companion Micah).



The above stuff is mainly taken from the physical descriptions that the players themselves wrote, modified to be presented here.


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## Carnifex

In the next update... 

Mel, Meg, Ebri and Sandslipper get caught in the middle of a full-scale battle as the two sides charge at each other (with Seb being one of the people charging)...

Burl sets to work cleaning out the unclean...

Wyshira and Kale reap the benefits of Wyshira's alliegance to Ishrak...


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## Broccli_Head

*Talespinner*

Carnifex, just wanted to let you know that I decided to subscribe as a lurker to your PBEM. I look forward to your story hour to see how you weave the threads together. 


do you have a loom at home perchance?


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## Carnifex

*Re: Talespinner*



			
				Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> *
> do you have a loom at home perchance? *




Perhaps I should buy one 

Thanks for the incredible compliment of subscribing as a lurker; I'll mention it to the players. I've managed to assemble something of a 'dream team' of several of the best rp'ers on roleplayinggames.net, as well as other applicants who just seemed really good anyway. I may be weaving the plot but they're adding real depth to it through their excellent roleplaying.

Oh, and Burl just nearly had his knee gnawed by a dire rat


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## Carnifex

*A time of conflict...*

And now for another update!

*Burl:*

Irial informs Burl that the small cult of disease-venerators they're heading off to cleanse have been attacking Pendarme by infecting some of their soldiers with disease - the high-ups want to know why, and they want the cult threat removed. Before they head off, Burl asks for some healing since he still hasn't fully recovered from the attack on the village of Irlain and the priest refused to heal him, and the elf tosses him a healing potion which brings him back up to full strength again.

They set off through night-time Iril, entering the Dock Quarter by the waterfront, an area where the poor lived in cramped houses along narrow lanes. They enter a maze of alleyways filled with refuse and garbagem before eventually coming to some steps down to a door into a basement. This apepars to be their destination.

There's a diseased old beggarman at the door who watches them suspiciously, and stubbornly denies knowledge when Irial asks him about a priest of the Bringer; Burl is somewhat taken aback when the irritated elf executes the beggar with a crossbow bolt through the head.

They prepare to break in, Irial advising Burl to cast any defensive magics he has now, but to save any offensive magic until they find the head priest rather than waste it on cultists. They break into the first room, a small dingy place where four sickly cultists in rags sit around a table; the advantage of surprise means that by the second round all four are dead, butthen the door over the other side opens and two dire rats charge Burl while a yellow-skinne, warty goblin stands in the doorway and attacks Irial. From beyond the sound of chanting can be heard, and Burl assumes they've found the priest.

The dire rats bite at Burl, one drawing blood before he kills it and then _dazes_ the other to stun it until he can finish it off. Irial quickly despatches the golbin and then a cleric with a face covered in scar tissue, in filthy rags and clutching a flail, attacks. he too falls quickly.

They move into the next room, Burl slightly worried that he migth have contracted something from the rats bite. The chamber beyond is clearly the temple itself, a bare-walled room with slick moisture on floor, walls and ceiling, and fungus and mould growing in the corners. Two doors lead off - from behind one of which can be heard clanking and muttering - and at one end a small altar in a pile of rotting refuse can be seen. Irial uses alchemists fire to burn it and desecrate it, then they move to enter the room that the sounds can be heard emittimg from. Burl wonders to himself how anyone could worship a disease god if it means they live in such vile conditions.

Even as Irial reaches out to open the door, it swings open. Behind it is a big man in metal armour, face covered in scars like the other cleric and clutching a vicious flail. One hand glows with energy.

The elf falters at this surprise sight, and with a cry of 'Die, infidel!' the cleric reaches out and hits him with a _inflict serious wounds_, blasting him backwards as rents and lacerations burst across his chest. The priest turns on Burl next, mad-eyed, saying 'You next, despoiler of the temple!'.

Burl hits the cleric with a _negative energy ray_ but he doesn't even falter, laughing the magic off and striking Burl with his flail - and then Irial, who had by now recovered a little, hits him from behind with both short swords (that's a lot of damage with the sneak attack, since the cleric was being flanked!). The cleric turns to strike Irial down but is hit _again_ by both blades, and then Burl downs him with a magic missile.

They search the priests quarters in the room beyond, Burl wishing he could take back some of the cultist bodies since he reckons he could learn a lot from dissecting them, but he doesn't mention this to Irial. They find a journal and ntoes which they take to give to the high-ups of Pendarme, and a quick _detect magic_ lets Burl see the corrupted innate magic running through the temple, and also the two vials and three scrolls in the clerics room that glow with magic - he grabs them. There's a key on the cleric too, but he wonders at the lack of any church funds until Irial points out to him that the worshippers of the Bringer of Pestilence are hardly wealthy.

They leave the cleric's quarters, intending to return to the Pendarme residence, but as they cross the temple chamber the other door they haven't yet explored swings opne and a tall, dark-skinned man in dark robes strides through, casting a _web_ and entangling Irial. Burl fires at him to try and disrupt his next spell but the man keeps his concentration and torches the web, badly burning both the elven rogue and the human necromancer...

*Melisande, Meg'anna, Sandslipper, Ebri Zol and Sebastion:*

Melisande and Meg'anna hit the ground to try and avoid being seen by the fleshtearer, but it's to late; the figure glares at them, unnatural red eyes boring into them as they lie there trembling.

Instead of the expected storm of death descending upon them, it suddenly darts away agin into the trees. The line of dreadspawn is almost upon them though, so they get up and run as if the hells themselves were behind them.

Meanwhile Sandslipper tries to evade the oncoming dreadspawn by drawing upon Grumands Unseen Path and then trying to move silently and hide so that the dreadspawn would move past her without noticing her.

_'Grumand's Unseen Path' is the name that Sandslipper gievs to her 'Pass without Trace' ability she has from being an earth genasi._

This fails, as she promptly steps on a twig, attracting the attention of the monsters; she too runs as fast as she can, hoping that due to her tracklessness she will be able to try again soon.

Ebri too finds herself in a fix - the cleric has been wandering through the woods and finds herself caught between a battle-line of armoured humans in one direction and a horde of dreadspawn in the other. Thus she, like the other four women, all end up coralled into one place; where the battleis going to take place.

It's a large sandy-floored clearing in the bowl at the end of a valley between two rises. A small brook flows out of a cave facing parallel to the oncoming lines of battle, and atop that stands a gnoll druid covered in vine-like tattooes. The four women break into this area from different angles, see each other and the druid, then see the two forces pouring out of the trees on either side - Sebastion being with the other Blood Ravens in the Carthagian forces. The Blood Ravens are more than a little confused by the four PC's in the middle of what is about to become a killing ground, but regardless the two forces charge at each other.

The women run for the cave, Meg trying to climb up the rock to reach the gnoll standing on top of the rocky outcrop. It becomes pretty clear that this wont work but the gnoll calls upon a spell which makes vines break through the rock and help the druidess up. The other three are left to shelter in the cave.

Battle is joined, the Blood Ravens in the thick of it, and the druid starts blasting the fleshtearer - which has piled into the thick of the fighting - with fire and lightning from on high.

In the midst of battle, Seb's horse, already dazed from the ogres slap and now panicked by the blasts of elemental energy, throws him; he rolls out from the melee without harm and finds himself at the cave mouth. Jarrus, one of the other Blood Ravens, tries to break through and rescue him but the horse slips and the dreadspawn pile onto the fallen mercenary.

Mere moments later a dead fleshtearer drops out of the sky right in front of Seb, giving him and the other three in the cave a bit of a shock. It had clambered up the rock face to attack the druid but a _spike stones_ spell on the stone followed by an _ice storm_ had finished it off.

Deacon Naerban, who had been accompanying the Carthagian force, is enraged by the defeat of his fleshtearer and blasts the druid with a _searing light_ injuring it. It invokes the magic of its vine tattooes and actually changes form into a form amde up entirely of vines, which snake away into the ground, leaving Meg alone atop the rocky outcrop.

Seb suggests to the others that if theyw ant to live they'll have to run for it, but the others disagree - Mel is afraid that he'll just lead them back to a Carthagian camp and she'll be arrested for treason - the Deacon wouldn't look kindly on a defecting Manipulator, especially after losing two fleshtearers so recently. The others are leery of the idea too, and they wait.

The dreadspawn don't pursue the retreating humans, instead settling down to feed on the corpses of the slain out on the battle-field. They don't seem interested in attacking those in the cave yet, mayeb due to the dead 'tearer by the entrance or maybe just because they haven't eaten all the corpses yet. Meg climbs back down to rejoin the others, overjoyed to find that her friend Mel hadn't been eaten by Dreadspawn, while Seb starts to get emotional and angry, acting patronisingly towards the women - 

"Well, if you insist on staying, take one of these at least. Hold the thin end, and try to hit with the sharp end... and don't hit me, you've already done enough to try and get me killed. One of you check the back of this cave, see if there's a way through..." 

Meg is shocked to see a man - she hasn't seen one up close since her surrogate father died, having lived in solitude since then.

Mel ignores Seb's condescension and replies soothingly. "I have weapons, thank you. If you would just step back and quiet down, we might try to handle this situation rationally. I'll check the back of the cave, I can see in the dark."

"Which part of rational, Miss, is 'let's stay here and make ourselves easy targets for the gibbering horde out there?" he replies, thinking she must have become slightly unhinged at their predicament.




Anotehr update soon, charting the progression of Wyshira and Kale's journey...


----------



## Carnifex

The priest that Kale, Kaerval and Wyshira are led to is Father Uriaseas, a very friendly and pleasant old cleric who chats amiably to Wyshira for a while. She tells him of her plans to journey south and the old man warns her of rumours of bad piracy occurring, with some sailors muttering of 'sea devils'. She also finds out that there's a whole church hierarchy set up that she needs to integrate with, having only ever known the curatorship of the small mountain stream shrine of her home and not having come into contact with the rest of the faithful. Uriaseas informs her she is of acolyte rank and leads the trio into the mistral, the complex of buildings attached to the cathedral where the clergy go about their daily business.

They wander the busy corridors full of scribes and priests, with Storm Knight guards positioned at various intervals, and Uriaseas leads them to the deacon-quartermaster who gives Wyshira the appropriate robes for her status - light, loose turquoise robes with the emblems of Ishrak on them. She also makes a request if she could purchase some healing potions for the journey ahead of them - in fact this was due to Kale earlier asking her if she could buy some on the cheap because she was a priestess. Both are surprised when Father Uriaseas authorises the quartermaster to give them three potions of _cure light wounds_ for free.

Where as before he had been slightly unsure of Wyshira's value to the mercenaries, now he's definitely convinced.

Uriaseas then leads them into a small garden-cloister, sitting himself down on a bench and quizzing Wyshira as to _why_ she's heading south. She suddenly realises she may have made a mistake by deciding to head off with Wolf, Kaerval and Kale without first requesting permission from the established Church here in Jormungand, but Uriaseas reassures her by saying she is free to go where she wishes; after all,. they worship the Storm Lady, who hardly advocates strict regimen. However, he does tell her that whenever she arrives somewhere that a temple to Ishrak is present, she should go and offer her services as a travelling cleric to the ranking priest of the temple.

After this Uriaseas leaves them and Wyshira proposes to the other two that they pool some money and buy some incense as an offering to Ishrak, for good fortune on the sea journey ahead. She also wants to spend an hour or two in wosrhip here, so while the other two wait for her she sits by the pool of water in the main cathedral chamber, meditating in contemplative quiet while the burning incense floats on the surface of the water.

She feels the spiritual power of the cathedral, welling up within its walls and flowing through her. She feels a strange link to it, a feeling of greater clarity before and of closer contact with Ishrak. She knows too, that when she left this holy place, part of it would remain with her, strengthening her in her faith.

By the time she is finished, it is late and they return to the _Great Serpent_ inn to meet Wolf. As the lhazakk barman serves them food, Wolf recounts what he has achieved.

*"Well, I hope you all had a constructive day. I've booked us passage south on a Corinthian vessel - even managed to find one with an Azure Guard hydromancer."

"The Azure Guard are marine troops, elite soldiers of Iril trained for ship combat,"* he explains to Wyshira. *"They also train up some specialist wizards for Corinthian ships, called hydromancers, who concentrate mainly on spells useful at sea. It's a great boon to be on a ship which has one. Much safer."

"Anyway, it leaves tomorrow with the tide, so we'd best be up bright and early. I've arranged some work too - there's a job for us down in Iril, and after that I've got an employer over in Naseria who's looking for people with skills like ours." *He pauses for a moment in eating. *"Hey, this food's damn good."*

It seems the _Great Serpent_ is to become quite renowned for its meals...

The next day they are off bright and early, boarding the ship the _Dragon's Eye_, a Corinthian merchantman vessel under the command of one captain Marsans. As they set off, Wolf and Kale spar, the older man training the younger but being given a good run for his money. Kaerval, watching the seas, notices some sharks follow the vessel for a little way, but then they dart off and he thinks nothing more of it.

Wolf's impressed by Kale's improving skills, commenting on the quality of his blade as well - the ornate short sword from the lair of the brine beast.

It's true - the sword seems to cut through the air faster and sit more lightly than any other blade Kale has picked up before. Also, he notices that no matter how much he cleaned it, there was always a thin sheen of some oily substance on the blade. It doesn't _do_ anything bad, he just can't get rid of it.

The sparring has drawn quite a crowd amidst the sailors, and Kaerval and Wyshira watch it calmly. Then the hydromancer, a big burly man on the foredeck in blue robes, gives an alarming report.

*"Oncoming vessel, captain Marsans,"* the sturdy, dark-bearded hydromancer bellows in his deep voice. *"Closing and on course to cut ours; we've tried changing tack a few times but they keep on changing to match our course whatever we do. They're gaining too - it's a fast ship."

"I'm afraid I think we're being chased by pirates."*


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## Carnifex

As an aside, both Wyshira and Kale levelled up before they left Jormungand by ship. Wyshira advanced to a 2nd level cleric, while Kale took his new level in ranger, choosing abberations as his first favoured enemy. Note that I'm using the ranger class straight as is from the PHB, no variations.


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## Broccli_Head

Cool to see the story all come together (since I've been reading it as a lurker!). It helps generate a bigger picture.


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## Carnifex

*Wyshira and Kale: Battle for the Dragon's Eye*

The pirate vessel closing in on the _Dragon's Eye_ becomes clearly visible; a smaller craft than the merchantman vessel, with two outriggers , nets spanning the gap between these and the deck of the ship. Over the ship swarm human pirates, half-orcs too, and...

"Sea Devils" was the muttered word amidst the sailors, but Wolf uses a different one.

"Sahuagin."

The strange shark-men are clambering over the outriggers and nets, vicious weapons at hand, as the ship closes in. Their strange, scaled
skin and aquatic forms are disturbing and bizarre, vicious fish-eyes staring at the humans they were planning to attack. Sharks dart out from beneath the pirate vessel to circle the merchantman craft slowly.

The sailors prepare crossbows as the enemy close in, and bolts began to zip back and forth between the vessels, along with barbed javelins hurled by the sahuagin. The party is well-protected from the missile fire since they're gathered near the foredeck and ther are wooden rise on either side. Even as the sahuagin dive into the water and begin to clamber up the sides of the _Dragon's Eye_, and the corsairs on the pirate vessel begin to sling over grapnels to drag the two craft together, Wyshira calls upon the power of Ishrak to _Bless_ the party and the nearby sailors. Kale prepares with a dart to hurl at the first sahuagin to pop its ugly shark-head over the gunnels...

As the ships close in and boarding planks slam down on the deck of the _Eye_, barbed spikes securing them into the deck, the first wave of sahuagin come swarming over. There's the crack of pistols and zip of crossbows as the sailors fire their last burst of ranged weapons, the portly captain Marsans emptying his brace of firearms into the face of a sahuagin clambering onto the deck near him. The hydromancer, protected by glimmering energy, _lightning bolts_ the other ship's deck, killing a half-dozen corsairs; then he sets to work summoning a water elemental to aid the fight.

Kale sends a sahuagin climbing over the gunnels plummeting back into the water as he hits it with his dart, then the battle is on in earnest as fierce melee breaks out. A boarding plank slams down onto the deck next to the party, and four corsairs come rushing over; two sahuagin warriors clutching tridents, a human wizard in light brown robes who is protected by a glimmering _shield_, and a sahuagin cleric in an ornate, coral-inlaid breastplate and clutching an equally ornate mace. The wizard casts _bull's strength_ on one of the sahuagin warriors while the cleric gestures at Wyshira and with a crackle of dark energy casts _doom_ upon her.

At this point, as the sahuagin warriors close in, Kale's ornate short sword begins to thrum eagerly in his hand...

Wyshira's mind is filled with images of doom and the sahuagin rending her to pieces but she pulls herself together by muttering prayers to Ishrak. With a gesture of her mace she points at the enhanced sahuagin warrior and with a single commanding word sends it running - *"FLEE!"* - as the magic of the _command_ spell takes effect. To her delight, and the disgust of the corsair mage, it falters, then turns tail and flees, leaping over the gunnels to the safety of the water below. There's already something of a grudge between the two spellcasters, and the corsair mutters the word of a summoning spell - a fiendish, pitch black wolf pops into existence and lopes towards the priestess.

Wolf and the other sahuagin warrior clash in combat, the mercenary managing to gain the upper hand and injure his shark-like foe, while Kaerval attempts to _daze_ the corsair mage; the wizard easily shrugs it off.

Kale attempts to distract the sahuagin cleric away by taunting it; he hurls a dart at it which boucnes off its breastplate, getting its attention, then he shows off and provokes the priest, waving the brine blade around in the hope it might recognise it; after all, the sword seems to know its own purpose so he hopes the cleric might too.

Well, he definitely suceeds in getting its full attention - and wrath. It charges at him over the deck with surprising speed for an aquatic thing, hammering at him with its mace; it takes all his effort to avoid being smashed by the weapon. Taken aback by the sheer ferocity, Kale hops back onto the foredeck to get a height advantage and hruls a dart at the demon wolf the mage summoned (he misses) before striking at the sahuagin cleric with his sword. At this point Wyshira, trying to ingore the oncoming wolf, uses a scroll of _cause fear_ on the priest - *"The storm is upon you! Cower in fear of the Lady who flings bolts of destruction and death!"* she cries - causing it to falter for a moment. Kale takes advantage of this - the enchanted blade cuts down, cutting through the beasts tough natural armour like a knife through butter as it buries itself in its throat, piercing down and into vital organs. Then the oily substance on the blade begins to corrode acidically into the things flesh as it gurgles weakly, before dropping dead - Kale's critical hit slew it with one strike...

Wyshira manages to fend off the summoned wolf as Wolf himself is caught in fierce conflict with the sahuagin warrior, unable to pierce its tough hide with his bastard sword. The corsair mage hits him with two _magic missiles_, and more trouble is on its way too...

Two more sahuagin warriors and a half-orc pirate clutching a rapier come skittering over the boarding plank to step onto the deck by the wizard, while at the other end a huge four-armed sahuagin shouting commands and wielding two ornate, barbed tridents begins to walk onto the plank. Kaerval mutters a quick spell and his _sleep_ enchantment sends one sahuagin and the half-orc to sleep, to the obvious irritation of the corsair mage.

Fierce battle continues as Kale's attempt to bull-rush the mage off the ship is blocked by a sahuagin soldier, so instead he eviscerates the shark-man with one hit from the brine blade, acid corroding into it. Wolf is hit by his opponent but then fells him in return, moving over to help Kale as the four-armed sahuagin captain thuds down onto the ship deck, kicking the sleeping sahuagin awake. Behind him the corsair mage mutters another spell, casting _endurance_ on the captain. Wyshira and Kaerval take on the fiendish wolf, the bard striking a hit with his sword.

Then the wolf _smites good_ Wyshira, drawing blood, and Kaerval hits it one more time before it unsummons. Meanwhile the corsair mage casts another spell on the captain, forming a breastplate of ice out of the water vapour in the air around its torso.

_This is a spell called Ice Armour, one originally created by the cryomancers but which has since spread to other magic-users as well._

Kale the human mincing machine kills the sahuagin that the captain had just awakened with a single blow and hits the four-armed mutant with a dart, causing cracks to radiate across the _ice armour_. The spell absorbs all the damage though, leaving the sahuagin unhurt. Wolf is unable to hit it, and in return the big fighter hits both of them, one trident striking each for grievious damage.

As the corsair mage's _shield_ dissipates he kicks the half-orc pirate away, but kale's attack of opportunity on the half-breed as he stansd up is enough to kill him instantly too - even though the strike lacks the extra edge that the blade seems to give against the sahuagin. Immediately though the wizard is casting once more, firing a _ray of enfeeblement_ at Kale which misses. As Kaerval closes in to deal with the spellcaster the mage draws a rapier and the two clash to the sound of ringing steel. Kale makes a mental note - in the future, *always* toast the spellcasters first!

*"Hear me Ishrak! I call your Doom down upon our enemies!"* rings out as Wyshira casts _doom_ on the sahuagin, but the mutant shrugs it off and carries on fighting. She's tempted to go after the corsair mage, who she finds personally offensive, but decides to leave that to Kaerval - the central combat between sahuagin and humans is what needs her attention. Kale's now fighting defensively while Wolf is using his expertise feat to keep himself alive, so the combat remains a stalemate with the captain unable to strike either mercenary but equally still uninjured, and with the _ice armour_ still in place.

After a few problems caused by the differences between meanings, yet similarities in spelling, bewteen the words 'vicious' and 'viscous' , the fate of the _Dragon's Eye_ hangs in the balance...


----------



## Carnifex

*Burl:*

The dark-skinned wizard that Irial and Burl are facing quickly blasts the elven rogue into unconciousness with some _magic missiles_, and the outmatched Burl flees back into the priests quarters where he slams the door shut and desperately looks for a way out - then realises that he's just left his ally in the hands of the foe. He desperately reads the scrolls he picked up from the cleric, able to decipher two of them - but they're divine magiks, _dispel magic_ and _water breathing_. He then sips the potions but they have a vile taste that makes him retch so he doesn't drink either one.

The necromancer is caught between a rock and a hard place, and realises he's going to have to take his chances. Casting a _resistance_ spell on himself he formulates the desperate plan of charging out the room at the mage, firing his crossbow and then grappling his foe.

It all goes rather well, especially when the crossbow bolt hits the wizard in the throat and kills him instantly 

A quick check of Irial's body shows he's dead - the wizard cut his throat while Burl had fled. He finds some gold and scrolls on the body of the spellcaster, then checks out the room which the manc ame out of - a mostly bare room with three pegs on the wall - one of which has tatty brown robes on it - and stairs leading down over the other side. Flickering torchlight shows figures coming up the stairs and he can hear goblin-speech as they run up.

Grabbing Irial's corpse, which is remarkably light, he flees the place.

*Wyshira and Kale:*

With the corsair mages shield down and the spellcaster under attack by Kaerval, Kale quickly hops over and kills the mage with one solid blow of his enchanted blade, acid eating into the man's flesh.

With Wyshira aiding him, Wolf manages to strike the sahuagin corsair captain, shattering the ice armour and drawing blood. Kaerval, now freed of the mage, attacks him as well but misses, but in return the embattled corsair doesn't magae to strike any of his foes.

Kale, operating with grisly machine-like efficiency as he has cut down one foe after another with the alarmingly lethal brine blade (_the player seems slightly unnerved by the waepon _). But now he wants the carnage to stop, and he demands the captains surrender - *"Your crew is DEAD! Surrender, or you will
join them,"* he says, and its obvious he means it.

The sahuagin defiantly hisses... and then, with a  clang, drops its tridents onto the deck in submission. Around them the sailors gain the upper hand as the corsairs see their captain surrender and lose heart. The day is won for the crew of the _Dragon's Eye_...

*The Five In The Cave:*

Tempers in the cave calm down as Melisande and Sandslipper check out the back of it, finding a pool of water which is the source of the brook outside - it looks like there might be an underwater tunnel. Melisande's two-headed toad familiar, Pierre, takes a quick swim, confirming that it does indeed come out in an open space beyond. It looks like this might be a good way out. Melisande and Sandslipper converse a bit as they both realise that the other is, like themselves, _different_ from normal people - they've found a kindred spirit in each other.

Meanwhile Seb has, on the instruction of Mel, dragged the fleshtearer corpse right into the entranceway, since she knows the dreadspawn are superstitious and 'tearers are frankly pretty unnatural and fierce-looking. Seb has noticed by this point that Mel really *is* blue - it isn't just a trick of the light, and Sandslipper is rather odd-looking too - but he doesn't make mention of it just yet. Maybe her blue skin is explanation for Mel's odd behaviour, he thinks.

As they converse a little more, trouble hits. Two ogres have lumbered over to the cave to check out whats in there, and unlike the dreadspawn they couldn't care less about the 'tearer corpse. Stepping over it and into the cave, the two nine-foot beasts, clad in grime and blood-matted furs and gripping greatclubs, snarl and advance...


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## Wyshira

Hello!  I'm Wyshira, the water genasi cleric of Ishrak in Carnefex's game.  I am definitely having a lot of fun playing, and I hope that everyone who is reading along - both here and on our board - is enjoying the story.  (Which reminds me: Carnifex, you should put a link to the Story Hour in the Game Notes section on the board.)

I was hoping the players could use this story thread as our game OOC thread.  So.... Is everyone having fun so far?    I think Kale and I are coming to your rescue soon, Burl!  That is, if Burl is the captive of the Pendarme family that Wolf is referring to....

I also wanted to ask Molly (who plays Melisande): Was the title of your last post ("Grab your torch and pitchforks") a reference to Shrek?  I just had to laugh!


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## Bulges

Hi Wyshira!  I'm Julie, the player of the Earth Genasi Psion.  Like Wyshira said I am having a blast as well.  It is my first stop when I log in.  I feel a little intimidated with all the excellent RPing going on.  They add things to thier posts that I just don't think of.  I look at my post and see it is only four lines long, and see that theirs is several paragraphs.  I am hoping that the quality will rub off on me.

I just realized that I have spent all of my time trying to get away from a fight instead of engaging in one.  I'm not going to get much XP that way.  And just so everyone knows, I have not forgotten about the package I have.  Seems some nasty stuff is up with it.


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## Stinky

*Hello*

Kale Amegrion signing in- indeed, this is a good group of folks.  I know Siduri and Steve and Carnifex from a previous game I played with them in, and they're all the stuff.  Molly (Melisandre, and Oak (Meganna) I've also seen neat stuff on the boards.  That leaves me, Lisa, Topcat (Burl), and Julie in great company.

I enjoy reading all the good posts, too.  Carnifex also has a flair for verbal illustration.  This isn't to be a big flatter fest or anything, but, damn.  Great fun.  It's all about getting in there and growing the old skillz.  Personally, I think I think way too much about my posts.  With time, though, I think I'll be able to bring a more comfortable flavor to the char... a product of growing in a nice environment.  Cool.

For you lurkers and viewers out there, post those thoughts and comments!  I can't wait to see what things are like months from now, after much is said and done.  I love to hear other people's perspectives on the story and my char.  

Kale is a novice in the world, having searched for a long time for a hint of what he's to be.  Forsaking the influence, benefit, and ties of family, Kale sets off on his own, finding things he likes, and things he doesn't.  The merc life is good, gold, success, freedom, but to become one more cynical sellsword would be just as much a failure as floating as a politics-steered merchant wage-slave (his father, as Kale views him when he's the most cynical...)  Fun fun.

Note: this message is paragraps long.  I just can't resist, even with ooc...  =)


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## Carnifex

Bulges said:
			
		

> *I just realized that I have spent all of my time trying to get away from a fight instead of engaging in one.  I'm not going to get much XP that way.*




Don't worry about it - you'll still get plenty of XP from roleplaying.

Another update to the Story Hour soon:

 - The battle with the ogres in the cave...

 - Burl recovers back in the Pendarme residence, and meets some odd aquaintances of Tewlcroghens...

 - Wyshira and Kale divide the spoils of the battle with the corsairs, and discuss future plans...


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## Wyshira

Stinky?  Bulges?  You guys couldn't make it easy on the rest of us and use character names as login names?    I only say that because I have such a terrible memory for names!  Although I am pleased to say that I do have a handle on who is who in the game now finally.  (For instance: Julie = Sandslipper, Molly = Melisande, etc.)

I spend way too much time on my posts sometimes too, I think.  Especially when a lot of stuff has happened in game since my last post, and I feel that Wyshira ought to react to it all.  What does she think of this?  How does she feel about that?  I'm not really sure she's coming out the way I planned...

But I really enjoy reading the other players long posts.  Especially when I get a chance to see inside their character's heads.  I know how lucky I am to have gotten into a game with a group like this.  I've only been doing the PbP thing since around last spring, so I if any of you more experienced types have any advice for me, I'd love to hear it!


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## Bulges

Sorry about the confusion Wyshira.  Bulges is a nickname given to me by an ex-girlfriend.  I started using it as my online name when we were together and though she is gone, I kept the name.  Why change it I thought.

Julie 'Bulges Sandslipper' Payne


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## Stinky

Unfortunately, I made 'Stinky' when I logged on to the Fight Club forum in the bits n pieces portion of this board (which, by the way, is pretty funny...)- before we decided to run OOC here.

Julie, I'd go right along with focusing on roleplaying rather than combat.   Carnifex has a flair for tactical thinking and making baddies difficult (not just from the few baddies that I've seen, but alos evidenced by other posts I've seen on the boards here).  Carifex knows to give xp for things other than battle, which is good, because I'm sure there will be times that even Seb and I will be turning tail and running.  I've seen examples by experience and reading other discussion posts of Carnifex's that say that in his game,  drawing the old sword is definately not always the first best option...

As for you, Carnifex, I hope to stay alive by always looking for the escape, the high ground, the sneak attack; and for Bulges, I hope that Sandie and the others consider running soon, cuz I don't see Carnifex or those ogres playing nice anytime in the near future...


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## Bulges

Yes, I want to run from them too.  But I don't want to play Sandslipper in a leadership role (unless they wind up in the desert).  Since the other women are staying, Sandslipper will stay as well.  Besides, her Onyx has the Hero attribute, so it usually pushes for risk-taking.

And that ring you took, I was going 'Ooh, ooh!  I want it!' just because it was onyx.

Julie


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## Bulges

*Are we interupting the flow of the Story Hour?*

Carnifex, are we interupting the flow of the Story Hour by posting things to here?

Julie


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## Stinky

hrm- mayhap we should start an OOC thread, and leave this section for carifex' reports, and commentary from players and the audience?


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## Carnifex

*Burl: Tewlcroghen's Machinations*

Burl hurries back to the Pendarme Residence through the dark streets of night-time Iril, being let in at a side-gate by a guard - who looks with alarm at the corpse of the elf that the necromancer is lugging along. He rushes into the mansion and down to Tewlcroghen's chamber; pausing only as he remembers the mans warning to *always* knock first.

He does so, and is answered with *"Enter."* Tewlcroghen's in.

He hurries in, puts down the corpse and relates the tale of what happened at the disease temple to his patron, asking if anything can be done for Irial (who he feels he owes much to). Tewlcroghen takes the journals and notes that Burl carried back and lets him keep the rest of the loot, even giving him another hundred gold, but he says nothing can be done for Irial. With thatm he sends Burl off to sleep for the remaining few hours of darkness.

The necromancer wakes with a great pain in his leg that forces him to hobble when he walks - the dire rats bite has become infected and he feels unwell. A quick _read magic_ of the scrolls he has picked up reveals the third divine scroll to be _augury_, while the other two scrolls are arcane ones, _bull's strength_ and _comprehend languages_.

After a hurried breakfast in the kitchens he heads back down to Tewlcroghen's chamber, finding the door open and within the man conversing to two tall, powerfully built men with gray-black skin, claws fierce features with sharp fangs - but they're still clearly of human origin in many ways. Tewlcroghen finishes speaking with the two, indicates Burl to do what he wants at the lab, and the visitors leave, towering menacingly over Burl and giving him intimidating looks.

Tewlcroghen meanwhile seems to enter a meditative trance as Burl sets to work using his alchemical skills to identify the potions he has accrued. It turns out they're both postions of _cause disease_, blinding sickness to be precise, and he is thankful he didn't drink enough to be affected when he sipped them previously.

Tentatively he asks the meditating Tewlcroghen if there's anything he can do for Burl's infection, and the man directs him to a vial on one of the shelves which won't cure it - but will help his body fight it off. Burl drinks the alchemical concotion, all apart from a tiny bit, which he attempts to use in the alchemical equipment to see if he can figure out what it's made up of. He fails, then tries to make an alchemical healing salve - working all day, then at the end finding he has made some useless goo.

_Some poor alchemy rolls _

With that he scavenges some alchemists fire and tindertwigs from the lab, and heads up to sleep. The next day, it seems the infection is in regression - the liquid he drank appears to be working.


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## Meg'anna

Meg'anna here. The insanely hard to play mute druid! All I have to say about her is that the posts take me ages to mull over, as I try to image what I would try to do if I could not convey my thoughts in words. Luckily, in this day and age, we have computers and we don't haveta worry about it! LOL Well anyways, I'd like to say that I am having a blast playing with all of you, including those which I haven't actually played with.

I've played with Ebri and Seb for well over a year now and I've been around Carnifex for nearly that long as well. As for the others, I've had the priviledge of playing with Mel in a few other games (the most memorable having myself as a haughty, self-hating paladin, and her as a gnomish priestess of Tymora. Oh the Flames!!!! LOL). As for the others I have seen Burl on the boards, though the others ellude me. I am very impressed with all of your writing skills and I feel pressured to produce a masterful writing everytime I post. Carnifex has made this an elite game, having those of the utmost ability present. I am humbled to be in the presence of such talent! Well I have rambled enough! 

-Meg'anna
AKA Oak


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## Carnifex

Of course, in my last update, I managed to miss out an important bit of conversation between Tewlcroghen and Burl, that was actually the reason I called it 'Tewlcroghen's Machinations' in the first place 

When asking for treatment for his infection, Tewlcroghen had replied to Burl that he couldn't let him leave the residence to see a cleric or physician because intelligence reports indicated that several groups in the city might like to see Burl 'removed' one way or another - hence it was Tewlcroghen's plan to have a mercenary group hired to pre-empt these other groups and do a 'mock' removal, that would involve a staged ambush and Burl being taken out of the city to safety. After all, as yet he was of little use to Pendarme until he became more experienced and powerful, and he was serving no purpose cooped up in the residence; and by having him 'removed' it would take him out of danger.


----------



## Carnifex

*Wyshira and Kale:*

With the surrender of their captain, the remaining corsairs quickly give in as well, and the sailors of the _Dragon's Eye_ quickly bind them up and swarm over the pirate vessel to take the loot and goods before scuttling the ship.

The party is bandaged up by the ships surgeon - Wyshira being particularly scathing of the doctors srude and unhygenic methods - and then captain Marsans calls the four up onto the deck to congratulate them on their heroic fighting in defence of his ship. *"Well, Ithought I was just getting some paying passengers with you lot, but you've done a great deal more than that for me today. You really swung the tide of the battle; I feel we owe you for your troubles and risks. A share of the gold we've captured from the corsairs," and with that the captain hands Wolf a bag of coins. "One hundred pieces of gold for each of you."

He turns and gestures to a pile of trinkets and objects that had been collected from the corsair vessel. "And your pick of a single object each from these things we salvaged from them. I feel you deserve ample rewards for your bravery - and you, young man, what an impressive show!" He claps Kale on the back. "Went through the accursed sea devils like a butcher!"*

But Kale is somewhat caught up thinking over the battle - wondering whether the slaughter, the carnage, will ever become easier. Then he sets eyes on the pile of loot and it draws him out of his reverie.

There are many different objects in the pile before them. The two ornate, fang-barbed tridents the sahuagin captain had been wielding; the coral-inlaid breastplate armour of the sahuagin priest; three different golden goblets, embellished with elaborate designs of waves and with tiny glistening rubies in the shapes of blood drops on them; a small emerald on a silver chain; a golden signet ring with a silver dragon emblem on it; an elaborately crafted onyx ring; 3 small packets of some fragrant red spice; a single large packet of a strange orange spice that had a smell which could only be described as exhilarating; a small cloth bag with five little crystalline globes in it; a high quality cloth cloak of veridian green with some symbol unknown to any of the four sewed in golden thread on the back; a rapier of obvious high quality; the sahuagin priest's coral-inlaid light mace, again of high quality; five exsquisitely designed daggers; a small bronze buckler of excellent make; the corsair mage's spellbook; and a case of six scrolls that had been found in the wizard's cabin. Wyshira casts _detect magic_ on the pile and finds that the onyx ring is radiating evocation magic, the strange orange spice is magical, the crystalline globes radiate divination, and of course the mages spellbook and scrolls are magic.

Wyshira takes the little globes - each about the size of a human eye and blue tinted - while kale takes the onyx ring. Wolf picks one of the tridents as his choice, and Kaerval takes the scrolls.

But there's something else too - Kale realises the dragon signet ring is the emblem of the Irilson merchant family of Pendarme. Kale's own disapproving family, the Amegrion's, are an affiliate house of the Irilsons, and Kale sees a possible opening for him here - he gets the captain to write him a letter of introduction to House Irilson, stating how he has hekped to get rid of piracy that threatened Irilian shipping. This will hopefully get him into the good books of his patrons without having to kowtow to his family, whom he sees as oppresive in their wishes to dictate his course of life to him.

Over the next few days of uneventful travel, they heal up, Wyshira using her divine healing spells to bring them back to fighting status again. Wolf elaborates a bit on the job awaiting them in Iril  - plucking a wizard that a noble house had captured, out of its grasp and to safety out of the city.

They also do some experimentation with the magic items they've acquired. Wyshira comments about Kale's blade that it might have been made by tritons, goodly sea spirits, as a weapon to fight evil sea-dwellers, hence its effectiveness against the sahuagin. Kale tries on the onyx ring, and finds that it seems to draw any nearby shadows around him, slightly blurring his form and making him harder to make out. If he retreats into an area of greater darkness, the effect is heightened as more shadows slip around him. Conversely, the more light there is, the less effective it is.

Both Wyshira and Kale are a bit disturbed by this shadow-ring - but Kale looks at it as a counter-balance with the goodly nature of his brine blade - he is a mercenary, caught between the struggle of good and evil and hopefully dominated by neither. Wyshira is just spooked out by it. She's unable to work out what to do with the crystalline globes but Kaerval comments that they're very light for their size, and probably hollow - thus it might be necessary to crush them to utilise them.

At the end of the long voyage south, the ship enters the crescent-shaped harbour of Iril in the extreme early hours of the morning, and they set down on dock by a decrepit, rusty ironclad ship seemingly populated with rag-clad, hunched figures. Once on the docks, Wolf announces he is off to finalise arrangements for their mercenary work here, while Wyshira heads off to the city's temple to Ishrak and Kaerval heads for the renowned Opera House of Iril. They arrange to meet in an inn called the _Mirrorscales_ later on that day - a place Kale has been before. Iril is home ground for the young man, his family being Corinthian and affiliated to the Irilsons.

Once they're alone, Kale insists Wolf takes him with him: *"I'm coming with you.  I think it's time, I need to learn, and anyone willing to tolerate your presence shouldn't have too much of a problem with me."*  Kale ends on a slighly humorous note, hoping that his insisting demeanor will solve problems, not cause any.  More than any other place, Kale feels connected and therefore a little threatened by Iril.* 'It's time I walk into jobs with my eyes open,'*  Kale thinks as he regards Wolf's stone gaze.

Wolf pauses for a moment before responding cryptically. *"As you wish. But don't expect me to explain everything you're going to see, because there are some things that I'm not allowed to explain to you. Not yet, anyway."*

*It'll be easier if I just cut-and-paste in the next few sections of posting...*

_Down a street here, along there, up the lane there... Wolf seemed to know his way around the Waterfront Quarter of Iril very well for a Cryosian. The district was beginning to awaken into activity now, but Wolf ignored it all, apparently following some mental map with a good idea of where he was going.

Here the buildings were all tall, many storys high which leaned out over the narrow streets to increase the gloom. The occasional tavern or shop sign creaked over the entrance to one or another decrepit building, and it was into one of these that Wolf stepped - the sign above anouncing it to be an 'Alchymist'.

Within was even darker than without; the smell was musty and chemical, dark shelves covered with odd bottles and strange objects. Thick cloth drapes
hung down off the walls, and the entrance into the back was covered with beaded strings that allowed easy passage but prevented vision through.

As the mercenaries stepped in, a rusty bell attached to the door jingled and a hoarse voice from out back called "I'm a'comin', sod it, what're people wantin' this time of the day?" the question at the end more of an irritable muttering to the speaker than a direct request for information from the two men. Kale had a few moments to look around better and see just how bizarre this place really was - racks of odd vials full of strange liquids, marked with labels such
as 'antitoxin - very effective against snake bites', or 'antibiotic - use for blinding sickness treatment', or even 'concentrated sulphuric acid - useful in bio-chymical reaction methods or for heat gyneration in machinery'.

Then the shopkeeper came through.

In the dark it was hard to make him out - a hunched figure, yet still very tall, covered in long, dark and tatty robes with some sort of large... well, thing on his back. The head...

The shopkeepers features were not human at all, but avian. A long, vicious beak led back to the fierce eagle eyes of someone who definitely was not a man, though only a few feathers clung to his mangy skin. The long, spindly arms that protruded from the robes and folded in front of the bird-man were tipped with jagged claws. The 'thing' on his back was the folded wings, also tatty and lacking many feathers.

The bird-man looked decrepit and unhealthy but at the same time strangely menacing and powerful, all rolled into one enigma. It eyed Wolf curiously.

The mercenary rolled up one sleeve and showed the bird-man a tattoo on his arm - something Kale had seen before but never commented on. It was a sword, inked in azure blue.

The bird-man nodded, cackled, and showed his palm to the two men - on which was tattooed an identical image. *"It's still me, Wolf, and good ta see it's still you too,"* it sputtered.

*"Yeah, well, I'm surprised you haven't keeled over yet, you mangy old crow."

"Still a few thousand years left in this old bird, just you remember that; I'll outlast all of you mortals in the Blades, heh."

"Only because we got your arse out of the fire previously, otherwise you'd be some devil's dinner by now. I wonder if they like roast chicken in hell?"

"Gah, nice to see you haven't cheered up any. Who's this; new blood?"*

The bird-man reached out and prodded Kale with one spindly claw - the simple push had considerable strength behind it though, not the kind of might Kale would expect from a sickly old avian creature.

*"Maybe - that's Kale. He's with me."*_

The player's reply post (amusingly titled - *Vyagra - Good for the Homelyfe* 

_Streets and alleys and storefront signs. Alchymist... Wolf knew his way around Iril a lot better than Kale.  Turning up here could be of additional advantage- there were a few alchemecal concoctions Kale was hoping to obtain, and this seemed just the place. *'But business first.'* They entered an old dusty shop, announced by the obligatory jingly bell.  Equally obligatory, it seemed were the muttered complaints reserved for customers who choose to visit at such early hours.  Kale followed the model to imagine a portly old man come out to help the two. Instead, he saw a spindly... bird man? who had a look that made troublemakers think twice. Acids, liquids, cures, 'snake oil,' and a bird man, an old friend of Wolf's apparently. Kale watched with straight face at the truly unusual exchange between them. Sword tattoos, thousands of years, 'Blades', talks of old times...  *"Who's this?  New blood?" * and Kale jerked, surprised that he was noticed.  Jerked again, surprised by the thing's poke.

"Maybe- that's Kale.  He's with me."  Kale simply nodded, mind wandering about what in the world that 'maybe' entailed..._

At this point the bird man seems to weave a couple of spells and his eyes gleam with magic as he peers at the young man - mentioning afterwards that they seem to have _'quite the well-intentioned young man here.'_ He also notes that Kale is interested in his stock, and the young mercenary kicks himself for being so obvious.

My next post:

_The avian cackled, swinging its head back to focus on Wolf again as the mercenary smiled faintly. *"So what's up, Garadas? Anything I should know about?"*

The avian gestured to Kale. *"Not much while he's standing around, but a few things I'll tell you later."

"And that job I was told about in Jormungand?"

"Eh, yes, I'd heard from Tobias you'd showed up in that place and been asking around. Well, short of it is that orcs've been raiding out of the Khaya-Dan mountains and torching villages - anyway, seems they've got aid above and beyond a few big sticks. Human wizards helping them or somesuch."

"Pendarme got in on the act quickest and found a survivor in one village - a wizard. No-one knows whether he's one of the humans aiding the orcs or just a poor bloody innocent sod who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Anyway, Pendarme have him and are planning to question him under clerical supervision at the temple of Solanthar. Now, thing is, there are plenty of people hunting around at the moment who want the wizard out of the picture. Seems there's someone wanting to have him killed off, and a few merchant houses who reckon his disappearance might be a big embarrassment for Pendarme. So's we hooked up with some employer who just wants the wizard taken the hell out of Iril but not actually harmed."

"Anyway, good chance for us. We can get hold of the wizard for ourselves and find out from him a bit more about what's going on in the Khaya-Dan. When they take him over to the temple, just ambush them and get the man out of there - he should be pretty willing to come along. No need to kill any of the guards though. You're working for that Truth Seeker in Naseria after this, aren't you? Well, since you'll be wanting to move promptly after this little job to let things die down for a bit, then just send whatever you find out back to us from over there; you know the people there, after all, don't you?" Wolf nodded.

"Anyway, the wizard's being taken to the temple tomorrow evening, I think it's something like six or eight Pendarme guards with him. Shouldn't be
a problem for you. Get him, get out. Like I said, no need to kill any of the poor sods either."*

The avian paused for a moment, runnong over what he had just said. *"Sounds like everything, I think - oh, pay, of course. The employer's putting up a hundred gold for each of you for this."

"Any idea who's the employer?"

"Yeah, some minor merchant family I think, probably hoping to get in the favour with their patron house by this. Doesn't matter anyway - we checked the guy out, he seemed genuine enough. All he knows is that some mercenaries are doing the job."

"Kaverail Kavas got their nose in this?"

"Don't think so. They seem pretty quiet at the moment."*

Wolf paused in thought for a moment as the avian creature tpped its claws together.

*"Okay, we're up to it I think. Consider it done - you'll hear from me when we make it to Naseria."*

The avian creature gave an expression that Kale assumed was a grin, then swung its head back to peer at him with those fierce eyes again. *"So, Kale, what're you wanting from my,"* he spread his spindly arms wide, a gesture taking in the whole shop, *"humble abode?"*_

For a moment there, Kale thought the bird-man was going to finish by saying 'nest'...


----------



## Easter

Hi guys,

Melisande here.  Didn't check this board for a while and was impressed to find so many of you here.  It's a party!  

By the way, the "Grab your torch and pitchforks" was indeed a reference to Shrek.   I just don't see ogres with same eye since then.  

I continue to be amazed at the quality of the DM and the players in this game.  It's too great.  What a privilege to be among you--and to think I almost didn't make it, being the eighth player accepted...   Anybody know what Carnifex decided on the 9th guy?

Hey Oak, you're doing great with Meg'anna.  There is so much room for mischief with her spontaneous signing that I can't help myself at moments... This should be great fun... But just holler if I get annoying.

Anybody else think there may be a connection with what Garadras the Planesurfing Bird-Man said about umbramancy and the shadow-demon that gave Melisande that "gift"?  And what Sandslipper is carrying and those spider-things?  Just curious if you have any thoughts...


----------



## Dark Raven

Carnifex has a lot on his plate with quite a few characters and threads to juggle. Unfortunately for me, I discovered roleplayinggames.net too late to join his campaign when it first started up. I respect his skills as a writer and as a DM and completely understand that he's overloaded at the moment so he's decided not to take on a ninth player.

Maybe later on once he has everyone grouped together into one manageable thread, he can include me and my character. For now though I'm enjoying just reading everyone's posts. I do hope I get the chance to join you all at a later date. Keep up the good work. 

- Raven (the hopeful 9th)


----------



## Wyshira

To Easter:

I _try_ not to think too much about the other threads, because it is sometimes hard for me to separate what I know from what my character knows.  I have been reading them though, mainly because I really enjoy them!  And I also don't want to miss anything important about the other characters that Wyshira ought to know someday.  (I mean things like obvious character traits.)

But, now that you mention the shadow connections, hmmmmm.......


----------



## Easter

Wyshira,

Very true--it's a constant challenge to keep oneself rooted in the mind of a character when posting, and discussing things OOC would probably make it infinitely more difficult, but sometimes I get overexcited about these mysterious connections....

By the way, when re-reading the character descriptions I noticed that Wyshira is only 5 feet tall--I was imagining her a little taller in that battle with the Sahuagin!  Keeping in mind that Princess Leia wasn't any taller but was one tough cookie, of course.

Dark Raven--glad to have heard from you.  All I know is Carnifex was impressed with your application... 

Hope to see you on the boards soon--whether in this game or another one.


----------



## topcat

Greetings. I am Burl's creator. This is my initial post, therefore it will be short. I want to thank Chris for allowing me into his game. It is the best game that I have played in so far and has all indications of continuing as such.


----------



## Bulges

Do you other ladies know that this is the first game I have been in (real life and online) where I am not the only female gamer?

And I always read the other threads.  Sure, I have to be careful to not let MY knowledge pop into Sandslipper's head, but they are just so much fun to read.  I was getting scared when Burl was left alone at the Sicky Temple.  Psionics may be my new favorite class, but before that it was Wizards, so I was really rooting for him.

Like I said before, I am having loads of fun.  I can't wait to see what this is all about.

Julie


----------



## Carnifex

*Wyshira and Kale:*

Still in the shop of Garadas the alchemist avian, Kale purchases a couple of smokesticks and some tindertwigs for cheap prices, intending to try and make some sort of smoke bombs with them; as well as a vial of some sort of fluoric acid in a _very_ secure container. He also shows the brid-man his brine blade and shadow ring, hoping the creature might be able to enlightnen him a little on the nature of both.

After some experimentation, Garadas is able to certify that the inert oily substance on the sword only becomes corrosive when used _ with the intent to attack someone_, rapidly reverted to a harmless substance otherwise - *"Saves you having to buy new scabbards every five minutes,"* he cackles.

When the ancient avian takes a look at the onyx ring, he has a little more to say.

*"I'm no wizard, but I recognise shadow magic when I see it. Umbramancy. On other worlds, in other planes of existence, shadow magic is just like another aspect of wizardcraft, drawing the semi-materium from the darkness to shape it to the casters wishes."

"Not so here. Ever since I came here, I have sensed it on the edge of periphery of my conciousness - shadows have pervaded this world for so long they are an integral part of it, working in ways I do not understand."

"Be careful, young human - this ring reeks of umbramancy. That's not in itself a danger, but be aware of the true nature of shadows - they have a connection with something ancient, something I have never encountered before, even in all my millenia."*

Kale is disturbed more than a little by this _( the player described it as 'the kind of feeling Kale gets when he thinks of ancient, ancient unknown powers? Think HP Lovecraft, Call of Cthulu. Lovely. =)' - which is exactly how I wanted it to be )_. There were always old horror tales about ancient, unknown forces, beyond the scope of the politics and power of humankind - but they were *just* tales, weren't they? The thought there might be more to them than just flights of fancy was chilling...

Leaving the 'Alchymist' they ehaded back to the _Mirrorscales_ via the marketplace, Kale picking up some weapons and equipment as they went.

Meanwhile Wyshira had visited the Iril temple of Ishrak, making a small donation of money to thank the Storm Lady for the successful voyage, and speaking to one of the Deacons to see if there was any need for her services. She asked the man about the Pendarme family, and he supllied her with a few details:

_ - Pendarme are one of the really powerful merchant families at the top of the Corinthian power structure.

 - The current head of the family, Lord Morgrin Pendarme, is half-elven. Both parents died from disease a few years ago.

 - Morgrim is young, inexperienced, but also very ruthless.

 - His elven aunt, the sister of his mother, is still around and helping him> She's a very strange fey with gray skin and hair. She claims to be from House Fayen, one of the noble sorcerous houses of Naseria in the west, and is reputed to indeed be a powerful sorceress.

 - Her mysterious consort, Tewlcroghen, is rumoured to be a powerful wizard.

 - Pendarme have many mercantile interests but concentrate on weapons, armour, and similar goods._

The deacon also indicates that in general, he feels it wise to stay out of the politics of Iril, though apparently the high priest differs with him on this.

Having finished in the temple, she heads over, early, to the _Mirrorscales_. Sitting there and waiting she thinks on the nature of the crystalline globes - they're hollow, so maybe you don't crush them, they float?

Ordering a glass of water, she gently drops one in, and watches it 'clink' on the side of the glass as it bobs around. There doesn't seem to be any other effects though.

*Burl:*

After checking the regressing infection in his leg, Burl heads down to the kitchen to grab something to eat. He also tries to see what information he can extract from the staff there. but they aren't very talkative to him and he learns little.

Then, when he exits the kitchen and heads off towards Tewlcroghen's chamber, one of the strange black men he had seen before stops him to speak with him. Looking at the being now, he can see that it has slitted, reptilian eyes along with all the other strange features - the claws, the teeth, the gray-black skin...

It has a deep and powerful but almost sibilant voice when it speaks.

*"You're Burl, aren't you? Master Tewlcroghen bade me speak with you, since he has business at the moment and requires privacy."*

The reptile-man fills him in on what is going to happen that evening when Burl is taken to the temple of Solanthar. The mercenaries Tewcroghen has hired will strike the armed guard around Burl, and he is given a scroll of _sleep_ to help take out as many as possible without danger of bloodshed. He also says that the mercenaries are *not* aware that it is Pendarme they are working for, to make the entire facade as believable as possible.

Once they are done in conversation, Burl heads down to Tewlcroghen's chamber, determinde to find out just *who* the strange reptile-men really are, along with a load of other questions for his patron.

*The Five in the Cave:*

The battle with the ogres is short and brutal. Ebri and Seb move to head the beasts off to give the others time to escape, but everyone pitches into the fight. Each swipe of an ogres greatclub could spell death for any of the party members, it is clear, but by luck the only person to be hit is Ebri who takes a glancing blow from a club - and to everyone's amazement, stays standing. In retaliation, she explodes into a flurry of unarmed attacks, kicks and punches sending her foe reeling as throwing axes, crossbow bolts and slingstones zip towards the monsters. A dire rat conjured by Meg'anna manages to tear a chunk out of one ogres leg before being crushed to pulp, then one ogre collapses dead.

The other quickly backs off to the mouth of the cave, bellowing for reinforcements. It's clear the party can't escape through the main entrance, so when Mel reveals to the rest the possibility of escape through the underwater tunnel they jump at the opportunity.

Sandslipper finds the experience of being immersed in water particularly unpleasant, but fortunately as they press against the faint current, the tunnel in the pool is extremely short before it rises up into another cavern beyond the cave wall. This one is almost pitch black, only a little light refracting through via the underwater tunnel, but those with darkvision can see that this chamber is stalagmite and stalagtite ridden and dripping with moisture. The pool of water which they rose out of once out of the underwater tunnel takes up most of the floor, and there's a tunnel leading off that's clearly artificial and carved out of the rock. A rusty, decrepit iron gate blocks it a few metres down.

A _light_ spell from Meg'anna quickly illuminates the place for everyone, and the soaked  party plan their next move...


----------



## Carnifex

*Next Update Coming Soon:*

 - Melisande gets one hell of a shock - _they're watching you..._

 - The mercenaries make their plan to break Burl free, drawing upon old tales and stories for inspiration...

 - Burl finds out who the hell the Black Hunters are...


----------



## Carnifex

*Some Spells*

Well, I thought I'd post some of the special spells I've created for the campaign onto the Story Hour thread; some of the low level Cryomancer and Manipulator spells. Sadly the file with most of the spells on it is currently somewhat incapacitated - I wrote it on a word processor, and for some reason the computer I'm on at the moment doesn't like it one bit. I'll have to wait for my laptop to get back from being mended before I can detail the rest of the cryomancer spells, like Ice Spray (a level 1 cryomancy staple). I wont post the higher level spells here - I want to keep them a surprise!

Please, I'd love to hear comments and suggestions!

*Two Low-Level Cryomancy Spells:*

*Frostglobes*
Conjuration [Cold]
Level: Sor/Wiz 2
Components: V, S
Casting Time: 1 action
Range: Medium (100 ft + 10 ft / level)
Duration: 1 minute / level, or until all globes are expended
Saving Throw: None
Spell Resistance: Yes
The Frostglobes spell conjures up one globe of icy white cold per caster level, which can then be hurled at targets within range. The caster can attack with Frostglobes instead of a normal weapon each round until she runs out or the spell duration expires, requiring a ranged touch attack to hit with each globe. On a successful hit, a globe deals d6+1 cold damage to the target.

_Now that I look at this one again, one globe per level seems a bit powerful, especially since I put no upper limit on the number of globes. Maybe one globe every two levels might be more balanced._

*Ice Armour*
Abjuration [Cold]
Level: Sor/Wiz 1
Components: V, S, M
Casting Time: 1 action
Range: Personal
Target: Self
Duration: 1 minute / level
Saving Throw: None
Spell Resistance: Yes (Harmless)
This spell creates an armour made of sparkling, translucent ice around the wearer, that can absorb damage and fend off fire. The Ice Armour weighs nothing, and does not encumber or restrict the wearer in any way. It provides damage resistance 5/ +1 and absorbs the first 5 points fo fire damage each round. However, after it has absorbed a total of 25 damage from fire or attacks the ice armour shatters and melts away.

_I've already significantly modified this one in the campaign so far - the corsair mage cast it on the sahuagin captain, whereas this original version of the spell has only 'self' range> I also screwed up with how much damage it could absorb - I seemed to remember it being only 5 points of physical damage, whereas this says 25. On reflection, 25 points of damage seems a bit much for a level 1 spell, so perhaps ten or fifteen?_

*Some Manipulator Spells:*

These spells are mostly still just vague, unlike the cryomancy spells which I wrote a while back. The inclusion of Manipulation into the campaign was a much more recent decision. In game, the bio-thaumaturgical alteration of living things is done via a combination of the Knowledge (Manipulation) skill and the appropriate spells - but these spells also have battle-field applications...

*Agonise*
Sor/Wiz 1
Inflicts d6+1 subdual damage on a target within Medium range. Like Magic Missile, it increases at 3rd, 5th, 7th and 9th level, each time by another d6+1. Agonise works by simply jacking straight into the nervous system and flodding it with pain signals. It has laboratory applications in testing the pain threshold of subjects.

*Bonewrench*
Sor/Wiz 1
This spell requires a ranged touch attack to hit - it emits a pulsing white ray. If it hits the target, they're afflicted with agony as their bones wrench and attempt to deform. This inflicts  a –1d6 enhancement penalty to Dexterity, with an additional –1 per two caster levels (maximum additional penalty of –5). The subject’s Dexterity score cannot drop below 1. It has laboratory applications in the long-term alteration and manipulation of a subjects bone structure (albeit a very painful method, but then Manipulators rarely care about the comfort of their subjects).

_A sort of Ray of Enfeeblement for Dex instead of Strength _

*Boneshatter*
Sor/Wiz 2
A more brutal form of the Bonewrench spell, this one pulses so much power through the subjects bones that they begin to shatter and deform, badly injuring the subject. As well as the enhancement penalty to Dex that Bonewrench inflicts, Boneshatter also inflicts d6 damage per two levels of the caster (max 5d6).

*Flesh No Barrier*
Sor/Wiz 3
When this spell has been cast, the Manipulator can push his hand through flesh as though it were dough to be kneaded between his fingers. With obvious laboratory applications, it also makes for an effective - and gruesome - attack spell.

Once cast, the wizard need merely make a touch attack to sink his hand into the subject. On a success he can thrust his hand into the body of the target, rending and disrupting muscles and grabbing hold of bones. This touch attack deals d6 damage/2 levels to a max of 5d6, and in addition may choose to deal either d6+1 Dexterity damage or d6+1 Strength damage to the target, Should the wizard have this spell active and attempt to make a grapple attack, they can simply grab hold of a bone and anchor themselves with it until they want to let go, giving them a +4 circumstance bonus to the grapple check!

_Inspired by 'Perdido Street Station' where the bio-thaumaturge attacks the main character like this... _

There are plenty more bio-thaumaturgy spells in the works (such as Bio-Shutdown, Nerve Surge, Adrenal Imbalance and Bio-Acclimatisation), along with some other cryomancer spells (such as Freezing Fog and Frost Field), plus lots of other spells I've just created myself anyway  (such as Baatorian Barb Blast or Deflect). They'll turn up at various points during the campaign, and as they do so I'll probably provide stats for them. At some point I may also post some of the special PrC's onto the board, such as the Cryomancer and Flame Guildsman.


----------



## Berandor

*Re: Some Spells*



			
				Carnifex said:
			
		

> *Frostglobes
> *




I'd max this at 5 globes, 1/2 levels. Perhaps 1/level.


> *
> Ice Armour
> *




Way too good for me. Level 1, DR AND Resistance.
At least cap it to 5 points absorbed per (2) levels, maximum 25.


> *
> Agonise
> *




I like that, though I hope it's got a save or to hit roll. Otherwise, it's even better than magic missile.


> *
> Bonewrench
> *




That one, I like. Though the "minus" is useless because you state it is a penalty.


> *
> Boneshatter
> *




Also very nice... and evil  Still, I'd make this damage either dependen on a save (Fort half) or give it an energy type, because otherwise it's way better than other 2nd level spells, stacking damage and circumventing damage reduction.


> *
> Flesh No Barrier
> *




This seems weaker than Boneshatter. Howabout requiring a Fort save (partial) or be wracked in pain for 1d4+1 rounds? Pain could be stunned, or...

B


----------



## Carnifex

Thanks for the comments Berandor! I'll do a reply post to them sometime soon, but right now I need to write some message board posts in the game itself  However, I'll just put here the list of ideas for Manipulator spells that the player of Melisande just sent me. Note that these are exactly how she's written them, with no alterations as yet by me - italic text is by me though!

Sense Physiology (Sor/Wiz 0)
While the caster concentrates on the subject, she is able to sense basic physiological states such as:
- heart rate / hypertension (useful but not 100% reliable for detecting lies for example)
- disease
- fatigue
- pain
- arousal
- unnatural effects such as drugs, poisons, body-affecting spells, manipulation, etc.

_Need to be careful with this one - I don't want it to be too powerful as a kind of combined detect lies/detect poison/whatever spell._

Diagnose (Sor/Wiz 1)
This is like Sense Physiology but much more precise in the information gleaned.  The caster would be able to sense, for example, a tumor that the subject is not aware of; subtle changes of humor; exactly what kind of drug/poison/spell may be at work in the subject; what is the source of pain/disease.

Sedate (Sor/Wiz 1)
The opposite of Agonise.  Causes subject to ignore pain.  Can be soothing but can also lead subject to aggravate serious wounds he/she is unaware of.  Heals 1d6 subdual damage?

_I have a spell similar already in the works, amongst the ones I haven't yet posted on here, except that it grants temporary hit points._

Reduce Immunity (Sor/Wiz 1)
This spell is used in Manipulation labs to stop immune rejection of a graft, but it can also be cast in battle to lower an opponent's resistance to disease-causing agents, and/or to slow down regeneration and healing.

_I like the idea of this one perhaps being useful against regenerator/fast healing opponents, and it fits well with the background - by lowering a subjects immunity, Manipulators can test out disease effects more efficiently on test subjects._

Metabolise (Sor/Wiz 1)
This spell does not have the same effect as Haste, but is more like a dose of arcane amphetamines.  Body functions involved in "fight or flight" are increased for X rounds, granting the subject +1 to strength, dexterity and wisdom (for increased alertness) for the duration of the spell.  Alternately, the spell can be used to speed natural healing (gain of one hp without resting / extra hp while resting).  May also be used to "slow poison" something like the clerical spell, or to sober up an intoxicated subject.  No matter how the spell is used, the subject will have to deal with the "low" after the spell's effect wears off (-1 to str for x rounds?).

_Interesting, though as it stands, with the slow poison effects and everything, perhaps a little powerful?_

Graft (Sor/Wiz 2)
A higher-level spell that, with a body part provided, allows the caster to temporarily graft the body part to a subject.  After a certain time the graft withers and dies and the subject is weakened for a short period.  Can be used to add a third eye somewhere, add claws, wings, fangs, fur or extra limbs...

_I like the diea of this in a way, but it doesn't quite work with Manipulators, I'd think, who'd just surgically attach a graft. Potential abuse with slapping on extra limbs? Not sure..._

Affect Physiology (Sor/Wiz 1)
Allows the caster to affect certain minor physiological states, such as:
- heart rate (to make the subject more or less nervous than usual, for example)
- provoke hunger/thirst
- provoke arousal
- cause fever
- lower blood pressure (dizziness, weakness)
  This could be used to break another spellcaster's concentration using DC vs concentration check, for example.  Also, a very high level version of this spell could be deadly.

_Interesting, and fits well with Manipulators. In terms of high level spells, well, there are several in the works which kill through overloading physiological aspects._


----------



## Berandor

Should I transfer my posts to general??



			
				Carnifex said:
			
		

> *
> Sense Physiology (Sor/Wiz 0)
> *




well, make it like normal detect spells.
Round 1: heart rate, fatigue, arousal
Round 2: pain, disease
Round 3: any unnatural effects.

Note that round three doesn't discern the exact nature of effect (Poison or drug or spell).
Also, spell works only on creatures, not objects (like a bottle of wine).


> *
> Diagnose (Sor/Wiz 1)
> *




That seems all right to me.


> *
> 
> Sedate (Sor/Wiz 1)
> *




Ignore wounds - stays functionable for up to 2 points per caster level, max 10. (So at level three, the subject would be able to act while at -5 hp. 0 hit points would be the first hit point affected, so maximum would be -9 hp, -10 dead.)


> *
> 
> Reduce Immunity (Sor/Wiz 1)
> *




Touch attack. Reduces either
1 point of energy resistance / caster level (max 10)
1 point of damage reduction / caster level (max 10)
1 point of regeration / 2 caster levels (max 5)

Needs a short duration, like 1 round/level or better 1 round / 2 levels.


> *
> Metabolise (Sor/Wiz 1)
> *




Slow poison efect definitely too powerful. Second level spell.

The subject gains a +1 bonus per caster level, divided among Strength, Dexterity, and Wisdom, in this order. Level 20 would give +7 to Strength, +7 to Dex, and +6 to Wis. (duration 10 minutes/level)
Or, can give normal healing without rest, or double healing with rest. (duration: special - 1 sleep)
Or, can induce comatose effect that stops body functions. Poison is stopped, no more bleeding, no breathing needed. (duration: 1 minute/level)


> *
> Graft (Sor/Wiz 2)
> *




Very difficult. Can be used for weapons, to hide items, etc. There is a psionic power called "Graft Weapon":
_Level - 5
You permanently attach any weapon onto the end of one of your arms. The weapon becomes a natural extension of your arm, and that hand is nowhere to be seen. You add a +1 to attack and damage with the weapon (if you are proficient with it). Weapon becomes subject to effects that don't affect equipment. Effects that enhance unarmed attacks work on this weapon.
You receive a -2 on skill checks requiring hands. Effects that polymorph or transform can ignore the weapon or not, at your discretion. If your weapon takes damage, you take damage as well. If you are healed, the weapon is, too. If your weapon is destroyed, you lose 2 points of Constitution until the weapon or the natural anatomy is restored.
If you use this power again, you can change weapons of regain your hand._

I think the suggested spell is not permanent, but enables much more things...


> *
> 
> Affect Physiology (Sor/Wiz 1)
> *




I somehow like this spell.


Berandor


----------



## Carnifex

A reply to Berandor:

*Frostglobes and Ice Armour:* Both good suggestions, I think I'll implement them.

*Agonise:* I may reduce it to just d6 subdual damage. No save or roll to hit - after all, it's only subdual damage...

*Bonewrench and Boneshatter:* The bit with the minus is basically just taking the wording directly from the SRD for the Ray of Enfeeblement spell. On the matter of Boneshatter, I may ramp down the damage to d4's or something.

*Flesh No Barrier:* One of the advantages of this spell is that, unlike the others so far, it *can* knock down Str or Dex to 0. That alone makes it pretty nasty, IMO... with Boneshatter ramped down a bit it makes it comparatively a better spell.

Thanks, your comments have been really useful. I'll go back and work on these some more now.


----------



## Easter

Wow--thanks for the comments, Carnifex and Berandor.  You can tell I haven't got the game mechanics down quite, and I really appreciate the input.  Great ideas on making these spells playable.

As for "Affect Physiology", as Carnifex says, it might be better to keep that one just a low-level spell and have the higher-level spells be specific to a certain system, like Carnifex's Nerve Surge (can't wait to see that one!).  Another idea might be a high-level spell that blasts your blood pressure through the roof--instant stroke, or even meaty stuff like heads exploding (I'm in the middle of Guy Gavriel Kay's Tigana and enjoyed an intense head-explosion scene).

"Sense Physiology" is not meant to be a powerful spell by any means.  If the subject is poisoned, diseased, or magically weakened, the caster should not be able to sense more than that something is vaguely wrong.  The lie-detection ability is intended to be quite limited as well--might give a small bonus to Sense Motive checks, for example, but otherwise isn't reliable enough to be trusted.  (There are lots of reasons why someone's heart may be beating fast when they're talking, particularly in Acrozatarim!)

Given more thought, "Graft" seems like it's too easy in light of what Manipulators do in their labs all day.  Maybe it should be higher level and very short duration (a few rounds max before the graft just falls off).  One limitation is that the extra body parts must be available for grafting.  If this spell can be worked out so it's playable, I'd like to keep it for my wish list.  I guess you could say it's growing on me.  Freaky range of possibilities.

There are a few more ideas brewing but I'm realizing that some of these could easily be used against me or my beloved at some point...  

Thanks again, you guys!  This is so cool.


----------



## Wyshira

Oh, Tigana!  I really enjoyed that book.  There is this one scene that had me just bawling my head off on my lunch hour one day at work - it was embarassing!  I've read a few other books by Kay, and they were good too, but not as good as Tigana.  You'll have to let me know what you think of it.

Oops.  Sorry.  Off topic.


----------



## Wyshira

Just when you think it can't get any weirder is right!  I can't wait to see what the gang in the cave thinks of that talking skull thing.

And I can't wait to see if the priestess and the Shadow Man (that's what I'm calling Kale these days) can manage to rescue Burl...  Things are getting very exciting!


----------



## Carnifex

*The Five in the Cave:*

The party in the cave sets about drying themselves off a little, and Ebri heals herself a little with divine magic, refusing Melisande's offer of the rest of her healing potion - as the divine energy flows into the woman there's the gristly crunch of broken bones shifting back into position.

It seems that for the time being at least, they're safe, and Mel takes advantage of this to show her eye emblem amulet and vial of evocation shadowstuff to Meg'anna and Ebri, since they're both also spellcasters. No-one can puzzle out the shadow-in-a-bottle, but Ebri recognises the emblem as being the holy symbol of the Great Prophet, which she describes as a rare fringe cult. She's very interested in how Melisande came about it but before the aasimar can elaborate she suddenly realises she's being scryed. The apprentice bio-thaumaturges were trained to recognise the sensation of scrying spells back in the labs, and she is totally sure that's what she's experiencing now.

She panics, trying to pull the amulet off, but the clasp wont undo. Ebri acts more rationally, trying to calm Mel by grabbing the eye emblem and enclosing it in her fist. *"Now it can see nothing, for the moment at least,"* she says, while questioning the upset sorceress as to how she came about the thing. Of course, she has no idea whether simply putting a hand over the eye will block the scrying but she hopes it will serve to allay the fears of the others and encourage calm thought. Mel describes how she came across it and the potions in the forest, a present from the shadow-figure - *"It was a gift--a knife offered handle last, as they say in Carthagia."* But as Ebri points out, it may be genuinely for her own good - they just don't know.

To make sure, they wrap in in a strip of cloth torn off Seb's trousers, and he offers to try and cut the chain of the unremovable amulet with his glaive. Even with a quick _reduce_ spell to make the weapon a better suited size for the job, it proves impossible to break the chain and all they succeed in doing is damaging the glaives keen edge.

In the meantime, Sandslipper had wandered over to the rusty gate blocking the tunnel out, and the heavy earth genasi had knocked it open with one kick - it crashed against the tunnel wall loudly. They'd thought nothing of it for a while, but then air current of cool breeze had begun to stir in the previously still room, and from down the winding tunnel sounds could be heard. Mel recognised the high-pitched voices that they could hear as speaking draconic, and getting closer.

Amid the sound of approaching skittering and high-pitched chatter, the sorceress picks out one particular commanding voice:

*"Whatever's down there, we'll kill it. Inform Asak to bring a war party and comb the tunnels if it evades us - nothing can defeat the Fire Snake! The silver head is with us, we are favoured, warriors! Good hunting!"*

Of course the others can't understand the draconic but they _can_ understand that the incoming creatures are now just around the corner, and they all flatten themselves as best they can amidst the stalagmites and against the cavern walls. Unfortunately it's too late to douse the _light_, and without it the humans wont be able to see anyway, so they know that whoever is approaching will know _something_ is wrong. Mel tries to misdirect the creatures, calling back in draconic in a high-pitched voice about 'ogres and dreadspawn in the outer cave', but it doesn't seem to trick the figures, which can now be seen as shadowy shapes scuttling round the corner, all short and gremlin-like though they can't be made out clearly yet. Their weapons glint in the light though, and they hurl alchemists fire and slingstones as they close in, the authoritative voice yelling *"Kill them!"* Fortunately none of the barrage hits any of the party, who are mostly shielded by cover and shadows. Sandslipper prepares to manifest _Skate_ on Sebastion, but avoids any more psionic manifestation than that because she needs reserves to keep her _Inertial Armour_ up.

Then, as the short figures surge forwards to attack, the leader holds up a strange silvery skull in one hand, yelling more encouragement.

To the shock of the party, the skull then opens its jaws - and begins to speak in common!

*"Ah, hello? Good to see some humans again, I must say. Watch out - the fellow holding me up here's a sorceror, I believe - just thought I should warn you!"*

*Wyshira, Kale and Burl:*

Wyshira, Kale, Kaerval and Wolf discuss plans in the _Mirrorscales_ over a meal. Eventually they settle on the following:

 - Wyshira will wear a hooded cloak so that her odd skin colour is not obvious, and will wear plain clothes rather than priestly so that they can't trace back any link to the temple of Ishrak. She then will run towards the soldiers guarding the wizard as they head through the streets, screaming for help, as Wolf charges after her.

 - Wolf pretends to be some brigand after Wyshira, with the hope he will draw the soldiers attention and perhaps even get some of them chasing off after him. By this point, Wyshira should be amongst the soldiers.

 - Kaerval and Kale will wait nearby in a side alley. When the confusion happens, Kaerval will cast a _sleep_ spell on the soldiers and Kale will sneak up to attack with his saps.

 - As Kale closes on the wizard to try and grab him and run, Wyshira will unleash an _Obscuring Mist_ spell to cover the getaway.

 - Then, everyone runs hell for leather out of there!

One development during the discussion is that Kaerval doesn't intend to leave with them. Instead, he wishes to remain in Iril because there are so many opportunities for him as a bard that he just can't afford to pass up.

The next day, Kale pays a visit to an Irilson clerk in a shipping administration bureau, armed with his letter of introduction from Captain Marsans. His aim is to get the Irilsons to make sure the mercenary unit he deserted from, the Fuldarian Auxiliaries, don't come after him, in return for which the Irilsosn get the services of a competent freelanceer whenever they want them. It also serves as an 'in' with his patron house without having to involve the Amegrion family at all, since he doesn't get on well with his parents. The meeting is short, the bureaucrat making vague and disinterested promises but at least it means that his request _has_ now been lodged, and will come to the attention of the relevant people eventually.

Both Wyshira and Kale then do a bit of information gathering, pulling up all sorts of interesting info about goings on in Iril. A bit later, the four meet up again at the north-western gate to prepare for their planned ambush.

Meanwhile Burl has been speaking to Tewlcroghen. His patron reveals to him that the strange black men are a mercenary company called the 'Black Hunters' that the Pendarmes have on retainer - they're all half-dragons, the children of some black dragon that was apparently killed, leaving its brood of halfbreed children with little other option than to strike out for their own. Tewlcroghen also tells Burl that if when he reaches Naseria he feels the need for aid, the Pendarmes have contacts within the noble House Fayen of that country, for Karai herself is of Fayen descent.

_House Fayen are one of the five sorcerous noble Houses that rule Naseria. In particular, House Fayen is entirely elven and rules the elven settlements of the Fayen forests that cover much of the north-west of that nation._

The necromancer stes to work trying to make another healing salve, and this time is successful, then decides to visit Karai and say his goodbyes. He finds the elf up in her laboratory-observatory, all sorts of strange equipment like orreries and astrolabes and telescopes littering the place, a large one grinding round on gears and cogs as it realigns itsel in the centre of the room. The place is covered in a dome of blue stained glass, and the elf is gracefully wandering around the lab in a veridian green dress when Burl enters.

They converse for a bit, the wizard attempting to discover more of just how Karai and Tewlcroghen fit into the scheme of things, for instance why he never sees his patron outside of the man's chamber, but Karai remains cryptic, hinting also that Tewlcroghen can move around outside his room without Burl ever realising it is him. The wizard also touches on the matter of the death of Karai's sister, Morgrims mother, but it is evidently a sore spot for the elven woman and she becomes businesslike and brittle in demeanour - though from what she did say, she doesn't seem to have approved of her sisters husband. Realising he's put his foot in it, the necromancer quickly beats a retreat and retires to his room to await the guards who will be taking him to the temple.

It gets rapidly darker, and by the time Burl and the eight tough, chainmail clad warriors exit the Pendarme residence it is drizzling and the winds are getting up. There's the promise of a storm ahead, and the guards pull their heavy, hooded cloaks tight around them. Meanwhile, in the spot of ambush on the street, Wolf and Wyshira wait in position, while Kale and Kaerval lurk in a nearby alley. The mercenary slips on his onyx ring and immediately the dense shadows cling to him, making him harder to percieve as the two men wait silently.

The drizzle turns into a downpour of rain amd the winds get up; Wyshira changes from being nervous over the ambush to being excited over the storm, her eyes beginning to shine with a slight inner light. The guards escorting Burl meanwhile are rather less observant than they might usually be, more caught up in their own misery at the awful weather.

Wolf spots the procession approaching the ambush site, and they make final preparations. As the guards pass by the alley where the two K's are hiding, a stray glance from Burl stares in at the strangely moving shadows there and he locks eyes for a moment with Kale.

Lightning crashes amidst the thick storm-clouds overhead, and the guards stop in confusion as through the poor visibility afforded by the rain, they see a cloaked woman come running towards them, screaming in terror about her pursuer. A shadowy figure lopes after her, blade glinting in the light.

Another flash of lightning silhouettes Wolf's form behind her, and with a hiss of steel the soldiers all draw blades. Yet they are still uncertain and confused.

Burl is confused too. He knows there will be an ambush, but surely the mercenaries wouldn't use a woman as bait? Yet he can't be sure, and worriedly tightens his grip on his scroll of _sleep_ that the Black Hunter had given him.

In the wind-blown street, torrential rain pouring down and hampering visibility, everything hangs on a knife-edge...


----------



## Carnifex

In the next update:

 - Kobolds, kobolds, everywhere!

Yes, kobolds, alchemists fire, one silver talking skull... and the Amazing Ninjitsu Ebri! And you thought things couldn't get any wierder...

 - The ambush in the back streets gets very, very complicated all of a sudden, because the mercenaries aren't the *only* ones after Burl...


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## Carnifex

Well, thankfully I finally have my laptop back from Toshiba! This means my files with lots of new spells, items, prestige classes and the proper rules for my monsters are back again, and I don't have to try and remember them and end up making mistakes! I may post the stats for the scything slayers up here soon, as a celebratory measure


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## Carnifex

Well, as promised, here're the proper stats for a scything slayer, as opposed to the ones I was guessing at earlier in the campaign  I trust my players enough that they wont metagame this knowledge, but even so I'll hold back the stats and stuff of most creatures unti, I feel that nothing much will be lost by revealing them here. And trust me, there are lots of new creatures in this campaign! So far alone we've had dreadspawn, brine beasts, scything slayers, lhazakk lizarffolk, drazhikar...

*Scything Slayer
Small Beast
Hit Dice:* 2d10+2 (13 hp)
*Initiative:* +2
*Speed:* 30ft
*AC:* 18 (+1 size, +2 Dex, +5 natural)
*Attacks:* 2 claws +3 melee
*Damage:* Claw 1d6+1
*Face/Reach:* 5 ft by 5 ft/ 5ft
*Special Attacks:* Rend 1d6+1, Sneak Attack
*Special Qualities:* Chameleonic, Corpse Concealment
*Saves:* Fort +4, Ref +4, Will +1
*Abilities:* Str 12, Dex 14, Con 12, Int 5, Wis 12, Cha 10
*Skills:* Hide +5*, Move Silently +6, Jump +5
*Climate/Terrain:* Any temperate
*Organisation:* Solitary or pair
*Challenge Rating:* 2
*Treasure:* Standard
*Alignment:* Always neutral
*Advancement:* 3-4 HD (Small)

Scything slayers, also called corpse trappers, are small, insectoid creatures that use corpses as bait for new prey. Standing nearly four feet tall, these six-limbed creatures bear a number of similarities to large praying mantises, including two scythe-like front claws with serrated edges that tear into prey. While they cannot fly, they do possess a tough and chameleonic carapace that lets them blend into the background, from which they can launch an ambush on unsuspecting creatures.

*Combat:*

A scything slayer usually sets up an ambush, using a previously slain corpse as bait. They then either use their chameleonic hide to wait nearby unseen, or use their Corpse Concealment ability to hide inside the corpse, waiting for an inquisitive or hungry creature to approach. They have a rudimentary understanding that gold and similar treasures seem to attract more prey, and so often place some on or around a corpse to make it more attractive to potential food. Once the target is in position, they try and sneak attack, and once battle is joined in full fight ferociously with their claws, although they are intelligent enough to understand when they are outmatched and should flee.

*Rend (Ex):* If a scything slayer hits with both claws in a round, it latches onto the opponent's body and tears the flesh. This attack automatically deals an additional 1d6+1 damage.
*Sneak Attack (Ex):* Scything slayers are instinctively skilled at ambushing unsuspecting victims, and can sneak attack for +1d6 damage in the same manner as a rogue.
*Chameleonic (Ex):* The carapace of a Scything Slayer is naturally chameleonic, blending with the surroundings to give a +10 racial bonus to Hide checks if the slayer remains still for one minute.
*Corpse Concealment(Ex):* Sometimes scything slayers actually hide themselves inside bait corpses, especially those that they have already partially eaten. They can only use this ability on corpses of at least medium size. Doing so gives an additional +5 circumstance bonus to hide checks, on top of their chameleonic bonus, and almost always results in a surprise round for the slayer as it bursts out of the corpse to attack the unexpecting target. Once a corpse has been used for this purpose once, then unless it is Large size or larger the damage done to it is too much and a new corpse must be found.


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## Carnifex

*The Five in the Cave: A Veritable Myriad of Kobolds*

There are a few moments of confusion amidst the party at the talking skull, then they leap into action. It's clear now that the creatures they are fighting are kobolds - small, reptilian yipping creatures, the one that the skull identified as a sorceror wearing a rich cloth that contrasts with the drab clothes of the rest. Ebri dives forwards into the oncoming horde, agilely dodging the spear thrusts and sword stabs of the kobold warriors to get right up to the sorceror; then with a quick chop of one hand she strikes him on the neck, stunning the spellcaster and sending it staggering. Meg'anna and Sebastion wade in after the dextrous woman, both taking hits from their diminuitive foes as Sebastion cleaves around with his glaive and the druidess stabs with her spear, the male warriors weapon striking true and hacking one kobold down. The kobolds lob more alchemists fire, this time hitting Sandslipper and burning her badly, while the return missile fire of Sandslippers sling and Melisandes bolt are both ineffectual.

The smell of cooking flesh and spilt blood begins to fill the cave. Melisande yells frantic commands as she wildly fires her crossbow again, urging Sandslipper into the water to douse the fire and screaming for someone to grab the skull - she thinks that the kobolds will be frightened without it. Sandslipper does as she is ordered without hesitation, feeling the cool water sooth her burn, while Ebri hits the sorceror in the throat, killing it, and grabs the skull out of its hands before the object can hit the floor. The kobolds around her angrily attack but she simply dodges their attacks; Sebastions armour holds against a spear-thrust, while the evidently demoralised kobolds are unable to injure Meg either.

Meg'anna wearily stabs away, killing one of the agile kobolds. Seb is longing for his two-bladed sword, thinking of the carnage he could cause then, but his attack strikes true anyway and decapitates a foe in a spray of blood. Thisis too much for the kobolds; with their leader dead and their numbers whittled down, they turn tail and flee, yipping and wailing as they disappear down the tunnel from whence they came.

The party settles down to lick its wounds, and fatigue begins to set in. Meg'anna casts _cure minor wounds_ on herself, and is now out of spells - she's physically drained, tired and dirty. Melisande's first thoughts are for the other injured members of the party, in particular the burned Sandslipper - much to the womans delight - but soon the fatigue sets in on her as well.

It's interesting to note the reactions of various party members to the carnage they've just partaken in. Ebri just feels detached, observing what had just happened as a necessity. Meg'anna on the other hand takes a moment to mutter a prayer to nature over the dead kobolds (admittedly as she searches the corpses for loot) - they too had a place in natures plan.

Ebri casts _cure minor wounds_ on Sandslipper, haeling her injuries a little. Meg'anna requests that they stop and sleep - she's really tired, but both Sebastion and Ebri agree it's an unwise move here, though a good plan once they can find somewhere safer - like out of these caves.

They take a moment to look at the silver skull that had so recently been talking. Ebri asks it whether it knows how to get out of the tunnels, setting it down on the ground, and as soon as it does so it hovers up into the air, eyes glowing blue.

It speaks again, in its strange, metallic voice.

*"Well, I'm afraid I can't help too much, since I don't have the full knowledge of the lay-out of this place. From what I have been exposed to of it, I can tell you that if you head down that tunnel you'll enter a network of caves and some old tombs that were probably here long before those creatures. It shouldn't be too far from here to a way out. I've spent most of my time here after my previous owner was killed in one of the tombs, where the creatures worshipped me - they must have thought I was some sort of sacred relic or something, as opposed to what I am, which is a mimir."*

Ebri asks it just what a mimir is, attempting to use Sense Motive on it on the basis that as a skull it was once human - but its voice lacks all the intonations that might aid her, and it has none of the body language of a humanoid. When it replies though, the voice has changed - now it's more distinct - a voice that sounds cheerful, amused, full of energy. A male voice, certainly, but not particularly deep - instead melodic and smooth.

*"Hello Morelli - or whoever it might be that has just acquired my old mimir. I have little doubt it'll be passed on from you, Morelli, to many others in turn - these things prove remarkable durable, and indeed as they get older, they are after all more valuable."

"Anyway, what you have here - be you Morelli or someone else - is a mimir. Consider a mimir as thus - a method of recording thoughts, memories, knowledge, or whatever else you might want, which you can then access again simply by asking the mimir about a particular subject."

"Now remember, the mimir can only tell you about what its heard before. So if you ask a certain Mimir about, say, the secret contents of Tarsheva Longreach's underwear drawer," the voice laughs mischievously, "it could only tell you what other people have said about it. Likewise, a Mimir who has been lurking in the background of Baatorian politics may know a lot about it. Of course, this mimir you are holding has only the information that myself and the other members of my adventuring party have recorded in it since I created it - but that's still a lot of useful things. And doubtless in the future it will have far more information recorded on it as well. Basically, the only way to find out exactly what the mimir knows on any one subject is to ask it about that matter."

"So basically, this Mimir can replay anything it's ever head over the course of it's long life, when asked about it."

"Note that I've also managed to work some simple divination magics into this one - once per twenty four hours, the mimir can, if asked, cast an augury in the manner that many priests are able to do. Useful, eh?"*

The skull pauses for a moment, then speaks again, declaring that it has been owned by three hundred and twenty seven individuals since its creation.

_Thanks to Piratecat and Kamikaze Midget for help with the mimir _


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## Ruined

Ah cool, a Mimir. It's been so long, I had sort of forgotten about the fun little buggers. Hmm, I've started a new campaign with players new to PS, so maybe this will be a good inclusion.

[ theRuinedOne attempts to pick pocket idea from Carnifex... ]

Keep up the good work!


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## Carnifex

Thanks, theRuinedOne! BTW, I love your Planescape story hour - anyone else reading this, check the link in his sig. and read it!

Anyway, with any luck another update soon, with the Five in the Cave's thoughts on their newly acquired object, and more from the mimir itself. Also, the results of the street ambush in dark Iril! - it only partially went to plan


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## Broccli_Head

Like the back and forth stories and am glad that you got Burl connected. Still trying to figure out how you are going to get the five in the cave together with Wolf's mercenaries. 

(good thing I subscribe to the PBEM!)


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## Carnifex

Broccli_Head: It'll all come together in a little while - barring anything really bizarre happening  always a possibility with these players 

Now, back to the *Five in the Cave...*

There're some very mixed reactions over the party's newly acquired mimir. Melisande is intrigued and excited, wanting to start asking it questions immediately but held back by the fear of kobold reinforcements returning soon. Sebastion on the other hand is highly suspicious...

*"One of you's a witch, right?"* he says, rather abruptly, *"Aren't you supposed to exorcise demons and... and... and twist undead, or whatever it is? You can't really believe that thing, you know, it belonged to the kobolds... anything that is smart enough to talk is smart enough to lie." *

This gets a poor reaction from the female spellcasters in the group 

*"I didn't mean anything by 'witch'... just, you know... women spell...worker... people..."* He trails off in an attempt to stop digging the pit any deeper.

Ebri agrees that it can't necessarily be trusted - although it assures them it is a constructed thing and not some form of undead - but also points out that she doesn't trust anything else she percieves with her senses very much. Sandslipper is pretty ambivalent about the silver skull - she's just generally slightly confused about the array of events that have befallen her in the recent past, and especially the last few hours.

Meg'anna on the other hand is pretty clearly horrified by it, taking pains to ignore its very presence and not talk to it. Apparently convinced that it is some foul undead thing, she makes sure to be at the opposite end of the marching order to whoever carries the mimir.

The party decides to set off again, needing to move before the kobolds return with reinforcements. Ebri makes an attempt to muddle and cover their tracks around the pool, but any competent tracker will be able to follow them easily and it's hardly seen as a priority by most of the group. As they travel down the tunnel, they eventually come to a series of carved, square rooms, tombs in fact, the walls and sarcophagi inscribed with writing.

A closer look reveals the writing to be in a very archaic form of the drakkath language (the language used mainly by wizards for arcane writings, replacing draconic for that function IMC). Both Ebri and Melisande can read it - it says:

*"Here we commemorate,"* and then strange symbols which neither woman has seen before, *"who perished in duty, giving his life in battle against the Reaver that the Abomination might be stopped. He is embraced back into the shadows, to serve as,"* again, more symbols that make no sense, *"on the ramparts of Law, in defence of the most sacred, as is his due reward."*

Ebri considers the memorial as a rather useless thing - serving no good to the one who it is supposed to commemorate. On the other hand, she resolves to think over the mention of _shadows_ in the inscription later on, for it interests her. Melisande gets the mimir to record the inscription, reading it out to the silver skull when she discovers that it is unable to read any language at all.

Meg'anna moves over to one of the tombs, trying to see if she can lift the sarcophagus lid off, but it seems to be firmly sealed and her attempt is to no avail.

There are faint noises coming from far off, through the other exit to the tombs, and Sebastion has Ebri ask the mimir whether the kobolds ever bring supplies through there. In response to the question the mimir speaks again, once again accessing a audial piece stored on it - this time speaking in a wheezy, nasal tone.

*"I've discovered an interesting alternate route into the kobold lair. It seems that a spring in a nearby cave allows access through an underground water passage into the rear of the clan-held territory! This could prove extremely useful, if a little damp, as a method of entry and escape. My continued observations of the kobolds lead me to believe that the Fire Serpent tribe are merely the guardian clan of the surface entrance. The honeycomb of caves seems to lead down into what may be a much larger, multiple-clan settlement, with possibly hundreds of kobolds down there. I've seen several pieces of old drilling equipment, possibly dwarven-made, both in rusting heaps and still in use, though now by the kobolds - it implies they must have at least some engineers present."

"I've located the Fire Serpent rod now. A kobold priest of Gilamesh wields it; from listening in on conversations it seems his name is Asak, and he is the leader of the Fire Serpents. He spends much time in the strange tomb-complex that forms part of the cave network."

"Observing these tombs has brought up several points of interest. I am unable to discern their exact origin, and the drakkath used is rather archaic. There are several inscriptions I am unable to translate, although one in particular mentions a rather ancient symbol that I seem to remember seeing in a lorebook a while ago. Since here in the field I lack my library, I cannot yet investigate this further, but I will be sure to check when I return home - I believe the text in question is Hathelberts Occult Manual Of The Celestial and Demonic. Hopefully recording this on the mimir means I wont forget that. In addition, I noticed on all the tombs a very small inscription of some emblem, an eye within a triangle within a circle."

"The tombs seem to be sealed by magic, which would explain why they haven't already been looted by the kobolds. Rather, they often come here to pray, led by Asak, but it is not reverent prayer s of the type they devote to Gilamesh. Rather, it seems more placatory, as if they are trying to appease the spirit of the place. The superstitious creatures seem to sense something unnatural about the place. It emans that there is rarely ever any traffic through the tombs, unless it is a party coming to pray - they do not make use of the water in the cave beyond the tombs. This is useful; with any luck, I'll be able to steal the Fire Serpent rod of Asak when he comes next comes to the tomb. I estimate it would take several hours for a war party to be collected from the lower clans deeper down into the caves."*

With the mimir having spoken its piece, Sebastion stops trying to warn Meg'anna off from opening the tombs - fearful of rousing undead - and points out that the kobolds will probably be along soon if they've lost a sorceror in the tunnels - at the very least, to appease the 'dark spirits' of the tomb. Melisande on the other hand feels a chill run down her spine at the mention of the emblem - the eye within the triangle within the circle. Suddenly she wants, more than anything else, to be free of shadow-demons and prophet cults and all that. Realising that Ebri seems to be the only one who knows anything about this 'Great Prophet' who's sacred symbol it is, she promises to tell the woman _everything_ about how she got her necklace in the first place, in return for the strang, quietly confident woman helping to disentangle her from whatever it - and these tombs - were. She also resolves to find the occult manual the mimir mentioned, to find out just what the symbol means.

Then she thinks over what else the mimir said - and realises that this 'Asak' must be the one the sorceror commanded someone to fetch - he and his Fire Serpent rod sound like they could be trouble...


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## Carnifex

Well, as a taster for when I finally get the *Wyshira, Kale and Burl* storyline updated on the story hour, Kale's player has just come up with a plan involving:

 - A grapnel

 - A horse and cart (in a market and with lots of foodstuffs on it, in true movie fashion)

 - A Carthagian priest in spiky armour

Consider it as fishing for clerics...


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## Broccli_Head

I have to say that I really liked what Kale did to the priest. That was great that you allowed him to do that.


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## Carnifex

*And at last...*

*Wolf's Company:*

Wyshira runs amidst Burl's convoy of guards, still pretending to be utterly terrified, and then chaos is unleashed. A _sleep_ spell from Kaerval and a sneak attack with two saps by Kale begins the fight, and as soon as Burl realises these _are_ the right mercenaries he uses his scroll as well. Combined with a timely and effective _cause fear_ from Wyshira, and five of the eight guards are already down, two now arrayed against Wolf and one against Kale. The heavy rain, thunder and appaling visibility means the defenders are demoralised, confused and more than a little scared - yet the party has been successful in not killing any.

As Wyshira grabs Burl to pull the necromancer off the street, there's the _zip_ of crossbow bolts. The guard fighting Kale falls to the ground dead, bolts sticking out of his throat and chest, as three cloaked figures slink out of a nearby alleyway. Seeing the newcomers, Wyshira makes an _obscuring mist_ descend over the battle.

With this cover, Wolf yells to the others to run, and they do so. There's a moment that would have been comical if it wasn't for the potentially lethal seriousness of the situation, with Kale yanking Burl in one direction and Wyshira pulling the porr wizard in the other. Once they get themselves sorted out, they just run - Burl knows the new cloaked figures are definitely not the people he was expecting because they killed a guard, and the next victim might well be him.

Arriving at the north-west gate to Iril, with no apparent pursuit, they meet with Wolf - who took a different path to get there. Kaerval has already disappeared off into Iril to begin the latest part of his career at the Iril opera house, so they quickly get a move on out of the city.

Wolf explains he has booked passage upriver on a boat that's waiting for them, and they set off immediately, some conversation occurring as they go. Burl finds Kale to be rather blunt, focused on the matter at hand - getting away from Iril and staying alive, rather than with politeness and pleasantries. Wyshira on the other hand is more talkative to the young wizard. Kale, for his part, finds the man's unfailing politeness somewhat odd, and he finds it hard to believe Burl's story of his part in the destruction of the village of Irlain, unless of course the man really _is_ as naive of Iril politics as his story portrays him to be.

They head down to the banks of the Saphrin river, boarding a barge vessel, and to the shock of the party members (except Wolf, who remains quiet, calm and focused all through this), a large, rusty metal engine at the rear of the boat kicks into action with a growling chug and begins to push the boat against the current, crew feeding in fuel to keep the boiler running. At first Wyshira is appalled but it doesn't seem like she has much other choice so she quickly settles down.

They spend the night protected from the rain by the covering of tarpaulin hung over some of the crates. Wolf is the first awake the next morning - Kale wondering whether the man slept at all, and the gray light of the new day finds heavy mists over the Saphrin river, fine drizzle pouring down.

Some tea is garnered from a big pot being heated over the boiler engine, and Burl goes to take a better look at the machine. As he does so he encounters Ungor Ferechan, the dishevelled and grimy gnome engineer who keeps the machine running, introducing himself as a 'metallo-thaumaturge'. This is much to Kale's disappointment - he liked the big steam engine for having a certain down-to-earth honesty, and now he finds out that it appears magic is involved even in this. Ungor explains to the inquisitive Burl that it's a Huronese make basic steam engine, though he's made his own 'enhancements' to it - though he admits they make it a little more, ahem _unstable_ at times.

Then the party sits down for some serious business - the future. Wolf explains that they'll enter the Sapphire, a large inland lake in Corinthia, in a few hours, wher they'll stop at the town of Halstath on its shores. From there, they'll arrange for means of travel across the Drakkath into Naseria.

Burl asks what is to become of _him_ now, a question that has been on the minds of all the party members. He mentions that he has an idea to visit Fayen in Naseria, and Wolf proceeds to make him a proposal. They're going to Naseria anyway, for mercenary work for a sorceror called Ecurius - and a mercenary party can always do with a wizard. Burl mulls over this with a bit, chatting with Kale - who points out to him the dangers of a mercenary life. Eventually the mage realises that if he wants to find the answer to his question - _do I accept Wolf's offer?_ - he just needs to look at what has happened on this short boat trip. He's learned a little about metallo-thaumaturgy, and encountered a new race (he found out that Wyshira was a water genasi). Who knows what else awaits him?

He decides to accept.

During this conversation, it comes out that Burl is a necromancer, initially provoking negative reactions from the others. The horrific Dread March a century ago is still indelibly ingrained in peoples minds. Yet he quickly makes it clear that he simply searches for a better understanding of the process of death, and while the others are a little unnerved, they accept it.

Kale is troubled though - why did Wolf make the offer to the wizard in the first place?

A while later, the vessel docks in Halstath...

_More to come later_


----------



## Carnifex

In the next update...

 - Wolf's mercenaries run into trouble with the brutal followers of the Carthagian war god...

 - The five lost in the caverns encounter Asak, and his Fire Serpent rod...


----------



## Carnifex

Well, the battles that the two parties are currently involved in have certainly thrown up a few surprises so far! Unfortunately it's taking ages before I can type a write-up, mainly because the Cavern Company is going rather slowlt at the moment. One player's ill, and I haven't heard from her in a little while, while two more are really busy (one's writing stuff for WotC!).

Hopefully soon though they'll trawl through it and I'll be able to bring the bizarre exploits of Kale to these boards


----------



## Wyshira

I myself can't wait to read it, written up all nice and neat in story format.  Having Kale in my group is proving to be interesting, to say the least.    I think if this Toranite cleric lives through the current encounter, Kale will have made an enemy for life!  (Not to give Carnifex ideas or anything...)


----------



## Stinky

*Enemy For Life*

Well, I think we can safely say that Kale has made an enemy for life, however long that life may be.  Kale's bag of tricks is going to run perilously low unless we learn some more information.  He knows that the cryomancers and flame guildsman may be in collusion, but he doesn't know about Tewlcroghen, or about how the Toranites may be involved.  Not cool.  Breeding inelligent orcs.  Not cool.

The party needs to book it to Naseria, hook up with Ecurius, and get Wolf's net of contacts out to see what's up.  Kale needs to develop a net of contacts himself, hopefully he'll live long enough to do so.

Well, I can say that we've performed very well for 1st/2nd level characters, but boy oh boy, things are going to catch up to us if we don't continue to be crafty.  Carnifex has all sorts of evil plans, we must come up with plans to thwart them...

Odds, anybody?

Something big is going down in the world, and Burl could be either a catalyst, or a monkeywrench.  Kale's voting monkeywrench, cuz he doesn't trust the machinations of all those folks involved in the current intrigue...

I think I know what Ebri is, and we can all agree the Tewlcroghen is up to no good.  How bout Fireball?  Any arguements on him?  How about good or bad?  I don't think he's evil, per se.  At least, the shadow spiders seem to oppose him, and the enemy of my enemy is my... well, Kale hasn't encountered shadow spiders yet, anyway.

What do you guys think about three guys and five girls in the party?  Quite an unusual group, once we all get united.  Aasimar, water ganasi, earth genasi, dark-skinned woman, mute druid, dark mage, new-to-the-world cavalryman, and impetuous rogue- what a team.  What should our party's name be?  Wolf's uncanny pups?  The odd couple-couple-couples?

PS- DarkRaven, roger your lurking- what a compliment.  Many times I have been in your situation, hitting the scene just a bit too late to take advantage and become a playa.  Good for you if you get on board, but in the meantime, don't hesitate to comment OOC- I like hearing what others have to say about the game...


----------



## Carnifex

*Re: Enemy For Life*



			
				Stinky said:
			
		

> *
> 
> I think I know what Ebri is...*




Really? I'd love to hear your guess - and anyone elses


----------



## Easter

Interesting thoughts, Stinky.  (I hope you don't mind if I call you that.)  

Yeah, looks like Kale's going to have keep thinking on his feet if he's going to stay clear of Toran.  Come to think of it, once the group is united, we'll have (at least) two out of Toran's blacklist around the same campfire... if, or should I say when, they realize a Manipulator has gone awol.

I'm still intrigued by the shadow connection:  Tewlcrogen did not seem to me to have any shadow-related mysteries, except that his girlfriend, whose name I can't seem to recall, has relatives in Naseria, and Naseria seems to be where we are converging--including the "delivery" from Fireball that Sandslipper is carrying.  I'd love to spend more time decrypting the crypts, so to speak, but we probably need to be on our way out of the kobold caverns pretty soon.  (Although with Asak dead, the kobold war parties might give us some more time.)

Interesting inscription there, about shadow warriors fighting against an "abomination"...

I'm curious to hear what you think Ebri is, because I don't have a clue.  Should we start placing bets?


----------



## Meg'anna

I've still gotta think that Ebri is some sort of avatar or something else related directly to the higher ups. If nothing else than at least a celestial (or a daemon! )

Regardless, we need to get the hell outa these caves. We have nearly exhausted our magic supply and many of us are nearly without weapons! And some of us think that there are giant _iron elementals_ that are being ridden by kobolds and attacking us!

*Runs away screaming* 

I can't wait until Kale tries to talk to Meg'anna   LOL


----------



## Carnifex

Kobolds riding Iron Elementals - that's an image that will stay with me for a long time


----------



## Stinky

*Hrm, not sure*

I guess I was presumptuous to suggest that I knew what Ebri is...  What she's like, I guess, is something that's a little more evident.  I think she's going to be a sort of patron to the group- a guiding hand like Immar is to her.  Oracle, counsel, she's spending a lot of time learning or exploring, but that's not to say she doesn't seek to influence things a bit.  I don't think she's manipulative like one could imagine an Aes Sedai, for example, but I wouldn't be surprised if events come up where she feels she knows what is best for us better then we do.
   Huge forces are afoot, and the nature of this game is that we couldn't hope to fully identify, much less take on the forces that are in conflict.  Ebri (whatever she is) and her superiors aren't directly involved, any more than they are DIRECTLY involved in anything.  But like Wolf guides us through the wilderness, Ebri is going to be our guide in a bigger world we don't know about.
    I  imagine Ebri is Lvl1Priest,2Monk, although I think of her as an ass-kicking bard (though not that class), for though she doesn't sing songs, her independant travelling and collection of knowledge puts her in a position to influence and learn.  Queen's advisor, rather than the queen herself, to use an illustration.  This illustration only goes so far, though, because Ebri wouldn't tie herself to one person or specific cause.  I have no reason to believe that she is anything but human, and I don't think she'd be classified as 'angelic' or 'demonic', as I consider those things to be the spiritual knights of good and evil.  Immar has protectors and guides, not champions or zealots, in my imagination.
    She knows and distrusts the shadows, but evidently doesn't have any kind of agenda for or against them.  Observer, subtle advisor.  Tell me, Siduri (the screen name of the player who plays Ebri), is this a type of role that you've wanted to play for a while?  How well would Ebri's advice and greater wisdom be reminiscent of a certain character, Siduri, from the Epic of Gilgamesh?  Wise, concerned, involved, but ultimately detached from any particular ambition...  just wanna help people along their way?  Or am I just grasping at straws?
    Important part is that right now she and Immar aren't allies or enemies with the shadows...  I wonder if she knows to be interested in Burl...  I wonder what Immar would think about Carthagians teaming with flame guildsmen and cryomancers, making smart orcs for their dastardly deeds...  I wonder how the shadows are involved...   I bet silly Ebri could tell us lotsa interesting stuff about this, but she won't  =)


----------



## Carnifex

Update will be coming soon, now that the game is moving along again!


----------



## Easter

Just wanted to say, Stinky--"Bus' out the mellows" was a fabulous post.  And I think you just coined a new phrase.  Man, Kale was so freaked out he just busted out his mellows.


----------



## Carnifex

*The Death Squad*

Wolf, Burl, Wyshira and Kale disembark from the vessel onto the waterfront docks of Halstath. The town lies on the northern shores of the Sapphire lake, a large body of inland water, and the walled settlement is built on a hill slope laeding down to the waters edge. The narrow, winding lanes lead up towards the fortress at the northernmost point, from which the banners of the Irilson family - a silver dragon rampant on azure blue background - can be seen fluttering.

They split up. Wolf and Kale go searching for transport that might carry them towards their destination, Burl goes shopping for spell components and food for his familiar, and Wyshira heads out of the town to fins a secluded spot by the waters edge, surrounded by trees. There, the priestess slips into the water and goes swimming, revelling in the experience. For all her affinity for water, she's never had a chance to swim in a lake like this, and darts around under water near the shore, avidly looking at what lies under the surface. Practicality warns her to bring a javelin with her though, just in case.

While out there, she sees something - must be about her size - knifing through the water parallel to the shore, towards Halstath. She gives chase, curiously, but it quickly outdistances her and she gives up, going back to the shore and then returning to the town.

Kale and Wolf's search proves largely fruitless, and it looks like they're going to have to travel over the lands between Corinthia and southern Adbar on foot. Although the group has arranged a meeting place - the Solar Lion inn - for later, the two go looking for Burl since they know he's in the markets somewhere.

It's market day in Halstath and the busy port town is bustling with activity, the narrow streets full of vendors, stalls and goods. Burl is wandering around the stalls, looking at things that catch his interest while he buys the essentials he needs.

Then a gauntleted hand clamps down on his shoulder.

Turning, he finds himself facing a hulking man in full, spiked armour of black and red hue, bracers and shoulder-plates studded with blades and a crossed axe motif on his chestplate. From within the closed helm eyes bore into Burl, as he questions the necromancer, quickly revealing he knows who the wizard is. What he wants with him remains a mystery as yet, for it is at this point that Wolf and Kale appear. Wolf closes quickly to go to Burl's aid, while Kale hangs back - he recognises the motif as one of the holy emblems of the Carthagian god Toran - just what they need right now, a Carthagian priest causing problems. Seeing the approaching Wolf, the priest grapples Burl with one arm and draws a dagger with the other, bringing it to the wizards throat.

Then a grapnel sails through the air, snagging on the armour's multitude of blades and spikes. Kale has already tied the other end to a nearby cart, and gives the horse attached a slap on the rump. It tears off down the street, cart in tow.

There's a moment as the rope goes taught, and suddenly the priest is wrenched off his feet, bouncing and tumbling down the street after the errant cart, Burl slipping from his grasp.

The other two question Burl about why the hell a Toranite would be interested in him, but he protests that he genuinely has no idea, so they head to the Solar Lion tavern to meet with Wyshira. After filling her in on what happened, they all quiz Burl and he reveals what happened at the village of Irlain and tells them of his early life; he doesn't tell them about Tewlcroghen though, keeping that secret.

Then the door shatters into splinters, and hulking armoured forms smash their way in.

It's the Toranite priest, battlemace in hand. This time, he's brought a death squad with him.

_More to come..._


----------



## Carnifex

The Toranites fan out into the room; the big, burly form of the armoured priest they had encountered earlier, the more slender form of a red-armoured woman, and three plate-clad zealots wielding battleaxes and flails. They issue a demand for Burl as they smash up some of the furniture and the other customers in the tavern scurry out, and the party leaps into action. Kale approaches the foe as if to talk but then hurls his beer mug at the helm of one of the zealots, surprising him and sending him reeling; Wolf quickly draws his sword, Burl runs up the stairs to the first floor of the inn, and Wyshira moves onto the stairs to block anyone moving after him.

Faster than Kale thought the man could move, the male priest grabs the mercenary in one gauntleted hand round his neck, and picks him clear off the floor; Kale dangles there, barbed gauntlet biting into his neck and doing severe damage. Desperately fumbling in a pouch, he finally pulls out the vial of fluoric acid that he had purchased off Garadas the alchemist, and flings it in the mans face. Some hisses as it corrodes into the war helm but some sloshes through the visor onto the Toranites concealed face, and he lashes out, letting Kale go and throwing him several feet to land in a pile of smashed furniture. As the cleric stumbles about, the armoured woman runs up and mutters a spell to heal him; he hruls threats at Kale, but from the gurgling sound of his voice and the threads of foul slime dirbbling out of his helmet, the acid has still done some serious damage.

Wyshira has charged down from the stairs to aid Kale but is intercepted by one of the zealots and wounded by his flail. In return, a quick _cause fear_ spell sens him running as she takes on the fearsome storm aspect of her goddess. Burl comes back down the stairs, but when his _daze_ spell proves unable to make the armoured priest even flinch he runs back up, narrowly avoiding a chair hurled at him by the woman in a surge of strength. Upstairs, he runs about trying to find an exit out, and decides to try and cause confusion by telling the remaining occupants of rooms up there that a fire has broken out down below.

In the taproom, Wolf leaps across tables to battle the other two zealots. One injures him, but then in a confusing display of swordplay he hooks the battleaze of one of his opponents out of their hands - and into his! As he proceeds to bury the weapon back in the chest of its owner, Kale flanks the other warrior and with his acidic brine blade they finish him off before the priest reaches them.

Seeing the battle is lost, the female priest advises her leader to retreat, and he reluctantly does so, hurling some last few threats at Kale as he goes. The four are left in the devastated taproom where barely a single piece of furniture has survived intact, and as onlookers begin to arrive it seems time to scarper, especially when Wolf mentions that the protector of the town is a powerful Flame Guildsman of Warlock rank. They flee into the streets, but unsure of exactly what the hell they're up against here, they don't know if the gate guards will be waiting to stop them. As it is, they pass out of the town into the night without incident, fleeing to the secluded spot which Wyshira had found earlier with the intention to spend the night there.


----------



## Piratecat

Whoo hoo! This is GREAT.  Everyone loves armored death squads!


----------



## Carnifex

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *Whoo hoo! This is GREAT.  Everyone loves armored death squads! *




 'cept old Kale, still nursing his throat 

Wow. I'm slightly awed to have had Piratecat post on my story hour thread. *bows to the almighty DM of the Defenders of Daybreak campaign*

On a sadder note, I'm afraid I'm having to announce that the player of Sandslipper is leaving the campaign. She's been really ill from flu, which was bad enough, but then she also had an infection in her blood stream. She ended up in a pretty bad way, and while she is now recovering, she's still weak and no longer has enough time to devote to the game and her character, so I'm sure you'll all join with me in wishing her a good future and to get well.


----------



## Carnifex

*Cavern Company: The Fire Serpent*

The small band of four women and one man finally decide to move on out of the tomb complex after Ebri's attempt to see what is within the sarcophagi through meditation brings no results. Moving out of the tombs they enter what seems to be more natural tunnel...

...after hours of walking, the band finds itself in a huge cavern filled with massive stalagtites and stalagmites, and riddled with exits out. The problem is that only Melisande and Sandslipper have darkvision, and for everyone else the place is pitch black. They're also operating with no sense of direction, being thoroughly lost. Somewhat dispirited, they try and decide on a course of action.

Then they feel it. A faint tremoring, vibrations running through the ground as a low growling sound begins to become audible. More than a little worried, they hurry into the cavern, and into the kobold ambush.

When the human members of the party see the first firebomb arcing through the air towards them, touchpaper lit, they overjoyedly think it might be light coming in from a way to the surface.  Of course they're pretty quickly disillusioned, and more vials come flying through the air, accompanied by a fusillade of little smokesticks that belch out clouds of stinging smoke. Melisande can see the kobolds have swarmed out from behind the rock formations they were using as cover, and are still a fair way away; at this distance they only manage to spatter a few party members with alchemists fire and achieve no direct hits. Nonetheless, the bombardment makes it difficult going, with patches of blazing fluid on the ground and vision clogged by smoke. Amidst the oncoming rush of kobold warriors Melisande can make out their leader, the cleric Asak, capering around and waving a short rod - this must be the Fire Serpent rod...

... and as the cleric waves it and mutters an incantation, something stirs in the patch of alchemists fire burning by Sebastion. Within in it, a shape is forming...

They retreat back to the mouth of the tunnel entrance they'd entered by, still suffering from continued alchemist fire vials and taking fair damage. As they back away, from within the fire, a large serpent seemingly made of red-hot ash and blazing with flame slides sinuously after them. Rallying to hold their ground at the tunnel entrance, the party strikes out at the fiery thing pursuing them, and in one swift round of accurate attacks dispatch it; the snake crumbles into fine ash.

They prepare to meet the kobold charge as Asak casts spells over his warriors. The vibrations have increased greatly now, and suddenly, with a roar, what looks like a toothed cone of metal turning at insane speed pushes into the tunnel behind them from through the wall...

In an attempt to stave off the oncoming kobolds, Melisande tries to play on their fears, since she knows - from the mimir - that Asak regularly leads parties to appease the spirits of the tombs through prayer. Using <i>change self</i> to turn her skin completely black she starts speaking in both draconic and drakkath about how the shadow warriors are angry and the kobolds must give offerings to appease them; some of the kobolds falter at the draconic, but more noticeably Asak reacts to her words in drakkath. The cleric is surprised, then fearful, then angry, and urges his warriors on.

Behind them the massive drill pushes all the way into the tunnel, and reveals that behind it is some sort of machine, all struts and engine driven by a goggled kobodl engineer and with a 'gunner' on top - a kobold pivoting round a heavy crossbow on a pintel mount to fire at the party. Things look bad, with the band being caught on bothsides by foes, and as the first wave of kobolds crash against them Ebri asks the mimir if it can tell them how to defeat the machine. Sadly the floating skull has nno such information recorded on it, and her attention is brought back to the brutal melee that has erupted.

Blows are traded on both sides, party members injured and kobolds cut down as Melisande continues to try and terrorise the foe through her magic. Behind them, Meg'anna splits off to attack the drilling machine, convinced it is some sort of iron elemental that the kobolds have taken control of. Scrambling up onto it as the driver turns it to run down the party, the druidess attacks the gunner, quickly killing him when he misses her with the crossbow. Panicking, the driver turns the machine back round to drill into the other tunnel wall, hoping to force the druidess off as she tries to reach him with her spear.

In the midst of the melee, Asak pushes towards Melisande, apparently intent on slaying her. For Sebastion, all that he can see in front of him in the ruddy light of the alchemical fires is a mass of kobolds, and a chance strike cuts the cleric down in mid stride. Having lost their leader, the diminuitive gremlins flee in terror, while behind the party Meg'anna rolls off the machine as it tears into the cavern wall, forging a new tunnel - this one as an escape, for the driver has seen the defeat of Asak's tribe.

A quick check over the bodies shows up remaining alchemical items, the strange 'Fire Serpent Rod' that Asak was wielding - engraved with serpent and flame designs - and a small amount of silver coins. Then, using a breeze of fresh air coming from one of the multitude of tunnels leading out of the cavern as a guide, they exit, after several hours breaking out into the cool dark of night.

Now they realise a new problem. Exhausted, wet and cold, they cannot afford to light a camp fire nor stay at the surface entrance, for fear of both kobolds and dreadspawn. The tired band trudges on into the night...


----------



## Carnifex

Oops! Hit post instead of preview by mistake!


----------



## Carnifex

*Here we go...*

*Cavern Company: The Chattering Mimir*

As they prepare to set off into the night, several members of the party voice their complaints at Sebastions treatment of them during the past escapade; the women think he's been treating them 'like a herd of cows', and make it clear that they're unhappy with being ordered around, even if he is a professional soldier (which he isn't, he's little more than a new recruit to a mercenary band, but from his manner they've assumed his experience). Mel calms down enough to realise they may have been a little harsh, and thanks him for staying with them and helping them when he could have easily struck out on his own at any point. The aasimar then announces her intent to head north - there's no way she's heading back south now, she's a turncoat Manipulator with no intent to put herself in the hands of a Carthagian military force - and Ebri decides to accompany her with the words *"If north is where you are going, then I am going there too. We are not to the bottom of your shadow mystery."* Sandslipper informs the others that she too is heading north, with a package she intends to deliver to a Naserian sorceror in the capital city, and since she doesn't realy know the way, it seems wise to seek safety in numbers.

They head north, not willing to sit around in the chilly damp and freeze to death.

Soon they come across the half-eaten carcass of a horse - Sebastions horse, which had been killed during the battle earlier. It seems the dreadspawn had dragged the body away to eat it, but they'd left all the gear attached since they had no interest in it. With the monsters seemingly no longer present, the warrior was jubilant to recover his equipment and above all his fathers two-bladed sword that was still tied amidst the bags.

They slog on through the night, chilled, exhausted and hungry. As they go, Melisande perches the mimir on her shoulder and asks it questions eagerly.

*"Mimir: tell me everything you have about the Fire Serpent Rod that Asak was carrying. I want to know why your former owner wanted it so badly. 

"I'd also like to hear anything you might have about the Great Prophet, or this symbol I have on this pendant--the eye on the triangle."*

She lowers her voice to a whisper, holding the silver skull close to her lips. *"And--on the off-chance- have you ever heard anything about blue people before?"* - the young aasimar is eager to learn more of her origins, being blue-skinned herself.

The mimir begins to chatter away, eyes glowing, as it reels of a number of recordings:

In response to Melisande's questioning, the mimir reeled off a number of recordings, eyes glowing brightly as it did so. 

* * *

The wheezing, male voice that they had heard relate the story of Asak and the Fire Serpent rod earlier. _"I've discovered something rather intriguing - mention of an object that I would be most interested in adding to my collection. It'd probably fetch quite a good price if I sold it onto a Flame Guildsman or one of the elemental savants of the Khaya-Dura order, I reckon. Some travellers described a kobold colony in the borderlands which raided their caravan; a shaman of some sort wielding a rod that summoned a fiery serpent was involved. A little bit of research in the libraries, and I've turned up a few references to a 'Fire Serpent' rod mentioned; some sort of elementally attuned arcane focus for fire, noted as beingi in the possession of one mage or another. I have no idea how it came to be in the hands of some kobold primitive but it should prove an easy steal - I doubt the kobolds will prove any match for my magic. Even now I prepare to head south to investigate this, hopefully to return with the rod." _

* * *

A deeper, gruff male voice. _"Study of the runes in this tomb, like the others, reveals the emblem usually associated with the cult of the Great Prophet. It seems that whatever happened here, it resulted in a large number of these tombs being built in a short period of time; perhaps the followers of the Great Prophet were once more numerous until some catastrophe resulted in their significant diminishment and the construction of the tombs." 

"The tombs seem bare of any grave goods or other treasure; it's likely grave-robbers have already plundered them, or they've simply fallen into dust, since my estimations reckon these tombs to be very old, perhaps over a thousand years in age. The tombs themselves remain impenetrable to my tools." _

* * *

A human voice, a male. _"I've spent the last few days researching, but I've found what I was looking for. The emblem the assassin was wearing is apparently the same as that of the cult of the Great Prophet - some sort of doomsday cult or something, I read, but there're barely any details about them written anywhere so only the Elders know what the hell the truth is. I'm not sure what the implications of this are. The assassin was a Nephian, I'm sure, but whether this means the Nephians worship the Great Prophet or whether he was given the emblem by whoever took out the contract on me is unclear. What is clear is that I'm going to have to be pretty careful. I must report the assassination of my comrades to the Bloodkin as soon as possible." _

* * *

Another male voice, one that sounds used to giving orders. _"The Nephians who were killed during the attack all wore strange emblems that the Truth Seekers tell me is the symbol of a minor deity called the Great Prophet. They seemed surprised though - seems that they thought it was a dead religion, since there're a handful of ancient tombs scattered across the Drakkath that bear that emblem, especially around the Plain of Sorrows near Adbar. It's likely it was just a contract killing, the usual process of Nephian assassins being hired by someone else. Hopefully we'll catch whoever's behind it - curse those assassins for being successful, the Grand Master Fire Lord was a truly good man. I've ordered all reports be filed in the main fortress of the Flame Hawks in Corvus." _

* * *

A strong, regal female voice. _"Nas, when you get this message, get your lazy blue-skinned arse out of the shop and over the the Lady's Ward right away. Me, Scar and Klentais will probably already be there - head for outside the Temple of the Abyss, the word is that some Arcanatum agents have been spotted skulking around! And if you turn up still high on those sodding Sensate drugs I swear you'll be in serious trouble." _

* * *

The same male, melodic voice that had been in the first message that the mimir had ever relayed - the first owner ever. _"We've just arrived on the first layer of... heh... Heaven. Sounds wierd to say it, even when you're there. Severin planeshifted us straight into an aasimar settlement - apparently they're his relatives, but most of the sods are blue-skinned like me. Anyway, even from here we can see the black stain on the landscape that's the invading army. Heh, the stuff of legends - heaven against hell - always wished I'd see something like this. Well, now I'm here, I'm sodding terrified, I have to admit. Tomorrow we teleport closer and see where Kilshanor's got himself too." _

* * *

The mimir falls silent once more, leaving the listeners to digest this new information...

Melisande is intrigued by both the information that this perhaps reveals about her ancestry - she's never considered she might be an aasimar (a term she's come across in her studies), and while this might explain a few things it's also a disturbing concept - and by the information about the Fire Serpent rod she has in  her hands. It's slightly worrying though, to think that she's carrying something Flame Guildsmen might well kill to get their hands on... All the talk of Nephians has raised her suspicions as well. Looks like at some point she's going to have to have a serious talk with Ebri about Nephians...

Ebir's own response to the new information serves to heighten the aasimars suspicion that the woman knows more than she is letting on. *"The cult of the Great Prophet is still at work in the world,"* she tells them, *"--but it's said it's members are few. The Nephians do worship in that way, if rumors are to be believed. But then, everything that is known about the Nephians is rumor."* A shrug and a wry smile. *"One would have to speak to one, if one could find one, to know anything for sure, and that is not likely to happen this day or the next, or even the next after that. Even should one wish to. They are said to be fearsome folk indeed..."*

When Ebri quickly turns the conversation to the question of Melisandes parentage, the aasimar is even more convinced that Ebri has secrets, but replies that the problem is that her mother refused to ever tell her what had happened, and who her father was. The poor young blue girl had suffered a bit as a child from the odd looks and stares, and the whispered rumours. Boys would dare each other to kiss her. Her mother was fiercely protective of her daughter, even physically beating those who might try and run her out of town. Several times during the past few days young Mel has missed that maternal protection dearly.

At Ebri's comment that ones worth is determined by what is inside, not the colour of the skin, Mel replies: *"What's on the outside is important. We are creatures of our world, and what is on the outside is what is in contact with the world; it's the part of us that shapes and is shaped."*

*You might think it's all silly and superficial, but it's my life; colored blue."*

The blue-skinned maybe-an-aasimar walks on in silence.


----------



## Carnifex

Well, having handed out more XP, here's the current party makeup:

Burl, 3rd level Necromancer
Kale, 2nd level Rogue / 1st level Ranger
Wyshira, 3rd level Cleric
Ebri, ??? / 1st level Cleric
Melisande, 2nd level sorcerer
Sebastion, 2nd level Fighter
Meg'anna, 2nd level Druid


----------



## Meg'anna

Need more experience... need better spells.... need more food.... need more....... 

ummmm

Well we dont need anymore monsters at the moment.... I hope we are getting close to the whole uniting thing... 

*Is anxious*

Too bad Julie *bailed* on us..... 

 

Oh well... hopefully this Raven guy will jump in here somewhere....

If not then   on him!

-Meg


----------



## Stinky

*Theory Time*

Of course by now, everyone has a good handle on abit of Ebri's hidden past.  Her background reads, "She took to the road,and has been there ever since", when one could speculate that a more thorough background would read, "She took to the road, and after a few years in the Nephian Monastary, returned to the road and has been there ever since."

An orphaned, passionate, average-looking girl- what a perfect asassin.  "She don't look like no asassin..."  Nephians, it seems, worship a nearly dead religion, having died out nearly one thousand years ago.  By sheer coincidence, that is about when the elder gods were overthrown.  Followers of the Great Prophet revere Law and return to the shadows, and fight against Reavers and the Abomination (which could have something to do with thaumaturgy, but dreadspawn are too young to be what they're talking about.  

Druids follow Immar, Ebri follows Immar.  Druids oppose the shadow spiders, the Great Prophet is tied to shadows.  Looks like Ebri jumped ship from the mean old Nephians to the nicey nice Immarians.  But while the Nephians clealy have an agenda, Immar is neutral.  There are more players than this.  Oh, the 'life-web' gets more tangled after this, for we haven't accounted for the Hashruk-powered dreadspawn, what the reavers are, how the truth seekers fit in, who the smart orcs (and I think the Toranites) are fighting for, or really whether the spiders and Great Prophet are allied (though I think so).  Also leaves the question about fireball, cloaked in shadow, and his package to Ecurius.  I wonder if Ecurius would like the package he's going to recieve... 

I've got more theories about the ancient shadows that seem evil enough to be the product of Carnifex' sinister mind.  To what lengths would the elder gods go to reclaim their former glory?  Stay tuned...


----------



## Stinky

*Anxious*

Like Meg, I am also anxious to get the group together, though the group dynamics are sure to be wierd.  I'm glad Kale has had a chance to get to know two of the folks, so it's not a bunch of strangers all at once.  Wyshira is nice to have around, and while Kale distrusts Burl's necromancer entanglements, he figures the mage is a sincere enough guy.  A lot of trouble, though- the only reason he tolerates it is because his freedom sticks it  to The Man (whoever that is)...

As for five more people and their respective agendas, it's going drive Kale batty.  Hopefully we all clear up soon and have a common and sincere push toward a Cause (the dreaded C word), or I don't know how we're ever going to get anything done...  though  'listen to Wolf' would be a start.  

I hope Wolf doesn't get squished, that would be sad.  But he's got those 'Obi Wan' overtones to him- something tells me he's the mentor doomed to die.  Wolf falls, Kale cries out- Noooooooooooooo! As the camera zooms out, out, out to reveal the sad scene in its entirety.


----------



## Carnifex

Minor update - the place vacated by Julie, Sandslippers player, is indeed going to be replaced by Raven. Hopefully we'll soon have his character up and running and into the storyline!


----------



## Carnifex

I'm posting this for Ebri's player, who is having some problems registering and posting on these boards, in response to Stinky's  ideas about the character Ebri...

1) I really appreciate that so many people are interested and intrigued by my girl here  I hope I can deliver as good a story as you hope for. 

2) The "she don't look like no assassin" tag is actually a quote from a prior game, the most incredible Prophecy of Light, a reference by a random guard to my favorite character of all time--Andaluz Fer'on. Luz, although you could say the same for Ebri, I suppose, did not look like an assassin. Though she did look like something, didn't she? The postulated relevance of this tag to Acrozatarim is, well,... postulated .

3) I love this game, and its characters, even though I barely have time to pay attention to my thread, much less the others  Keep up the good work, team. And it's nice to have an audience.


----------



## Stinky

*hrm...*

Though Luz was indeed a cool char, and I could understand a memorial to the character through footnote quote, I still stick with my Nephian asassin theory.

Nice coincidence, the choice of quotes.  Course, the only other Andaluz quote I can think of is 'I'm from Loedac, bastard!', and various frisky thoughts regarding a certain Jason of the First File.  Course, I wasn't around her for nearly as long as some others.  As an aside, for those of you who don't know, jason is a badass, as my email address attests.  The addy has remained for over a year.  It doesn't mean anything now, maybe Siduri's quote is just the same kind of ancient memorial...  I remember Andaluz as a wonderful character when I played for a short while in the game, not as Jason, but as the poor guy he tossed all over the training arena.  I remember a lurker wrote a piece of fan mail, saying she actually cried when reading one of Andaluz and Alex's posts...  Sigh, mourn the fallen.  Shoutouts to Shima and Gabriel- Hail the Dragons!

Anyway, I get the feeling that learning about Ebri's past is going to be harder than talking to a Solar Templar about her previous exploits or anything...  STINKY WALKS UP TO EBRI- So, are you an asassin?  EBRI- No.  STINKY- Oh.


----------



## Meg'anna

I wish this Raven guy hurries up.... 

hehehehehehe

I want to read up on a new and facsinating PC. Carnifex always has a penchant for dragging them out of the shadows...

 

Geez I'm a suck up today...

(Back to the top of the board! LOL)


----------



## Bulges

*HI!*

Hi all,

I haven't had the chance to read up on all that is going on since I let Carnifex what was going on, but I wanted to thank all of you who wrote to me.  It warmed my heart.

I may not have been in the game very long, but I _feel_ like I am still a part of it.  So thank you all for letting me be a small part of the *best* game I ever played in.

Julie aka Sandslipper


----------



## Dark Raven

Whoa, I didn't realize I was becoming a topic of conversation over here until I started reviewing all the plot I've missed. 

Chris is bringing me aboard (yay!) and I'm excited at the chance to jump in. I plan to use the character I initially sent Chris ages ago with some minor modifications to his background. For those wondering what kind of character I'm leaning towards... think Naseria and those neat-o Elemental Orders. 0;x

Otherwise, I'd be happy to play whatever type of char would be needed. I'm pretty flexible. But anyway, I just wanted to say hi to the whole gang and also wish Julie a speedy recovery. <3

I better go e-mail all my character details and stuff to Chris now. Ciao!

- Raven


----------



## Carnifex

Another update soon. The Cavern Company have gotten themselves into trouble mere moments after walking into Corvus City, while Wolf's Company meet up with an old associate of the mercenary, unaware that hell is about to break loose


----------



## Easter

Hey Stinky, any theories on where Ebri's off to?  

So when is Dark Raven coming aboard?  Or is that a surprise?  I'm like Oak, I can't wait to discover a new character.

Just wanted to apologize to the cavern company for the recent mischief, although I was well aware where it was probably going.  With Mel's wisdom score I do intend to play her ditzy and let's be honest, it's fun.  (Although it may be a pain in the rear end for everybody else.    )  Just thump her on the head if you've had enough.

Cheers,

Molly


----------



## Meg'anna

*Could be worse?*

It could be worse. At least this is the High Lady's Brother. I mean we are being busted by near-royalty, not just joe-guard on the street.  

I must admit, playing a mute druid in the city is getting to be kinda hard. I'm not sure what to write. This whole disability thing tends to mire up ones imagination.   Oh well, I think that once we get out of this whole scandalous Melisande picnic, that Meg'anna will be caught up in her first experience with silk!

LOL  

-Oak


----------



## Stinky

Well, Easter, I must first say that I really like the ditzy play- though I imagine Kale would have a different opinion once Mel and he meet each other =)  Set Mel loose when it's time for spellcasting or flirting, otherwise pray keep her under control =)

As far as where Ebri may be concerned, she just encountered some very interesting information.  My guess is that she is going to seek out some knowledgable contacts, or the <I>manual of celestial of demonic</i>.  She's still interested in the mystery of Mel's 'sponsors'- I think she's going for information, then will regroup with the posse later...

Dark Raven- you're coming on the scene- a testament to tenaciousness!  I'm anxious to hear what your character is, as well.  Since you're a guy, I'd bank your char is a guy, too.  Damn it!  I like the more girl-to-guy ratio.  Odds are in Kale's favor =).  Anyway, go ahead and make a rude guy that won't get any chicks =0)


----------



## Easter

Yeah, it occurred to me that she might have run off with the mimir and what Mel recorded on it.  What's interesting is that this pretty much means there is someone in or around Corvus City Ebri would want to meet up with privately.  Are "they" (whoever they are) all over the place, or is this just coincidence?

Kale's probably in for a few headaches with Mel, but by the time we consolidate the group Sebastion will have humiliated her into keeping her mouth shut, hopefully.    (That was a wonderfully mean thing he did.  And just when she was starting to think he was ok.)


----------



## Dark Raven

Doh, Chris already has an introductory post for my character up and for the life of me I can't figure out how to post my reply. This is my first time playing over at roleplayinggames.net so I'm not 100% familiar with what I need to do. I think Chris has to set me up with a Username and Password for his board first? I'm also not permitted to add my character to the "View the Characters" section without a Username and Password. Otherwise I'd have something up already. (I'm itchin' to post! *grin*)

But here's some info on Alaric. I think it'd be okay to post this here since you all will get to read this eventually anyway once I've added him to the Characters section on Chris' board.



Alaric Valiere of House Corvus

Sex: Male                                               Race: Human
Age: 18                                                  Alignment: Neutral Good
Height: 6'2                                             Weight: 200 lbs.
Hair Color: Pale Golden Blonde              Eye Color: Glacial Blue
Class: Fighter/Sorcerer                          Level: 1/1

Brief Background

This young warrior was born into a minor branch of nobility of House Corvus. He was raised by his father, Lord Balinor, and his mother, Lady Alysia, on their small estate and its accompanying lands. Due to their property's proximity to Carthagia's northern border, Lord Balinor  has had to maintain a small force of dedicated guardians to patrol and protect the area.

Because of the inherent dangers of such a location, Alaric was sent north on his thirteenth birthday to the royal stronghold of Corvus City for knightly apprenticeship. There he served as squire and received training from the Mage-Knight, Sir Gellor. For the next five years spent thus, Alaric was tutored in all manner of things with a concentration in the basics of the arts of war. Standing to inherit his father's volatile lands one day, his grooming out of necessity stressed life's martial aspects.

Upon Alaric's eighteenth birthday, dire news of a Carthagian incursion of lower Corvus lands reached the royal courts. Flame Hawks were immediately dispatched to reinforce the border warriors of the southern nobles, and where Sir Gellor went so too did young Alaric go. With heavy heart and nagging worry did he follow his mentor back to the area of his birth. (This Carthagian attack was yet another raid in a long line of sporadic predations dating back to the time of the mighty Fang War of twenty years past.)

This particular assault went badly for several of Naseria's borderlords whose lands suffered much destruction of  property and loss of life. The Valiere estate itself was razed despite a vigorous defense of its perimeter by brave footmen and mounted knights. It was during this time that Alaric gained his first taste of unadulterated battle, wading into numerous frays alongside Sir Gellor who ordered the youth to guard his flank. Eventually the Carthagian advance was stopped by Naseria's valiant defenders.

Despite the devastation wrought by the short but intense conflict, Lord Balinor and Lady Alysia survived and were able to flee north to safer territory, sheltered now amongst sympathetic Corvus City nobles. Reunited with their son to their great relief, the Valieres plan an eventual reconquest and rebuilding of their lost lands. However such an endeavor will take much time and planning during which young Alaric has chosen to continue his training under the wise auspices of Sir Gellor.

Personality

Alaric, despite recent experiences, has retained his youthful idealism and belief that good exists and thrives in the heart of the common man. His enthusiasm tends to be infectious and lends him a charismatic air of easy going appeal. However, he also harbors a serious minded side that emerges during times of turmoil so that when things need to get done, he accomplishes them with a focused intensity that disallows frivolous distractions to stray him from the task at hand. Being goal oriented, Alaric is determined to achieve knighthood amongst the Elemental Orders and to return to southernmost Naseria to reclaim Valiere lands from Carthagian marauders.

Physical Description

Tall and broad of shoulder, young Alaric has grown well into manhood. Crowned with long straight hair of pale golden hue,  gifted with exotic glacial blue eyes, and bearing an aquiline visage, his features clearly display the presence of nobility flowing through his veins. In times of peace the youthful warrior may be found wearing fine cloth of gold and white, the house colors of Valiere, but in times of battle he dons a fighter's chainmail under a white tabbard decorated with a stylized emblem of a crimson-eyed golden phoenix rising from the ashes, his family's coat-of-arms.


----------



## Easter

Hi Dark Raven!  Glad to have you along!

I think the problem might be that you need to create a profile on the board before you can post, create a character, etc.  Go to the board's main page and scroll down to where you can type a message.  On the right side of the message box are a few options including "create a profile".  As long as Carnifex has "opened" the new profile possibility, you should be able to create one.  Then you have to check your e-mail for your new password, and you're ready to post!

Good luck and good gaming!


----------



## Broccli_Head

Still really enjoying the story and wanted to give you a 'bump'. 

I see the rivalry between Sebastian and the women in the Cavern Company. Would be interesting to get more insight instead of trying to glean things from the conversations. Can any of you  help to explain this tension?

Favorite character in the campaign so far has to be Kale. I like his innovation--the cart and the acid on the Carthagian punk.


----------



## Carnifex

Noo, not the second page! 

Yes, I am bumping my story hour and no, this isn't a proper update  I'm currently waiting for some more posts from the Cavern Company so I can conclude their current situational crisis, then I'll update for them, but there'll be a bit of a wait until Wolf's Company's next update because I think I'm going to writeup the entirety of 'The Day of the Werewolves' as one big update 

Broccli_Head: Thanks for the bump, as well as the continual support, emails etc  It's really encouraging! I think part of the Sebastion/women problem is that his attitude has rather riled them, because he tends to take a rather superior attitude towards them, or a superstitious one at the magic they wield. It really hasn't endeared them to be called headless chickens  - these women are fairly strong-willed and aren't going to be cowed into submission by a fledgeling mercenary who *thinks* he knows what he's doing...

Anyway, Alaric is now into the game, so the next Cavern Company (maybe they should now be renamed the Corvus Company - their current location) update will include the eagerly awaited Flame Hawk squire himself


----------



## Stinky

Yo, yo, Dark Raven!  Good to have you on board- and a nonspellcater as well.  Hurrah to us mundanes!  Looking forward to the time we all get together... death to the bloomin' werewolves!

Oh, and Broccoli, thanks for the compliment.  I've been enjoying Kale's resourcefulness, too, though right now it's pretty hard to come up with some tactics to fit the situation...   We'll work something out, though, and many wolves will die.  Kale has nothing to do with heroics- only battles that work to HIS advantage.  Well, somtimes you have no choice, but somehting tells me he'll come up with something clever.


----------



## Carnifex

Stinky said:
			
		

> *Yo, yo, Dark Raven!  Good to have you on board- and a nonspellcater as well.  Hurrah to us mundanes!  Looking forward to the time we all get together... death to the bloomin' werewolves!*




Uh, Matt - Alaric *is* a spellcaster.


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## Dark Raven

Hehe, sorry to disappoint ya Matt but Chris is right. While basically Alaric has a warrior's mentality, the fact that he was born of noble (sorcerous) blood in Naseria gives him a natural talent for spellcasting.

By the way, good luck with the werewolves. No offense but I'm glad I'm not in your shoes. Give me babysitting a bunch of outlanders over that any day! 

As for Kale's social life, the dating scene on the road is rough but hey you have Wyshira keepin' you company. She's a cutie and you know what they say, good things come in small packages. But if you decide to pass, well it'd be interesting to see how the dynamic evolves between Alaric (fire) and Wyshira (water). Do opposites really attract or will we be at each other's throats? :X


----------



## Stinky

-wipes egg off of face-
Heh, well, _rumor_ is that I know how to read...

In my own defense, I would mention that were someone to miss the quite clear line that says warrior/sorcerer on Alaric's desc, there would be no other indication from the desc that the man is a spellcaster, other than the fact he's of noble blood... which is no guarantee.  Anyway, it's all pretty clear now, and I didn't want to edit my above post so that we can all laugh at me.  Let's hope Kale is more observant...  =)

Yeah... women, don't know what to do about that.  Kale works to be active and social and alive, but he's also learing Wolf's aloofness.  It sometimes seems a necessity, given his profession, but Kale isn't Wolf, and the younger has a flair for life that just con't be contained in a soft-spoken, strong-armed mien like Wolf's.  Social stuff may be nice, but 'relationship' is probably still threatening to him.  Not wanting to be tied to any particular Cause or House, he really doesn't want his _heart_ tied to anyone, either.  Anything that were to happen would probably happen slowly.

I've never worked 'relationships' into a character before, although I can say that Kale is at least wary of mixing business and pleasure.  Finding a Naserian noblelady who wants a brief romp with a man from the rougher side of town- that may be a little more his style.  Alaric have a sister?  heheh  

Thanks for luck with the wolves- we'll need it.  The only other idea I ahd was to use Wyshira as a distraction, running around for awhile before finally jumping down the well.  Able to breath water, she's the one person, and that's the one place that _might_ be safe from the wolves.  Not a very practical solution for anything, though, besides saving Wyshira... could be a good plan b, if it turns out there'll be no survivors but one fishy priestess stuck down a well...  Let's hope it doesn't come to that...


----------



## Carnifex

*The Death Squad*

Well, to make up for it being a long time in between proper story updates - here's a picture of a Toranite death squad! (It's attached to this post - hopefully it'll show up  ).

This isn't the actual band encountered by Wolf's Company - it's actually Dread Slayers, elite Toranite temple guard berserkers - and a lot nastier than the zealots that Kale, Wyshira, Wolf and Burl were pitted against! With their own full prestige class and the backup of their Church, Dread Slayers are virtually living engines of destruction!

The picture is by Boris Radujko, one of the incredibly talented artists at planewalker.com, who honoured me by agreeing to do a few pictures for my campaign. In the future I may also post his Flame Guildsman, and his Black Knight of Zhatan sketch as well (think power-armoured paladin!).


----------



## Wyshira

I've had some problems reaching this board lately, but it looks like things are fixed now...

Funny that Raven would mention the contrast between Alaric and Wyshira right before I have my first in-game opportunity to really show how the water genasi feels about fire.  I think it will be interesting to see how she reacts to the Flame Hawk squire!

Another funny thing is that I had two character ideas for this game originally: Wyshira the water genasi cleric, and Alerica (called Rica) the Naserian rogue/sorceress.  Alerica / Alaric.... how weird is that?    I went on to play Rica in another game at roleplaying.net: Requiem for an Empire. 

And about relationships....  I personally feel that these PBP characters should and will find themselves being attracted to each other at times.  They are young after all, and one of the things I remember best about being young is falling in love every other week or so!


----------



## Stinky

WYSHIRA:"one of the things I remember best about being young is falling in love every other week or so!"

hmm- good point.  Gotta think Kale is a bit different than I am in RL- me being so gaddamn prudent.  Let's put the C in CG!  Still, commitment is a bit of a curse word to Kale, unless it comes to companionship in the combat sense...  and then there's always the one-night stand (best done with noble's sisters, though maybe party members would do in a pinch... Eh, I don't know if Kale would go for that particular approach...

Yeah, I'd like to see Wyshira and Alaric: fire and water.  Heh.  Won't all the parents be horrified.  

Bonus about being Kale is that anyone's parents would be horrified...   Hmm.  Lots of girls in the group.  And there's a certain chauvanistic appeal to dating a mute woman, Meganna.  (ooo!  girls, please don't kill me).  Let's just see what develops on all fronts.  Okay, since this is a fantasy game, can we assume all the chicks are hot?  We need a posted 'hotness scale'.  Kale?  He's built for speed, not for comfort.  Still, that rogiush appeal has to be good for something.   With a bluff of +6, when he says 'baby- there's no one but you'- it sounds like he really means it =)  Maybe, but Wyshira is right when she says all the folks are young...  all the baloney I just said aside, we might as well entertain the young amorous parts of their lives...

PS- on a RL note- I had the wierdest thing happen to me today.  Warning, I only say this to gross you guys out...  It's allergy season here on the west coast (of the US, you silly Brits, et al.), and although I don't usually react too much, the following happened.  I was out reading books at the local bookstore(browsing without buying, of course).  My eye started itching like crazy, and I rubbed and kept on reading.  Half hour later, it was bugging me enough to decide to go to the restroom and dig out the eyelash or whatever was irritating my eye so much (I wear contacts, so sticking my fingers in my eyes is something that happens all the time).  I get to the bathroom, look in the mirror, and HOLY !  I've got a huge blister on the side of my eye!  (Not my lid, not NEAR my eye, the full-on white of my EYE was friggen swollen with inter-friggin-stitial fluid!)

Talk about the grossest thing ever, he white area to the outside of my eye was puffed out further than my cornea, like if a marble was inside my eye, pushing to get out.  Size of a peanut, this itchy blister was.  Red, inflamed veins spiderwebbed across the swollen surface, and the whole area was a sickly translucent white-yellow from all the fluid under the surface.  Ouch... blinking had a hard time accomodating the increased size of my pissed-off eye.  All this inflamed in like an hour, and now, about eight hours later, it is almost gone.  Talk about gross-ass trip out.  Too fast and acute to be viral or bacterial infection, I must have just innoculated myself with an allergen under the surface when I rubbed my eye.  Yuck.  Moral of the story (besides the fact I shouldn't practice my writing/description on gross real life problems)- don't rub those itchy allergy eyes.

Just thought I'd tell the world, cause if I have to live through something gross, I figure you guys a least have to hear about it (it's a gross guy thing, I guess).  Thus ends my submission for the first international gross-out competition.

As a final note, if you want to continue to have a good opinion of me and Kale, just delete this silly, meaningless message from your memory....


----------



## Easter

Weird post, there, Stinky.  From romance to big yellow eyeball blisters.  Speaking of eyeballs, I had my 10th-grade class dissecting sheep's eyeballs last week.  Er, maybe I won't write two pages describing that, after all.  

Faced with teenagers in springtime on a daily basis, I can only agree with Wyshira.  (And for the record, two teenagers making out ranks up there with eyeball blisters on the gross scale.)

And I'd love a chance to rp a PC romance.  That only happened once before for me but it was a bit unconventional.  My PC was an aging halfling ex-prostitute named Miss Violet Underbrush.  She picked up some swashbuckling halfling tattoo artist about half her age.  Come to think of it, I won't write two pages describing _that_ , either. 

Ever since that touching little scene with his Da, I've thought Sebastion Cornell is a real biscuit with that craggy brow and longish dark hair and all, but something tells me that's not happening any time soon.  Second choice for Mel... not sure yet... but there's always Sandslipper, if Julie ever came back... (Julie and I exchanged a couple of e-mails on the subject at the time.  Wasn't sure that was a direction I wanted to Mel to take but you never know what roads lay ahead.)  

Kale--has that rugged appeal but lacks the craggy brow and long hair.  Dangerous for Mel to say the least.

Alaric--Mel's romantic ideal of a noble Naserian.  A sorcerer so I'm guessing he's got high charisma.  We'll just have to see how he develops...

Mel is not only ditzy, she's naive enough that she doesn't know that blue can be beautiful.  The kids in her home town made gagging noises at her often enough that nobody ever stopped to consider that she might be kind of fun.  That may change, but it'll take a while to get through her skull.  I probably shouldn't tell you this, but because of that it's likely going to be first come-first serve with her.  The first guy who doesn't call her Melberry is going to get loads of, well, gratitude from her.


----------



## Stinky

RE: Easter.  Melberry- HAHAHAHA!

Sorry about the last wierd post- I was about to edit the post to say only the essentials, but then Easter had already replied.  If anyone is interested, the blister is gone, and I must have just been in a really wierd mood to let the entire world know, as well as going off on the whole relationships thing.

I know I can speak for all the guys when I voice disappointment over not having a lesbian relationship in the group.  Hey Easter, maybe you could con carnifex into letting you npc sandslipper- things could get pretty crazy from there.  -shiver-  Afraid to think...


----------



## Carnifex

Don't worry, all, I'm sure there'll be plenty of chances for rp'ing romances - after Easter's last post, I'm now fearful for several of my NPC's 

For anyone waiting for the next update - you'll get to see Kale performing the role of 'human fireball'


----------



## Carnifex

Well, there's been a big slow down in the game, sadly:

1) I'm back at uni, revising for my 1st year exams. In a few weeks time I'll have finished and have much more time to devote to the game.

2) I'm hoping Alaric hasn't upped and disappeared on us, because the company in Corvus City are awaiting a post from him at the moment, and if he doesn't do so soon I'll have to NPC him.

3) New relationship = less time.

4) Tired. Very tired 

Anyway, hopefully I'll be able to make an update or two before too long...


----------



## Meg'anna

**

Seems like everyone left ya hanging for a while, eh Carnifex? Ah well, I just figured I should let everyone know that I am alve and well even after horrible yucky tumor-removing surgery and a medication mix up. 

I spent nearly two weeks on hiatus before anyone even knew where I went. Obviously it didnt effect the game too much, huh? Ah well win some lose some. Anyways, I figure Carni needs to be moved back to the top of the boards and such, so thats why I'm posting.

Nice to see the Ebri's back as well. If Raven leaves, then I'll probably pout a bit, but then I'll get over it rather quickly. His character was enjoyable, the bit I got to see, but he wasnt too interwoven into the story... yet.

So Carni, if Raven drops, are you going to pick up another folk?


----------



## Carnifex

I've actually already got someone in line, someone who Siduri and Steve should remember from the original Propechy of Light...


----------



## hbarsquared

Where by "Propechy" you actually mean "Prophecy," right?  

At any rate, hello all.    I first met our esteemed DM Carnifex in the very first installment of the Prophecy of Light campaign a couple years back.  I played Melody, the naive wizard that somehow became the prophet for a very, very mean god.  (Damn you, Natas!)  It was fun, and the first time I was truly able to ROLEplay a character.  Plus, it was my first campaign on Donboy's site.

From what I've read, it looks to be good ol' Carnifex, here, is intent on running an even better game.  I've been keeping up on all of your posts for a good month or two, now, and I love the story and your characters.  If everything works out, I would love to join your cast!


----------



## Wyshira

> Nothing like a juicy secret!




Or so saith the mysterious Ebri Zol...  I have to agree!

Oh, are we ever going to get together, Wolf's band and the Corvus City crew?  All these mysteries to ponder, and our group is hardly aware of any of them.  (We do have the mystery of Burl the much-sought-after necromancer though.)

Sigh.


----------



## Easter

Yeah, and I want a blue friend!  

Anyone else think someone gouged the mimir trying to erase something?  I wonder if mimirs erase...  And I wonder if they only record what they are told to record... *

At any rate, I'm excited to have another PoL veteran on the roster.  This should be good.


*Thanks to Topcat for the hint!


----------



## Carnifex

Easter said:
			
		

> *
> 
> *Thanks to Topcat for the hint!   *




*DM begins to get suspicious*

*What* hint?

Anyway, another update should be coming before too long - I've got about 9 threads or so to write up. I'll do a Cavern (now Corvus) Company write-up first, then the Wolf's Company write-up of the 'Day of the Werewolves' adventure as one big post as well.

And it looks like one of the Companies will be joined by a blind dwarven monk! (and you thought the cast of characters couldn't get any wierder, eh?  )


----------



## Carnifex

*Cavern Company: 'Tale of a Soldier'*

The company seems to have come to a decision to head northwards together. Melisande knows her future lies in Naseria - as a renegade Manipulator there's no place for her at home. Ebri seems to have bound herself to the young aasimar, eager to get to the bottom of the girls shadowy mysteries, while Meg'anna is bound to her too - but by friendship and a desire to travel. Sandslipper too knows her path lies northwards, to deliver her mysterious package to the Naserian sorcerer Ecurius Tarravus, and Melisande has decided to accompany the earth genasi on her journey, having little idea of where to go herself. Finally Sebastion follwos the band, clearly feeling out of place and unsettled, but with one thing drawing him on above all others...

The mimir.

They settle down for the night, the day after escaping the kobold warrens, for rest and food, and the welcome return of Meg'anna's animal companion Micah who somehow found his mistress again after losing her during the dreadspawn battle. As they do so, Sebastion ventures his question.

*"Does anyone want to stake a claim for the Me-Me? While we're here? I'm not going to fight you for it, or anything, I'm just interested, and wondered... Here's the coin, we can at least share that out. Even split?"*

Discussion breaks out over how to distribute what they have recovered from the caves. Melisande keeps hold of the Fire Serpent rod, wanting to get to the bottom of its mysteries, while the various alchemical items are distributed amongst the others. Ebri proposes that she continue to carry the mimir, holding it in a communal trust for the party, while Melisande - tinged slightly by her own desire for the mimir, asks after Sebastions reasons for wanting it, reprimanding him for his mispronunciation of the constructs name as she does so.

Sebastion gives an answer she didn't expect from him, perhaps that none of them expected, as he tells them something he's never even told his father.

He wants to be known, to be famous, as a great soldier and tactician. From books at home he has learned much of warfare - but he can never amount to much in a national army. Why? Because he is not of noble birth, nor wealthy, so he is forced to ply his trade as a mercenary.

*"The art of war, is the art of learning from the mistakes of predecessors. Books are cumbersome things to carry to a battlefield, and not always easily accessible, but this Mimir"* - he stressed the proper pronunciation this time - *"could carry that wealth of information with it, and useful commentary as well. A combined history and campaign journal."*

Mel stares at him, a forced reevaluation going on in her mind. He's better spoken than she thought, clearly more intelligent than she had considered, and possesed of a drive and ambition she'd never even suspected. a picture forms in her mind of what Seb _might_ become - the image of a plate-clad warlord atop a mountain of bloodied bodies.

All she can manage to form as an actual answer is *"Oh."*

She's relieved though to know that he isn't a Carthagian regular soldier, but a mercenary - it means her status as a rogue Manipulator wont matter to him. She asks him what sort of war he plans on making.

Once again Seb provides a carefully thought out answer. 

*"Soldiers are seen as somehow dirty people. Undesirables. People who don't have a skill or a trade to make an 'honest' living... that's wrong. Soldiers are skilled professionals, even if their profession is an unfortunate one. It seems to a large extent that the nature of men is to take, and you have to have the means to defend yourself."

"Even within the standing forces, the common soldiers are viewed as a necessary evil. With no prospect of promotion beyond being leader of a handful of men, and facing the possibility of having to charge to their death at the whim of a simpering, in-bred idiot, it is understandable that only the least desirable join the ranks.

I want to forge a force that will stand where the armies stand: in fact, where all too often the armies should but don't, because it isn't some noble's family, or livestock, or homes that are on the line.

I want to make Warfare a valid field of study, so that people will start to think better of the men and women who put their lives on the line for their countries, their people, their faith, whatever..."*

He trails off, feeling suddenly a little foolish, and manages a slightly abashed grin.

*"Maybe I just want to flatten the mountains, and dry up the seas, too."*


----------



## Carnifex

*Steam Knight*

Another picture from the talented Boris Radujko, this one being a sketch of a Black Knight of Zhatan. The Black Knights are an order of elite fighters and paladins dedicated to Zhatan, dragon-saint and servant of the god Urazel. They are well known for the use by full Brother-Knights of hefty suits of steam- and magic-powered armour.

This sketch isn't entirely how I envisage them; it doesn't look enough like the armour is powered, and it doesn't give them the ominous bulk and size I'd consider them to have, but it does a good job of giving you and idea that these are *not* people you mess with


----------



## Carnifex

*Cavern - now Corvus - Company*

The disparate band spends another day heading northwards in an attempt to break out of the forested borderlands between Carthagia and Naseria, ever watchful for bandits, dreadspawn or any of the other multitude of dangers that might lie in wait for them. Ebri takes the opportunity to use the mimir, asking it what it has been told of _enlightenment_; all she gets is a dire, garbled warning:

_"The fools, in their quest for enlightenment, have gone beyond the boundaries of what is right and ventured into darker things, so blinded by their lust for knowledge that they are. I cannot believe what depths they have sunken to, but I will not tolerate it. Something must be done about this, and I'm the one to do it."_

Melisande too takes the opportunity to make use of the mimir - this time, for recording.

_"Let's record this on the mimir. Maybe it will help someone sometime, you never know.

"The first day I entered the wastelands of north Carthagia, I stumbled on an ambush. A horde of gnolls were attacking a small squadron of Carthagian militiamen. I got scared and tried to join the defensive formation of the men but it was an absolute massacre, and I can hardly remember anything until I was lying on the ground bleeding half to death along with all the other Carthagians. The gnoll shaman spared me. I think he wanted there to be a human witness--someone to know what had really happened. He sent me down a trail that led to an enchanted grove, where the gnolls had recently buried dead, or so I assumed by the symbol of Immar on the mounds. Yes, gnolls worship Immar too!

"There was another thing. A fleshtearer. You know, the fighting creatures we--they make in the Manipulation laboratories. It was crucified and badly mangled, but it didn't take much to work out what had happened--the gnolls managed to kill it after a pretty ugly struggle. That sort of reminds me of the inscription in those tombs--something about those who died fighting 'the abomination'...

"In the center of the grove there was a magical monolith. I think it was the focal point of the grove's druidic power. The grove itself, unlike the wasteland forest around it, was in full bloom and growth, and it seemed like a good place to camp and rest, especially with that wound, so I washed and ate and went to sleep."_

Melisande lowers her voice, speaking the rest reluctantly. It seems personal, secret. But a promise was a promise, and maybe Ebri Zol would be able to help clear up the mystery for her.

_"I had a nightmare,"_ she whispered. _"I thought I woke up in the night, and there was this--this shadow--vaguely human-shaped, moving toward me but without really moving... And then it leaned over me and I couldn't move, or scream, or anything, and I was so scared... It said some things. Or I mean, I understood some things it sort of projected.

                                             "I take a risk / dare I break / the silence of duty 
                                               Too late perhaps / yet too early / to judge 
                                                   And that / is what / I must do 
                                                            Judge 
                                                          It is my task

"The next morning when I really did wake up, there was a bundle on the ground next to me. It had a healing potion, that shadow-potion I showed you before, some tindertwigs and this pendant. It seems like someone wanted me to survive." Mel shrugged, still unable to guess why. "And for some reason I had a feeling the gift came from the shadow-demon of my nightmare, but I still don't know for sure. What do you think?"_

As they wander, Melisande coems to appreciate companionship in ways she'd never dreamed - she's no longer seen as just 'that blue girl'. The verdant countryside also helps calm her feeligns of unease, and as they travel the budding biologist presses a flower into her noetbook or takes a ook at an anthill or collects snails in her pockets. Of course, her familiar Pierre just eats the snails but she thinks they must be escaping somehow so she keeps on collecting more 

Meg'anna too enjoys the idle chat of the road, even if she isn't able to participate in it herself. But one of Mel's words catches her ear - _Fleshtearer_. Once, when they stop, Meg'anna borrows Mel's notebook to write:

_The Fleshtearers. THey are abominations. All of them. Those twisted, sadistic creatures are a worthless lot, created simply to destroy. The people who created them, powerful mages no doubt, are far worse than the creatures themselves. For they are the true problem. If a man
trains a wolf to hunt men, and the creature obeys, it is simply doing what is instilled in it. The wolf is to blame for the killings, as it has acted itself, but the man deserves a fate far worse than destruction, as toying with nature is a fate far worse than death. Nature is not to be
contained, not to be controlled, but to be channeled and enjoyed. These people play the role of Creator and nature will see to their destruction. Have you come across any of these horrid people? Have you seen the utter death and destruction that they cause in their egomaniacal wake? It was a fleshtearer, in fact that tore out my vocal chords. I nearly died. And for that, I will never stop hunting down these abominations until I find out who is making them and why. I can not rest until I do so._

After another days travel, they come to Naseria. Rolling vallies and woodlands stretch forth northwards from them as they break from the tangled wild forests of the borderlands, farmsteads and villages nestling amidst tilled fields and livestock wandering meadows. The weather is changing for the better now, it is clear to see amidst the verdant lands.

Sometimes, as they travel north, they see signs of the suffering this area had endured as the southmost of Naserian lands, shells of destroyed buildings or areas of scattered debris. Even twenty years after the Fang Wars with Carthagia, the lands of House Corvus, the southernmost of the sorcerous noble families, had not fully recovered.

Their path takes them on winding roads between small villages where they might stay at taverns. The odd make-up of the group usually provokes worried, mistrustful stares from locals but they progress without incident. From speaking with those they passed they discover that soon they would reach a sizeable city that lay on their route north...

                                                             * * *

It is many more days before they come to the city that serves as the seat of House Corvus, the southernmost of the Naserian noble families:

_The settlement was hidden from full view behind high red stone walls, built where a wide river diverted into two flows and then returned to one, leaving a great island some two miles wide and several miles long upon which this fortified city was constructed. High battlements were occasionally highlighted by the glint of the sun on the mail of a patrolling soldier. Access was only possible via the bridges, one of which the band was crossing even now, wooden timbers creaking beneath their feet. Wooden bridges were essential. They could be dismantled or burned easily, cutting off an invading army's means of getting to Corvus City.

Here, half-way over the wide roadway-bridge, the sun glinting off the water of the river below, they were crossing into the Guardian of Naseria, the southernmost of the great cities of the nation, and the one which had suffered many sieges and assaults by Carthagian warriors during the last few hundred years. Twenty years ago, the Fang War had resulted in Corvus City being raised, Flame Guildsman mercenaries unleashing massive destructive energies that levelled the fortress of the Flame Hawks, the Elemental Order of Fire. After the invaders were finally driven back though, the city had been rebuilt even more well-defended, Lady Corvus swearing that never again would a Carthagian warrior bring battle onto the island.

They passed underneath the towering, massively fortified red-stone walls, passing under the huge gate-arch and the watchful eye of mail-clad guards above. They drew many glances in fact, Melisande and Sandslipper certainly standing out. Nonetheless, the heavily armed guards vetting newcomers through the gate allowed them in without comment, though the silk-robe clad sorcerer standing to one side, red-robed in the garb of a Corvus noble, could not help but raise an inquisitive eyebrow at the bizarre sight that trooped into the city before him.

Within, broad boulevards and streets stretched away in an organised, rectangular pattern. All the buildings were of the same red stone, and all massively tall as well in their organised blocks. Few buildings possessed less than four stories. Verdant green trees were arranged in orderly lines down the streets, in which a loose crowd of people walked about their business. Commoners, but not in the ragged garb of famer-peasants, rather in simple but well-cut cloth; merchants and their attendants wearing richer fabrics and silks; nobles, mostly in the red-cloth of House Corvus as they ushered about their business. Here, on the great boulevard that led from the gate by which the band had entered straight to the palace at the heart of the city, patrols of soldiers occasionally wandered, their halberds and breastplates polished to bright gleaming silver, and they even saw occasionally a soldier of an altogether different standard.

Each one held his head high, proud and imposing and not afraid of meeting gazes with anyone. Red cloaks flapped in the breeze behind them, and over light and expertly crafted padded armour they wore surcoats of flame-red, upon which in yellow and orange the image of a phoenix bursting up from a fire was depicted. Upon their heads they wore burnished helms of bronze, strangely crafted so that it seemed a metal eagle was framing their face, head above their brow and wings down either side. Orange and red plumes, disturbed in the breeze, fluttered from the ridge of the helms. Most carried a longsword or short sword, strapped to their side, and that was all.

Sebastion had heard many tales of them before, from passing wanderers and of course his father. Flame Hawks, mage-knights of the Elemental Order of Fire. Consummate masters of battle and fire, each an elite soldier fully the better of ten normal men. Largely drawn from the sorcerous nobility of the land, they were truly the heart of the defence of the nation, even if their numbers were few.

He'd heard tales of the others too. The battalions of Wind Hawks, forming the deadly lightning-fast and lightning-wielding cavalry of the elite forces. The stoic and unyielding Iron Hawks; his father had said once of how he saw, with his own eyes, an Iron Hawk errant in a fight in a tavern that had broken out. A man had drawn a sword and struck at the mage-knight, and the Hawk simply caught the blade in his bare hand as if it were a wooden stick, before yanking it out of the mans grasp and bending it out of shape. And the Wave Hawks, far-ranging scouts and explorers possessed of wanderlust and seeking knowledge.

Ahead of them, at the end of the boulevard, the huge red-stone palace rose up; but this being Corvus, it was eminently defensible and possessed of great ramparts and turrets. They had learned from the Fang Wars, and now the turrets were studded with ballistae to fend off Carthagian fang dragons and their riders. The mighty main entrance, framed by an incredibly ornate marble arch, was wide open to allow the flow of nobles, courtiers and messengers to pass in and out with ease. The walls were pitted with dozens of small windows, more suitable for arrow-fire than as portals to gaze upon the cityscape from; it was only higher up and upon the more central towers that wider, more spacious windows opened up. In the local dark red rock, it was a formidable sight, and this impression was backed up by the fact that it held within the armouries, barracks and stables of House Corvus's elite troops.

Other edifices caught the eye as well. Some few blocks to the west but still easily visible as its walls rose up eight stories high, the red-stone fortress of the Flame Hawks still seemed somehow squat, because while it was tall it was also massively wide, the outer walls peppered with arrow-slits. From each corner-tower, pennants flickered in the breeze, the Order's symbol emblazoned upon them, as below them mage-knights patrolled the walls of the fortress.

On the right hand of the central street leading to the palace, the great white-washed temple to Naskha was the source of a great deal of activity as people passed in and out; white-robed priests, sorcerers and commoners. Temple guard clutching polearms and wearing gold-cloth cloaks stood at the pillared entrance way but seemed more ceremonial than functional in duty. Above the thirty foot wide entrance arch, the emblem of the sorcerer-god had been cut into the stone and then filled with gold; a golden draconic head, within a golden circle. To either side of the huge building smaller temples were scattered; a sandstone temple of Solanthar, banners of the sun draped down the walls, a wood-and-stone structure covered in thick vines and bearing the tree emblem of the nature goddess Lliras, and a shrine of Immar, balconies of the many floors of the red-stone building looking out onto the street below. A little further down a temple-library of Grumand the Stone Lord was constructed of rough, gray blocks of rock,
standing out from the surrounding local stone.

On the other side of the broad street, a tall building bore a sign depicting a quill, book, and Melisande and Ebri could make out the Drakkath word for 'mage' upon it. It seemed to have a sparse but regular traffic of men and women clothed in plain, unexceptional clothes but each carrying objects indicating their arcane acumen; spellbooks, spell component pouches or staves. Unlike the richly dressed sorcerer-nobles, these men and women looked decidedly normal apart from the implements of their trade.

The long boulevard had a vast array of other establishments along its lengthy edges; bustling taverns and inns, song and laughter coming from within, ground-floor shops with signs hanging outside depicting their line of business, and half-way down the street, stalls on the sides of the central road, merchants and vendors selling their wares in the street market. Amidst the market guards prowled, on the lookout for thieves and pickpockets and often accompanied by an eagle-eyed sorcerer.

This, then, was Corvus City._

The above was the in-game description of the city upon the company's arrival; I must thank Broccli_Head for the suggestion of using it as a sort of 'gazetteer' description of the place.

Once in the city, they suddenly find that they've lost Ebri - the small woman seems to have disappeared amidst the crowds of people. Meg'anna looks around disapprovingly at the massive buildings and prods the packed ground with her staff, knowing that plants can never find root in such rock. Sebastion is a bit worried; Naserians don't like Carthagians, and his protestations that he's actually Huroneses - an ally of Carthagia - are unlikely to get him seen in a better light.

Mel is just enthusiastic, looking at the marvellous regalia and plumes and robes and _real sorcerers_.

*"Do you think there's a library? Gods, I have so much I want to look up, I could spend a year. Should I talk to one of the sorcerers? I can't believe I'm finally in Naseria. I have to write to my mom. Can we look inside the temples? I've never seen temples to any gods except--you know--that other one--"* She is, of course, referring to Toranite temples. She'd told the others the truth about her nature - a renegade Manipulator on the run from Carthagia - during the journey to the city.

*"Hey! I bet someone in there would be able to help us figure out how to work this," she cries, drawing the Fire-Serpent rod from her pocket and pointing at the arcane shop. "The sign says 'Mage' in Drakkath." *

Several things happen at once.

Down near the target building, a Flame Hawk yells for people to take cover and everyone in the vicinity hurls themselves to the ground. A nearby sorcerer whips out his hands in a spellcastign pose and _webs_ Melisande. Dozens of nearby guards and Flame Hawks come running.

The sorcerer strides over, flanked by Flame Hawks glimmering with magical defences, and barks *"Nobody move! Woman, drop that rod right now! If you disobey I will make you comply by force!"*

Mel gives a nervous giggle as if to say _who, me?_ and does as she's told.

*"Oh, this!"* She drops the Fire-Serpent rod like a hot potato. *"I wasn't going to use it!"*

She laughs again, this time more relaxed. A simple misunderstanding. Easily set to rights.

*"I was just suggesting we go to that mage's shop and have an expert take a look. I don't even know how to use it yet. We got it from a tribe of kobolds we defeated south of here. Sorry about the trouble. Are you a real sorcerer?"*

Meg'anna and Sandslipper remain silent; Meg'anna's contemplating the sorcerer's hawkish features, much akin to a falcon she once saw perying on a field mouse. His nose reminds her of that beak, and a grin comes to the woman's face as she imagines the man chewing silently on a field mouse. Sebastion is more active, warning the others to comply and not cause any problems or else they're all dead.

The situation calms a little as the guards realise the sorcerer has the matter well in hand, and the red-robed Corvus noble begins to question them.

*"Who the hell are you?"* the man snaps at Melisande. *"You've just walked into Corvus City and waved a magical rod at the wizard's guild - you could be Carthagians intending to cause a little bit of destruction, eh?"*

Melisande's last question does seem to throw the Corvus man. *"Yes, I am a 'real' sorcerer, woman; what does that have to do with anything?" His eyes analytically examine the party. "Hmm. Some of you look Carthagian, some of you don't. Some of you just look very, very strange. Who are you people, what's your business here?"*

_Next time: The party attempts to talk their way out of the mess they're in, gains a new party member, and ends up in an underground vault!_


----------



## Stinky

*I survived!*

Well, would you look at that- I survived the wolf attack.  Now let's see if I can make it through wolf battle, round two.

Is it just me, or are we going to have the wierdest group ever, once we finally meet up?  We have a fish girl, a nice necromancer, smurfette, a walking statue, a portly enigma, a mute druid, a blind dwarf, a farmer-cum-warrior, and one wierd ol merc.  Aren't we the ragtag bunch of heroes...


----------



## Broccli_Head

*Re: I survived!*



			
				Stinky said:
			
		

> *Well, would you look at that- I survived the wolf attack.  Now let's see if I can make it through wolf battle, round two.
> 
> Is it just me, or are we going to have the wierdest group ever, once we finally meet up?  We have a fish girl, a nice necromancer, smurfette, a walking statue, a portly enigma, a mute druid, a blind dwarf, a farmer-cum-warrior, and one wierd ol merc.  Aren't we the ragtag bunch of heroes... *




It is really an odd group. Let me see if I get these right 

fish-girl= Wyshira
nice necro = Burl
smurfette = Melisande
walking statue = Sandslipper
portly enigma = ebri zol (?)
mute druid = Meg'anna
blind dwarf = Cord
farmer-cum-warrior = Sebastian
weird ol merc = Wolf

So are you tellin' me that crazy Kale is normal?


----------



## Stinky

I guess 'wierd ol' is a misnomer.  I was referring to Kale, but 'crazy young' is no doubt a better label for the lad, you are correct.  I would wager that Sebastion is the most normal of the group, followed by Kale at a bit of a distance.  Not that Kale's normal, but DANG, we've got a wierd group.  Yes, Ebri is the portly enigma- kinda chunky (but still fit for fight and travel), and full of mystery.

Can't wait to meet up.  Corvus, you guys spank the hell out of those monks, I don't want Kale to have o deal with anyone who is sneakier than he is...


----------



## Carnifex

Excellent! Now that Morrus has sorted out the problem with cookies, I can post again - so expect some updates soon. The 'Day of the Werewolves' is nearly ready to be posted up, and I've got some updates to do for the Corvus City band too.

Then, yes, soon indeed, the party will be united, and the prologue of this campaign will be over. It'll be time to begin on Chapter 1: The Arcanist's Tower...


----------



## hbarsquared

Okay, I thought I'd shed some light on this question: "What on earth possessed you to play a two-hundred-year-plus, born blind, dwarven monk?"

Well, coincidence, really.     It started with the idea of playing a blind monk.  It sounded pretty cool.  A monk already has that sixth sense, both in terms of game mechanics and flavor, and being blind seemed a natural extension of that.  Who better to have that sixth sense except the one who could not rely on the first?

Anyway, from there I thought a non human would be fun to play.  So far, strangely enough, I've only played human women the past few years.  I thought I'd try something . . . well . . . normal.   

And why Cord?  Well, I always thought that would be a cool name.

So, there you have it: A really old, completely blind, male dwarven monk.

Hope he survives the night.


----------



## Meg'anna

*Curious*

[COLOR=sea-green]I am curious to see what Carnifex end up with for the Pantheon and such. I think that Meg'anna will go on a bit of a *religious* kick for a bit, maybe flirting with becoming an initiate in some religon. I say some, as I'm not too sure what options I have open to me. I'm sure once the two companies get together, Meg will have a TON of questions for Wyshria, who may not be able to answer them all! LOL

Was reading the wolf encounter. Carnifex.... you are out there man! Babies as shields! No wonder it took them so long to give you a board! LOL Very very cool. Kale is proving to be rather resourceful as well. Good Luck with that one guys! Hopefully everyone survives! 

I think that Meg will be in for quite a surprise when she finds out that Melisande isnt dead! Resurrection isnt something that is real common in the forest. Perhaps it will all lend itself to the *religous experience.

Speaking of experience, when are we getting updated, Carnifex? New levels might come in handy with all the death and destruction that you are handing out lately  

Cheers for now.
-Oak[/COLOR]


----------



## Carnifex

Well, here's the new pantheon list that Oak has requested  BTW, the baby shields idea was shamlessly stolen from Piratecat's story hour on these boards.

Note: This is the list of gods of a young world that had existed for only a few hundred years before the Divine War. Barely a thousand years have passed since that catastrophe, and still civilisation is recovering; unlike an old established world such as Faerun there is not the hierarchy of established deities and their deific servants. During the Divine War many would-be gods and demi-deities were destroyed, and prevented from ever reaching their full potential.

Note also that this is a list of the deities known within the known region of the world for the characters and as such more religions may exist that they have yet to come across.

Aasor - Lawful Neutral
Domains: Guardian, Protection, Trade
Favoured Weapon: Light Mace
Holy Symbol: A silver dragon.
This religion is but a recent one, yet growing in its influence. Legend has it that Aasor was a silver dragon, the protector of the Irilson family, one of the merchant houses of Iril; the family has long had a cult dedicated to the dragon but now its numbers seem to be swelling and becoming more powerful, especially within Iril. The Aasorians have managed to gain themselves official control of the prisons and prisonships of the city, in the aspect of Aasir as a guardian.

Charon - Neutral Evil
Domains: Death, Evil, Knowledge, Magic, Undeath
Favoured Weapon: Dagger
Holy Symbol: A skull within a circle.
The Lord of the Dead is the deity of death, and is widely feared, as are his few followers. He is also worshipped in his aspect of knowledge and death, focusing on the passage of souls to the afterlife, as well as by Manipulators in his aspect called the Fleshtwister. A dark and sinister god, he nonetheless plays an important role in the marshalling of the dead to their final resting places, yet delights too in the creation of undead and half-alive abominations.

Fenris - Chaotic Neutral
Domains: Animal, Chaos, Fire, Strength, Survival
Favoured Weapon: Shortspear
Holy Symbol: A snarling wolf's head or a running wolf.
The Fire Wolf is a powerful nature spirit that symbolises the struggle of life to survive against difficult odds. Fenris is more savage and primal than the benevolent Lliras, representing a different facet of nature. People focused on survival, such as rangers and barbarians, worship him; he is the primary deity amongst the spirits revered by the Ascarians. A prayer is also often said to Fenris before a hunt, asking for good fortune.

Gilamesh - Lawful Evil
Domains: Darkness, Destruction, Evil, Fire, Scalykind
Favoured Weapon: Heavy Mace
Holy Symbol: A flame within a circle, or a snarling dragons visage.
The Dragon Lord was once one of the almighty Elder Gods, power incarnate that walked the land, yet after his destruction during the Divine War Gilamesh was not totally extinguished. A spark of him survived, now seemingly cured of the insanity that had siezed the Elders and caused the War, yet he was consumed by rage and hate of those who had defeated him. The patron deity of many of the peoples who had followed him loyally into the Divine War despite it all, Gilamesh is the Father of Dragons and god of fire. He has few followers amidst civilised nations who worship the Younger Gods.

Great Prophet - Unknown
Domains: Unknown
Favoured Weapon: Unknown
Holy Symbol: An eye within a triangle within a circle.
A mysterious and enigmatic deity, it was for a while believed that its religion had died out centuries ago, but today it is known that some few still worship this god, such as the Nephians. Discovering more is a hard task requiring sifting fact from rumour and myth, and a fruitless task when confronted with no real reliable sources.

Grumand - Neutral
Domains: Cavern, Earth, Knowledge, Protection, Strength
Favoured Weapon: Heavy Mace
Holy Symbol: A mountain within a circle, or a jewel crafted in the form of an eye.
A powerful nature spirit of Earth, the Stonelord is a deity of the strength and resilience of rock, and the hidden knowledge of the earth. Many of the races which dwell below the earth offer him prayer, for protection from cave-ins and other such dangers, and most dwarven cultures worship him almost exclusively. Those living in mountainous areas, along with miners and suchlike, also give worship to Grumand, as well as dwellers of desert areas.

Hashrukk - Chaotic Evil
Once an Elder God, Hashrukk seems to have been reduced to a mere shade after his death during the Divine War. He certainly seems to have had some influence since the War, but his status is at most a demon lord, and he has no following to speak of.

Immar - Chaotic Good
Domains: Good, Luck, Protection, Travel
Favoured Weapon: Quarterstaff
Holy Symbol: A gnollish runic emblem meaning 'the Guide'.
The Wanderer is a deity of inconstance, change and travel - he is also the deity of luck and fortune, and as such receives a few prayers from anyone hoping for good luck in a venture, from gamblers to a merchant risking a dangerous journey. Patron of travellers, he looks after them and cares for them, and any wanderer is glad to see a shrine of Immar. He is also worshipped widely by those who live in the wilderness and travel much, such as gnolls.

Ishrak - Chaotic Neutral
Domains: Air, Chaos, Ocean, Storm, Water
Favoured Weapon: Javelin
Holy Symbol: A lightning bolt through a circle, or a dolphin or eagle.
The Storm Lady is the powerful goddess of the seas and skies. Chaotic, unpredictable and often dangerous, those who depend on the sea for their livelihood - from fishermen to merchants to common sailors - often offer her a prayer or two, while most ports have at least a small temple dedicated to her.

Kevayek - Chaotic Evil
Domains: Chaos, Evil, Pestilence, Slime, Suffering
Favoured Weapon: A flail
Holy Symbol: Vermin (a rat or mosquito), or a diseased eye.
The Bringer of Pestilence is the deity of disease and suffering, an evil and hateful god that seeks to subvert all life to its epidemics. Understandably few in following, the religion is driven out where it is found, but many offer a small prayer to Kevayek hoping he will spare them illness.

Lliras - Neutral Good
Domains: Animal, Family, Good, Healing, Plant
Favoured Weapon: Quarterstaff
Holy Symbol: An oak tree or stag head within a circle.
Lliras is the goddess of life, nature, fertility and family, a benevolent nature deity who heals and aids. Worshipped by many cultures that live in the wilds, as well as by farmers, peasants, and forest-dwelling elven cultures, Lliras exists as a different aspect of nature to that of Fenris.

Naskha - Chaotic Neutral
Domains: Chaos, Knowledge, Magic, Spell, Trickery
Favoured Weapon: Dagger
Holy Symbol: A golden dragon head within a circle.
The Great Sorcerer is the patron deity of sorcerous magic in general, and the noble houses of Naseria in particular. He is also worshipped by some rogues, as well as many wizards and bards, although not widely worshipped outside of Naseria

Shauku - Chaotic Evil
Domains: Evil, Ice, Illusion,Trickery
Favoured Weapon: Dagger
Holy Symbol: Three fiendish visages, a snowflake.
Shauku was once one of the powerful Elder Gods, yet after his defeat at the claws of Fenris and Naskha during the Divine War was reduced to a mere fraction of his former power. Worshipped primarily by evil beings who live on cold areas, Shauku also has some few cults of human followers. Some few hundred years ago, his three servants the Ice Demons nearly defeated Fenris and his Ice Horde ravaged the northlands, but they were ultimately defeated and his remaining power more or less extinguished. Today he has very little influence except as a malign presence of the north.

Solanthar - Lawful Neutral
Domains: Destruction, Good, Law, Retribution, Sun
Favoured Weapon: Heavy Mace
Holy Symbol: A blazing sun.
The Sun Lord is the mighty deity of the sun, and also of vengeance. He is worshipped primarily in the aspect of the sun as a destructive thing, but his goodly aspect as a life-giver is also revered. Worshipped by many, especially within Adbar, Solanthar has a very militant clergy and many knightly orders follow him.

Toran - Neutral Evil
Domains: Destruction, Evil, Hatred, Strength, War
Favoured Weapon: Battleaxe
Holy Symbol: Crossed battleaxes or a black dragon.
The god of the Carthagians, Toran represents the darker side of war - slaughter, mercilessness, and destruction. He is also known as The Liberator for he is the patron of those who, in times of oppression and slavery, turn to hatred and malice to see them through.

Urazel - Lawful Neutral
Domains: Fire, Law, Planning, Strength, War
Favoured Weapon: Longsword
Holy Symbol: A red dragon or a fiery brazier, or the two combined.
Urazel is the god of war in its aspect of strategy and planning, as well as personal might and skill at arms. He is also the patron deity of horsemanship, and the people of Huron, where his religion is strongest, include many skilled riders. Warriors and soldiers often offer him prayer, and he also has links to red dragon-kind.

Edit: Added Strength to the domains of Fenris.


----------



## Broccli_Head

Cool. thanks for the info. When do we get a map?


----------



## Carnifex

Broccli_Head: Thanks for the praise  As for maps - you'll get a map when either I learn how to draw 'em or some kind soul volunteers to draw one for me 

Anyway, I've updated the game notes section of the game site again to include a 'world events' section. Here it is so far:

_1136 Late Autumn_ - Huronese soldiers defeat large sarsnik horde in Myrmecia. 
_1136 Winter _- Church of Toran deploys a number of fleshtearers into the Sudokan valley, the border between Carthagia and the wild Drakkath. 
_1137 Early Winter _- Merchant shipping on the Azure Coast begins to suffer greater than normal levels of piracy. 
_1137 Early Spring _- The campaign begins! 
_1137 Early Spring _- Domain of Mirayek established in western Drakkath by a local warlord, aided by the Church of Kevayek. 
_1137 Spring _- Expeditionary force of Cryosian troops sent over the Azure Sea, destination undisclosed by the authorities. 
_1137 Late Spring _- King of Corinthia overthrown in coup by merchant houses. Period of confusion and anarchy breaks out. 
_1137 Late Spring _- Adbar begins to annex lands to the east of its borders. 

Oh, BTW, all dates are reckoned from the end of the divine war between the Elder and Younger gods.


----------



## Carnifex

A short little update on the ventures of the Corvus Company...

In answer to the sorcerers question, Melisande's stock answer instinctually comes to her lips - *"I'm really a normal person, I'm just blue."* But this really isn't a very suitable answer to the situation, so she continues on, *"Or maybe I'm an aasimar, I don't know. But I do know I'm a sorceress, and that's why I came to Naseria. I was--uh--I mean--"*

And she realises that telling them _"I'm fleeing Carthagia to join forces with the enemy"_ might not sound like a very truthful answer.

The muddled conversation continues for a while. The party discovers that the sorcerer they face here is the brother of Lady Corvus, the head of the noble family, and hence more than slightly important. It quickly becomes obvious that he no longer regards them as a threat, releasing Mel from the entrapping webs. When Sebastion calls Mel a _foolish rustic on her first time in a major city_, she strikes back by identifying him as a Carthagian mercenary and the sorcerer glowers at him, reprimanding him to be more respectful to a sorceress - in Naseria, sorcerers are held in very high standing, even foreign ones. Eventually their captor decides to take them in for questioning in the city watch headquarters, to sort out the whole mess, especially since Mel hints that she has information that the company found while in the borderlands that might be of use to the Corvus family.

They're taken into an interrogation room in the large, grand watch building, and the sorcerer rejoins them along with Alaric, a Flame Hawk squire and Naserian noble.

*"I am Lord Falkmar Corvus, and this is Alaric Valiere, Flame Hawk squire and heir to the Valiere lordship. Young lady, I think that now is time for you to tell me exactly what is going on, don't you?" *

And she does, more or less. She tells them of the battle between Carthagian forces and dreadspawn, and of the previous conflict between gnolls and Carthagians. She tells them of the crucified fleshtearer, and the one unleashed by the Carthagians in the dreadspawn battle. She tells them of their flight through the kobold caves and eventually to safety. She tells them that the reason she waved the rod around was because she wanted to indicate the Wizard's Guild, the place that she wanted to visit to see if they could identify the item.

*"Draw whatever conclusions you will--I'm sure you're much more abreast of the politics than I am--but the fact that Carthagia is moving into the borderlands with fleshtearers to fight dreadspawn sounds interesting to me."*

Falkmar doesn't really agree - Carthagian border sweeps are not uncommon. The amount of gnoll activity occurring he does consider significant enough to warn his cousins of House Merlihr in the east about, since they have considerable political and diplomatic interests with the gnolls. Then Sandslipper speaks up, revealing she has a package for the man Ecurius Tarravus - Falkmar recognises the name as being that of a Truth Seeker of the royal house, adn as soon as Sandslipper tells him that the package is from someone caled Fireball his entire attitude changes. The party are swiftly set free, and he assigns Alaric to the party to lead them north to the capital city. The young squire is happy about the proposition, since Falkmar promises him he will acquire Errant status for the young mage-knight, and it gives him the chance to visit the training grounds of the Wind Hawks in Tarravus, the mage-knights of the Elemental Order of Air.

Once free, they gather together and decide that they will all travel north together, for their various own reasons. First stop though, is the wizards' guild…


----------



## Carnifex

Continuing the tale of the Corvus Company...

I'm going to change my style of writing a bit now - writing in the past tense rather than the present. This'll allow me to directly port over far more of the actual text of the game into the story hour, since it's all written in the past tense.

*Into the Guild:*

The group headed out of the watch headquarters, Alaric leading the band in the direction of the wizards' guild down the boulevard. For the FlameHawk squire, there was something in the past conversation for him to think on - Ecurius Tarravus, the apparent recipitor of Sandslipper's parcel from the Huronese 'Fireball', was a Truth Seeker. The Truth Seekers were an openly elitist group within the boundaries of the Naserian nobility, made up only of powerful and learned sorcerers - their aim being the search for truth, not in the sense of common, mundane truths such as the name of a criminal or suchlike, but rather far more fundamental truths about reality, the gods and existence. It was rumoured by people from outside the society that the Truth Seekers had in their possession a series of prophetic works which told the tale of the world from creation to the present day; others muttered that they sought the means of ascendance into godhood to join Naskha, patron deity of Naseria and the sorcerer-god from which the Naserian nobility claimed lineage.

The procession recieved many odd looks as they entered the wizards' guild, a building of perhaps surprisingly small scale. Entering into the comfortably but not ostentatiously upholstered lobby, the party could see around them not a single wizard who was dressed in lavish finery such as House Corvus nobles wore, but rather all in practical or more drab gard, the only indicatorsof their skills as wizards their belt pouches, spellbooks and the occasional glint of an enchanted ring or amulet. In Naseria, no noble _needed_ to study wizardry, and as such it was entirely the province of the common people. There were amongst the elemental orders a few commoners who trained in wizardry and combat, but the bulk of the elite warriors were nobility; though they did have supporting specialist wizards such as diviners. Nonetheless, the status of a wizard within Naseria was about on par with a merchant or skilled craftsman, below that of the nobility.

At the end of the entrance hall a wizard-clerk sat behind a desk, scribbling notes in a ledger. As the band approached her, she looked up, nodding respectfully to the young Valiere. "Is there perhaps something I can aid you with, sir?"[/color] she addressed the squire.

"One of my guests," he waved an arm to indicate the warrior and three women with him, "expressed an interest in coming here." Turning to Melisande, he allowed himself a shy but courtly smile, "M'lady, whatever you need, just let this clerk know."

Melisande had been hanging back slightly, but keeping close to the handsome and noble Alaric. All these wizards were reminding her uncomfortably of the Manipulation labs. Most of the fledgeling apprentices there had come to learn necromancy and transmutation; they wore all black and made a point of going with unkempt, dirty hair and long fingernails. They distrusted Melisande and her innate gifts, and mocked her squeamishness unmercifully. How often did she find bits of goblins deposited on her chair or under her workbench? *"Feeling a little green there, Melberry?"* they would taunt.

But her smile hardly wavered as the unpleasant memories flashed past and then vanished like cold-blooded lizards darting under sun-warmed stones. Those nasty people were behind her forever. She was in Naseria now. She stole a glance at Alaric, the living epitome of her salvation, in his clean-cut, noble bearing precisely the opposite of those grungy nihilists she had suffered in Carthagia.

"Well, Ma'am, during our travels we came across this magical rod," she began, lifting the Fire-Serpent Rod dramatically across both hands. "I hoped someone in your learned guild would be able to tell us more about it. Like, how to use it, for one thing."

The clerk - a stocky woman probably in her early thirties, clad in peasant-style garb - perused the proferred object carefully for a few moments, before glancing amidst the notes on her desk. "Well, madame, we could perform a minor identification spell upon it for the standard rate of one hundred and five pieces of gold, or a more powerful divination such as an analyse dweomer or legend lore, the price for which would vary depending on the individual wizard contracted to perform the service."

"Oh... money..."

Mel patted her pockets, but still there was nothing in them except Pierre, a couple of potions, a holy symbol of Immar and a few empty snail shells.

Somehow she had expected the wizards to be purveyors of knowledge for knowledge's sake. Her end of the bargain was showing them this nifty rod, and their end was telling her more about it. She bit her lip, feeling silly again. _I suppose they have to make a living somehow, don't they?_

The question of money chose that moment to flash its ugly head at her: the lack of it would soon become more than just embarrassing. She wanted to travel with Sandslipper north, but her rations were nearly spent and she had little to offer as a freelance Manipulator. Sudden panic threatened to paralyze her, but an undisguised impatient gaze coming at her from the wizard clerk dragged her back to the present problem.

"I'm afraid I don't have that much on me... You wouldn't have a library I could consult, would you?" Her voice betrayed a meekness it lacked just a moment before. 

The clerk nodded again. "We do indeed have a library here. Cost of access is usually fifteen gold pieces to non-Guild members per day of perusal of the common archives, though of course to a noble," she said to Alaric, "the charge is only five gold pieces. Access to more archaic, rare or powerful books carries an extra charge."

_That's about all I have_, Melisande thought desperately.

"I'll... I'll come back when I have more time," she said with a forced smile.

"You wouldn't happen to have a copy of Ha--Hinkle--Herbert--Hathel--yes! _Hathelberts Occult Manual Of The Celestial and Demonic_, would you? Is that in the archaic and rare books section?" 

The clerk nodded once more. "We do indeed have a copy of the _Occult Manual_ - at least one copy, in fact. It's a highly regarded text, but not part of the archaic or rare books sections. Actually, part of the archaic tomes section is currently unavailable anyway, because some Truth Seekers have hired out the entire catalogue for their own perusal at the moment."

Sebastion managed to stifle his laugh at the expression on the clerk's face, seen from the corner of his eye.

Could she really have thought she would just walk in here and they would welcome her with open arms? he wondered, turning to face her.

"I'll... I'll come back when I have more time..." Melisande had muttered, and Sebastion felt a little sorry for her, as she turned. He wondered what dreams had to have died to cause such a rapid change in expressions. Feeling the need to change the subject, divert the conversation, he stepped to the door to hold it for them as they left, and spoke quietly.

"Truthseekers again, huh? What exactly are these truthseekers?"

Sebastion headed for the door, apparently impatient to be outside a place of learning. Melisande wasn't ready to give up yet, however. She turned her hopeful azure gaze up to Squire Alaric. She simply must consult that book, and although she did have that much gold it would mean not eating if she spent it. Besides, the Squire was eligible for the nobility discount.

Once again, all she had to bargain with were the odds and ends of unusual knowledge she had accumulated recently. "I've heard talk of the Truth-Seekers more than once in recent times, as well as of Nephian assassins attacking the Flame Hawks. I think we both might be interested in the Occult Manual..." she suggested to Alaric with her sweetest smile.

Sebastion, left standing like an idiot, holding the door for women who weren't coming, let it go with a dramatic grimace, turning back to the
conversation.

"Or we could just stay here and embaress ourselves a little more..." he observed, to no-one in particular, under his breath. "I wonder if I have a hat somewhere that I could put on the floor to catch the pennies... beggars that we appear to have become."

_Next Update: Find out what the Corvus Company discover while perusing the library of the Corvus wizards guild!_


----------



## Carnifex

_The Corvus Company head into the wizard's guild..._

Alaric nodded to Melisande's suggestion. "Yes, perhaps we should take a look." He turned back to the clerk and paid the due.

"Why, thank you, Squire. What a gentleman!" Melisande smiled sweetly, taking the Flame Hawk's arm as they were led to the library, and sending Sebastion Cornell a look that was supposed to mean, _take a lesson._

* * *​
The wizards' guild libraries lay beneath the building; a mage librarian led them down stairs into the upper vault, a room of significant size filled with rows of books and shelving, musty tomes and newer works, amidst which people moved, slowly browsing the available texts.

It took little time for the librarian to locate the _Occult Manual_, and she left the band at a small reading support with the tome as she disappeared off into the maze of shelves. The book lay before them, thick and heavy with a tough leather cover into which the title had been laboriously inked in elaborate style.

"How fascinating..." came a placid voice behind them. "What beautiful lettering..."

Ebri Zol stood on her tiptoes, trying to see over the shoulders of the taller members of the company. "And really, much more interesting than what I have here." Ebri closed the tome on medicinal plants she'd been holding open against her chest, placing a finger in it to mark her place. 

Smiling, she gestured with the book. "What one learns from plants is that one has time to study them. Plants, they are very... still. And stable. And much the same from year to year. They go through the same patterns again and again, and the different faces they show to us are only a matter of time and weather and season."

"I'm glad to find you again so easily," Ebri continued, "I hurried ahead at the gates, in my haste to pay my respects to the temple, and to puchase some supplies I dearly needed, and when I returned to the gate area to find you, you were nowhere in sight. I should have known, with such scholars among you, to find you in the library. Have you been to Corvus City before?"

_DM Note: Ebri was making quite a lot of use of her Bluff skill here  _

Nearby Meg'anna stood; the library didnt offer much to the likings of her. She was literate, but the heavy tomes held little interest for the woman who seemed to be developing a mild case of claustrophobia. Maybe it was city-phobia. It was making her nervous and she stamped her foot impatiently as the others scanned the shelves for the manuals they desired.

Delighted by the unexpected presence of Ebri Zol, and rather relieved that the wise woman had not witnessed her little misunderstanding with the sorcerer, Mel turned an instant from the _Occult Manual_ to grin at her.

"Oh, but I've always found plants alchemically rather aggressive under all that placid exterior. They quibble among themselves constantly for light, space and pollinators, and some can be quite deliberately poisonous..." She could go on for hours, but the Occult Manual drew her back with its hefty promise of enlightenment. She waved a blue hand, switching mental tracks. "Never mind. I'm glad you're back, Ebri; that was excellent timing.

"What we have here is _Hathelbert's Occult Manual of the Demonic and Celestial_. I'm about to look up a few things about the Great Prophet, Nephians and aasimar, if you'd like to join me. Perhaps there are a few things you could add..."

Sebastion resisted the urge to poke his tongue out at Melisande as they were led down into the cellars, the large vault something of a surprise given the relatively small upper floors. Not, however, quite so much of a surprise as the reappearance of Ebri Zol. Dropping back from the witches muttering to each other at the front, concerned with this tome and that treatise, he slipped into step next to her.

"What happened to you, out there?" he asked, trying to make conversation. This place really wasn't for him, and though he didn't feel nervous, he did feel rather like the fifth leg on a horse... 

"Why, nothing much of consequence," Ebri told him, shrugging rather ruefully. "--except that I was seriously overcharged for some lukewarm vegetable stew at that stall a few streets over-- between here and the temple... I visited the temple, consulted with my superiors, prayed, rested, replenished my supplies-- I badly needed oil for my hair-- and came here to read. It is so rare that one has a chance to spend time in a good library... Not very exciting, I'm afraid. How have your first days in Corvus City been?"

_DM Note: Bluffing again _

Sebastion nodded at Ebri's explanation, catching sight of the deep gouge in the Mimir's surface as it was passed across. It left him wondering if the thing was easily damaged, and whether the score would have done any damage.

Trying not to appear too hopelessly out of place, he turned to the nearest shelf and began perusing the titles carefully, slowly, with no real intention of picking anything out. 

Melisande began her search through the Occult Manual. Surprisingly, she found the reference that the person recorded on the mimir had made very quickly.

Here it was, some several dozen pages in. The inscription from the tombs, that particular word that Melisande hadn't been able to translate since she'd never encountered the symbol before.

_Azrael._

The book seemed to be made of lots of individual texts on various topics, mostly by Hathelbert himself but also by other contributors. This particular text had the drakkath symbol at the top and the translation, and was indeed one of Hathelberts own writings.

_Mention of Azraels are few and far between. Searching out scholars in Naseria, Cryosia and Avorasa gave me answers indicating that Azraels are 'angels of death' - essentially, divine beings involved in the ushering of souls into the afterlife in an orderly manner, that they might arrive at where they are supposed to be. They are often depicetd as tall, winged beasts with skin of metal and bearing many armaments of war._

Further research on my part indicates that these angels of death inhabit a place called the 'Palace of Shadows' in the plane of existence called Nirvana or Mechanus, a massive fortress from which they recieve, judge and allocate souls of the dead.

Azraels do not seem to be the divine servants of any particular deity, or at least none that we are aware of. By all accounts, an encounter with an Azrael is likely to be dangerous, and there are a few folk tales that in the days of the divine war between the Elders and the Youngers, Azraels plowed swathes of destruction over the landscape, unfettered and uncontrolled. It is possible that they were servants of an Elder God, now masterless and independent. If so, we can only be thankful that they seem to have taken on the relatively peaceful role of marshalling the dead.

That seemed to be all there is on that particular topic. It appeared that it was one of the more obscure facets of the book. 

Mel looked up from the book with a creased brow.

"Ebri, may I use the mimir? I'd like it to read back to me the inscription from the tombs."

Even while she waited, her mind raced. What would the Azrael have to do with the Great Prophet? Were the Nephians worshippers of these renegade sub-gods? She had thought to find answers to her questions in this book; instead she found another piece to a puzzle that now appeared far larger than she had thought before. It was frustrating, but also fascinating.

"Why, of course..." Ebri replied, reaching into the folds of her wool wrap, and retrieving the mimir. She set it on the table next to the book. Oddly enough, the mimir now had a long scratch-scuff mark along its otherwise smooth metal cranium. 

"There you are. I'd be surprised, really, if there's anything in there about the Nephians. They don't usually let information be written about them. Though I don't see why, really. It hardly makes sense, if they want to keep themselves secret. It makes the rest of us all that much more curious! Nothing like a juicy secret!"

The mimir spoke forth its recording at Melisande's command.

_"Here we commemorate <unknown symbol> who perished in duty, giving his life in battle against the Reaver that the Abomination might be stopped. He is embraced back into the shadows, to serve as <unknown symbol> on the ramparts of Law, in defence of the most sacred, as is his due reward."

Further reading of the Occult Manual brought up further references of the subjects Melisande was researching in.

Aasimar.

Aasimar is the term denoting an individual touched by the haevenly planes. This may be in the form of celestial heritage in their blood, or simply by the influence of the heavens upon their body and mind. Their appearance and personality often reflects this, but there is no defining feature by which one can identify an aasimar for sure.

The closest Mel could find to anything about Nephians was

Nephias.

Nephias was one of the evil Elder Gods, master of dark magic and intrigue, Lord of Change and Sorcery. It is said he always appeared as a shadowy, massive spider, composed entirely of evil magic and thirsting for the corruption of all peoples to his dark ways. Some say Nephias was the god who created magic itself, weaving a web of energy across the world that arcanists could access; my time amongst gnoll shamans of the Red Wolf tribe in Avorasa exposed me to stories that he also wove the 'web of life', a magical tapestry that holds together all creation.

Nephias is one of the Elder Gods who is known to have definitely been slain during the Divine War. Unlike such Elders as Shauku or Hashrukk, who endured as mere shades of their former power, the life-spark of Nephias was extinguished totally by Naskha the Great Sorcerer.

There was no mention of the Great Prophet nor the eye symbol that Mel bore round her neck. 

Gently, Melisande closed the book and turned to the mimir. "Mimir, amend that recording with this footnote. The second unrecognizable symbol in this inscription appears to be 'Azrael', which Hathelbert's describes as an 'angel of death', or a semi-divine entity whose duty is to guide the souls of the dead across the planes. These Azrael may once have been part of the entourage of an Elder God no longer in existence, and although fierce and dangerous they seem happy enough to stick to their duty as guides to the dead. Note: could they have been servants of Nephias? End recording."

With a sigh of frustration, she returned the book to its shelf and collected the mimir from the bookstand. "What happened while you were eating soup, Ebri? The mimir looks like someone played hoops with it." 

Before Ebri could reply, Mel put her hand to her lips, realizing there were a few more things she needed to learn.

"Sebastion, if you've nothing else to do, why don't you help me look up some historical facts? You might learn something useful for your--your project. Find a history book and see if you can't dig up anything about a war with 'the Reaver' or 'the Abomination', or anything about Nephian assassins and the Flame Guild. All right?"

Sebastion gestured towards the bookshelf with an aggrieved expression as though to ask what she thought he was doing. A quick look back showed him that he was, in fact, in quite the wrong section, and he slowly shuffled along the shelf until he found where he should be.

"There you go..." he said, laying the first possibility before her, then continued back to the shelf to find something more. After some time, and with Melisande still deep within her studies, he started to peer around the shelves looking, rather hopefully, for titles about integrating warfare and magic.

This wasn't the place to read it, but knowing the title and author might help him to find it later, when he had the money and the wherewithal to get his own copy, and not have to beg to for money to borrow a book from someone else... 

Running her finger along the shelves Melisande began searching out the religion section, hoping to find more about the Elder God Nephias and the Azrael, or the cult of the Great Prophet.

It wasn't too hard to find out more about Nephias - all she had to do was look at one of the many history books detailing the divine war between Elder and Younger gods. Nephias, the dark, sorcerous horror.

Commonly, creation tales featured the Elder Gods as somehow arising from the four elemental lords as these creator beings slumbered - if the Elders were indeed dreams of the lords, then they were nightmares too. A dozen books chronicled each, from the mind-twisting vileness of the Daemonflesh Hashrukk and its capability to sculpt and twist life as its warped sentience wished, to the wanton destruction of Gilamesh the Dragon Lord, creator of the dragons and devastator of great tracts of land. Nephias was one of the most powerful of the Elders, a terrifying being of pure magic that seemed most often to take the form of a great, dark arachnid; indeed, spiders were said to have been created in its image. Many tales spoke of how when life first came into being on the world at the behest of the Elders, Nephias wove a great web around the world as a cocoon to protect it from dangers, and this web was magic itself, spawned by the World Spider's own will and the source of power from which spellcasters drew their energies.

The Elder Gods seemed full of paradoxes - such acts of creation and benevolence, yet also such mind-twisting horror and evil. Nephias, who twisted human emperors to fight each other, corrupting them and driving them into proud insanities; who fostered and mastered the arts of necromancy and spread them to the most vile peoples it could find; and who spun a web to protect life and nurture all beings. There seemed to be no logic, rhyme nor reason.

When the Younger Gods and their followers locked away the secret of the Elder Gods power, Nephias found itself permanently manifested as a great, bloated spider; it was in this form that the Elder god of magic was struck down by the magics of Naskha in the great battle of the war, permanently slain and its essence extinguished for good.

Tales of Azrael were few, and more or less as the Occult Manual described them. Usually described as marshals of the dead or judges of the afterlife, the books in the library could tell Mel no more than she already knew.

The Great Prophet gained some few meagre mentions; considered as a minor cult dedicated to some prophet from ancient times who had, reputedly, spoken some prophecy of the future, and who was worshipped for its aspects of foresight, planning and suchlike. Beyond this there really was no more that she could find. 

Searching through the history books to be found in this library turned up nothing that seemed to be of any significance on the terms 'Reaver' nor 'Abomination'. The books Sebastion came across did, however, make mention of Nephians - the mystical sect of assassins who dwelt high in the Sarokean mountains. All that could be gleaned, more or less, was that they had little contact with the outside world except in their role as assassins-for-hire, a role in which they seemed totally neutral in who they worked for, and practicsed no ulterior motives of their own. Of course, rumour was rife that the strange gray-clad Nephians did indeed have ulterior motives, but nothing conclusive had been reached. With monasteries hidden away deep in the mountains and in difficult-to-reach places, the Nephians had little to fear from anyone else.

There was plenty on the Flame Guild. A large guild of battlemages spanning Huron and Carthagia, the Flame Guild were effectively mercenary war wizards, largely made up of fire-mage evokers. With a history dating back several hundred years and a long and proud tradition of battle-magic, the Guild was very influential, providing the bulk of arcane support for the Huronese armies. Their headquarters in Carthagia, the Pyre of Gilamesh, was built on the site where that Elder god had finally been slain, its fiery essence used as an artifact of great power to aid guild members by providing a magical reservoir of energy from which they could all draw evocational magics in times of need. The current Guildmaster, Joven Girrus, was a Huronese war wizard of great power and also skill at arms.

Sebastion found within information on the Flame Guild a great deal to be learned on the art of battle-magic, and how it could be intertwined with conventional warfare for the best of results. He also came across a slim volume, the manual of war written, allegedly, by the warlord of ancient times, Korellius. Within its pages the soldier found only a small section applicable to the integration of magic and battle, but nonetheless the few pieces of wisdom that the legendary warrior had written on the subject seemed well thought-out and clear; there simply wasn't very much there, though.

"Well, that about does it for me," Mel sighed, closing the last book with a shrug. Until she managed dig up better sources, she would have to make do with what she had. "I guess... I guess the next step after a bath and a good night's sleep--and maybe some of that soup, Ebri?--is figuring out how to earn a few gold pieces before we head north." She gave Alaric an embarrassed glance.

"Lead away, Squire. I don't suppose a noble of your station would know much about employment in Corvus City, but--but do you? I can work up a little sorcery and I know a bundle about elementary bio-thaumaturgy. Do you think there's any chance someone might need a girl of my talents?"

Heading for the stairs, she stopped, patted her pockets, and then turned. "Pierre. Honestly."

A moment later a bicephalic brown blob bounced out from behind a bookshelf and clambered sheepishly into her proferred pocket. "Bookworms," Mel sighed, rolling her eyes. "Sharing an empathic link with you, it's no wonder I'm obsessed with invertebrates. You stay put, now. We're in an unfamiliar city."

Alaric raised his eyebrow at Melisande's question. "No, I'm afraid I don't know what kind of work you could get. We're only here for as long as it takes Lord Falkmar to arrange things for us to travel north, which is probably going to be as soon as tomorrow, and being able to 'work up a little sorcery' is hardly a unique talent in Naseria; I'm not sure what kind of employment you were thinking of? Certainly, bio-magic could be of use but only if you were thinking of staying for longer! Anyway, I think I know a place where you could get a bath and nights sleep, and a meal, for not too taxing a price. Follow me, I'll lead you there."

Next Update: The Corvus Company take on deadly Scorpion Warrior assassins!

I hope my new style of writing this story hour is better than how it used to be; basically, I'm using far more text direct from the posts that myself and my players are making, so more is getting recorded in the story hour.

I know the Corvus Company have been slogging through lots of rp'ing and stuff without any combat for a while, but trust me, that's about to change. And then there's poor Wolf's Company.. you want combat, when I do that update I'll give you combat, with blood by the bucket-load _


----------



## Carnifex

Making their way out of the vault they found that more time than they had thought had passed; in the windowless library there was no real way to tell what time of day it was, but already the sun was sinking away. Alaric swiftly led them to a tavern on one of the City's broad boulevards; the sign of the establishment showed a Carthagian fang dragon in flight and held the name; _The Cowardly Dragon. _

Melisande immediately recognized the emblem on the carved wood sign above the inn Alaric led them to, and wondered inwardly if he were trying to make a point, taking them for Carthagians like the "cowardly" fang dragon on the sign, but there was no guile in the Squire's manner as he ushered them inside, so she let it slide. Not that she had much pride to uphold in her forsaken heritage, but she was sensitive to being made fun of, having been blue all her life. 

Besides that, he proceeded to offer the whole company a profoundly welcome hot meal--Melisande's first in a very long time--upon tasting which, she was inclined to forgive any small jabs at Carthagia anyway. 

Within, it was wide, spacious, and full of merchants and travellers. Upholstered in dark wood and red cloth, the wide lower room was looked down on from above by an upper layer which ran round the walls to provide more seating for the clientelle, and it was up there that they were quickly directed for a meal that Alaric offered freely to pay for. Looking down over the taproom below they could see a veritable array of different peoples; travellers and merchants proving a varied bunch. 

They had barely settled down to the soup that was brought to them before they were disturbed. 

Tall, graceful, slender and with beautiful Huronese features, the woman stepped lightly, almost silently, up to the table, and gave a small bow to attract the company's attention to her. Clad in loose and simple red garments, her long black hair was tied in a single braid and reached down to her waist, and voluminous sleeves covered her hands clasped together before her. 

"Good day to you, travellers. Good day to you, Sandslipper," she said, bowing again to the young genasi who seemed confused by this attention given to her by someone she'd never seen before. The woman continued. "I bring my greetings from Ecurius. You need not worry about the burden you carry for the fiery one anymore, young lady, for it is the Seekers will that I take it from you know and deliver it to him. I know it must have been a dangerous journey for you; we are impressed you made it this far. Of course, you will be paid your due, but for you the journey is over. Please, give me the package."

Sandslipper faltered, clearly confused and uncertain. 

Mel caught the desert genasi's hesitant look and intervened. "I beg your pardon, Miss, but I think it would be appropriate for you to offer some kind of proof of your identity," she suggested in a friendly enough manner, but one that was also meant to signal Sandslipper that she was not alone in this, and would have support should things go badly. 

She didn't know how many people were informed of Sandslipper's mission besides the recently debriefed Lord Corvus, nor exactly how dangerous the item in the package truly was, but it did seem a little too easy for this Huronese woman to simply claim to be Ecurius' envoy and request delivery. She gave the stranger a tight, expectant smile. 

Settling into his seat, having doffed his armour for the first time in days to settle for his meal, Sebastion felt rather under-equipped when they were suddenly confronted by a Huronese woman. Perhaps she seemed a little less exotic to him than the others, being from his homeland, but he still felt slightly at odds with her approach, and had his mouth not been full he might have said pretty much what Melisande did. Alright, perhaps without the subtlety or decorum, but the underlying suspicion would have been the same. Finishing his mouthful he leant forward slightly, freeing his back from the confines of the chair in preparation of movement. 

"I'm with her on this one..." he noted, quietly. 

The Huronese woman let her gaze settle on Melisande, impassionate eyes boring into the woman as if in irritation that the sorceress had the affront to question her words. "Proof of my identity? Such as what? What proof would mean anything to you?" Her gaze went back to Sandslipper. "This Myrmecian knows of no identification that she could recognise to be affiliated with the fiery one, nor would any of you recognise any proof I provided to affiliate myself with Ecurius. Identification is a dangerous thing, something that makes you very vulnerable; thus we work without it."

Melisande felt her mind... _blur_ for a moment. Her thoughts seemed to be scattered and swimming, as if her mentality was a pool of water into which raindrops were falling, sending ripples through her conciousness. Some strange, alien intrusion - foreign thoughts, not hers, trying to push their way in - could be felt, and then with a surge of willpower she found herself back in reality, sitting at the table and sweating profusely, her breath coming fast after the mental attack. 

On the air, over the usual smells of food and sweat in the tavern, a lingering scent of burning tin wafted in the air... 

Thrashing mentally, Melisande surfaced from what felt like a deep, deep murky pool, gasping for air. It was the solid, no-nonsense consciousness of Pierre that she gripped like a rock jutting out into the ocean, and clung to while she tried to clear her head. 

"Oh, my brain..." she murmured weakly. One hand went to her head, the other to the pocket where a very worried toad had poked both heads out. Weakly, she echoed his thoughts. "What happened?"

Panting, with both palms flat on the table in front of her for support, she felt herself gaining solid ground slowly, with effort. She was reminded of another little girl from her village who often found herself the butt of the other children's mockery. Periodically, the skinny, pale little thing would drop to the ground and begin shaking all over. (Oh, how the boys loved to mimic her, the nasty things!) When it was over she would be sick--she would vomit and vomit until nothing came out, and then would drag herself home and not come out for two or three days. Mel, versed already in her youth in physiology, diagnosed a brain complaint. Was that what was happening to her now? She was not on the floor, though she was shaking a little. No nausea. The smell of hot food still spoke tantalizingly to her stomach. Nor did she feel especially tired, except for the mental exhaustion of willing herself to rise from that drowning pool which had so suddenly swallowed her. How warm it was, and what an odd odor. Was something burning? 

For a second she wondered if she might go under again. _What was I doing, just before--? Oh, Sandslipper, and the Huronese woman. Yes. _

Wiping a sleeve across her perspiring forehead, she blinked a few times before resuming. "Excuse me. It's quite warm in here. Anyway, I do understand, Miss, your absence of identifying marks, but I'm sure Lord Ecurius would not want his messenger to hand over the package to just anyone who said so. If she was that sort she wouldn't have been charged with the mission in the first place. Surely he gave you _something_ to prove that you are really his emissary...?" 

Even as she looked at the neat woman's cold, hostile stare, her voice trailed off. Did _she_ do that--? Mel turned a concerned frown to Sebastion, who thankfully had voiced his support, and saw that he in his tunic was not particularly sweaty. By way of warning, or perhaps question, she kicked him under the table. Then she looked again at the Huronese woman, and decided that if anything--_anything_--strange happened again, she was getting Sandslipper out of there.

The woman threw her glare back to Melisande again. "There is no identification I could show you that would mean anything to you anyway; you do not know of any emblem that would be associated with Ecurius. Nonetheless, if you insist so much..." The woman reached into her robes, and drew out of it a small spinning pendant. As the disk came to a halt, it glinted in the light; the simple image of a scorpion engraved on the silver was easily visible. 
"There you go. Does this mean anything to you, young lady? Do you know of its connections with Ecurius? I think not." 

As the woman had reached for the pendant, it had sent her long braid of hair rippling; and in that moment, something within the thick swathes of dark hair had glinted. Just for a moment, Melisande had seen the slender hilt of a knife; this Huronese woman kept weaponry in her hair! 
Looking over the table, she could see Sandslipper shuddering slightly, sweating profusely and with a vacant look washing over her face. 

Lord Ecurius' symbol is a _scorpion...?_ Mel wondered, having been expecting a griffon or a lion or some such. The venomous arachnid rather came as a surprise. But even as she registered this shock, she gasped from another: the glint of metal from the woman's hair was no decorative pin or comb--a blade! 

In rapidly growing alarm she reached across to grip Sandslipper's arm, and found the genasi's sandstone skin slick with sweat. What? Her too? Sandslipper's empty, fixed stare confirmed her fears. 

Sebastion watched the two women, in turn, become glazed-faced and blank, sweating profusely, and leant forward as they did, eyes narrowing towards the stranger. 

"Then I'm sure you'll understand if we decline your kind invitation..." he observed, one of his hands gripping the leg of the table beneath the cover. "We're.." Melisande, however, did not appear to be listening to him, any more than the Huronese woman was. Bereft of his weapons and his armour he felt woefully inequipped to deal with the situation, but there didn't seem to be any option. 

"Knife! In her hair!" Mel shouted, wishing her crossbow was elsewhere than on the floor. Besides, Sandslipper was across the table and it would take more muscle than Melisande possessed to budge the heavy earth genasi, she realized. 

What else could she do? She was sure now the Huronese woman was doing something to Sandslipper, just as she had done to Melisande when she dared question her. Break her concentration somehow... _What can I do? 'Mend' her eyelids shut? All my spells are practical, not offensive! _

But she had a new spell! She leveled an angry blue finger at the Huronese woman, let the seed of magic in her mind germinate, and spoke a word that would phase heat away in a propagating wave right at the strange woman's face.

Wincing as Melisande let out a cry that would likely alert any support this Huronese woman had, Sebastion watched his blue-skinned associate level a finger, and added his own contribution. 

Hoisting the hand about the table leg into the air, he placed his other hand beneath the surface and tried to drive it forward into their guest as a weapon. 

. Meg'anna had been too entranced by the aura of this place to be concerned with the woman that had approached them. The entire place felt odd to her, as she had never been inside of an inn before. As the soup was brought to them, she held the metal utensils that they brought to her, as if they were some strange artifact from long ago. She had used spoons before, but they were crude utensils carved from a stick, these were precious metal objects that someone had painstakingly slaved over to provide. Ever so carefully, the young woman scooped up a bit of the warm broth in the metal spoon and drained it, letting her teeth feel the warm metal tang left in her mouth by the spoon. It was an unusual feeling, but it was better than getting a splinter in your lip. Diving down for another bit of her meal, the table was suddenly jerked by the warrior, sending her meal flying! 

Finding herself unprepared for this particular situation, Meg'anna quickly summoned one of nature's minions to attack the new threat. 

_The sound of a rushing wind fills the air. The wind dances through trees, rattling the leaves and shaking the branches. The rush passes again and then the sound disappates... _

Reaching for her spear, Meg readied herself for another attack.

As the others made small talk, Ebri continued to eat, observing the exchange in watchful silence. She let the others focus on Sandslipper; she watched the Huronese. 

_Tension in the neck, the left shoulder. Likely a weapon, probably in the braid... _

At least, that would be where she would carry it. If she needed weapons. She dropped her spoon, clucked at herself audibly for clumsiness, and ducked beneath the table to retrieve it. 
From there she could see the soldier's hand about the table leg. Interesting. An action that would increase the chaos, but as the Huronese was standing, and they were resting seated, wise, most likely... Ebri's mind sifted through the likely outcomes almost of its own accord, apart from her. 

As the table jerked, she aimed a vicious punch at the Huronese's knee cap. 

Sandslipper seemed vaguely aware of the chaos that suddenly erupted around her, but caught up in some mental daze she just sat there in an incapacitated manner as from amidst the tables around them, other figures leapt to their feet, sending frightened clientele scattering as fast as they could as weapons were drawn. The four figures who came to the womans aid all wore loose, baggy clothes of an inconspicuous simple cloth, cloth wound round head and most of the face so that the eyes stared out from the concealing masks. One whipped out his hand and from it flew a storm of glinting metal discs; his target - Melisande. 

She was able to avoid most of the missiles but one shuriken struck true, causing pain to lash up her arm as it bit into her forearm. Within moments she suddenly felt weaker, her whole body feeling heavier and more difficult to move, as insidious sensation flooded up her limb, and pulling the shuriken from the injury saw it to be coated with some dark black substance... 

One of the other attackers reached within his robes and pulled out two nuchaku, setting them into spinning motion as he closed in on Alaric; fortunately for the squire he was able to avoid one of the whirling weapons while the impact of the other was absorbed by his chainmail. The third warrior quite literally hurled himself at Ebri, apparently having noticed her fall into her customary combat stance. Leaping into the air to cover the entire table in one jump, he tumbled next to her and set into a flurry of unarmed strikes, but Ebri managed to twist aside or block each one, flowing round her opponents hard strikes as she did so. She could tell from the combat stances that their assailants had all fallen into that they were well versed in some martial lore, but it was not one she was familiar with; instead of her flowing, reflexively reactive stance, theirs was tense and whiplike, lashing out with punishing strikes that, had the man managed to connect a solid blow, she was sure would have hurt. 

The fourth of the figures stood himself up and glared at the combat, one hand whipping over his shoulder to draw the slightly curved blade that was sheathed there, the weapon sliding out with a hiss, and he fell into a stance with the blade held back and his other free hand in front in a defensive posture.He closed his eyes in concentration for a moment; when he opened them again, they glowed a bright, shining silver and an instantaneous rainbow-flash of light swept away from him, petering out after a few feet. Even as he did so, strange, almost liquid fire burst into existence over Sebastion and Alaric, the ephemeral stuff scorching them before it faded out of existence again. 

The woman acted with insane speed, leaping backwards and, even while still in midair, reaching into her braid and whipping out the knife in a hurling motion at Melisande. Even as the first throwing knife arced out she was already pulling yet another from within her hair, landing lightly on her feet some ten feet away from her previous position, and there was a grisly crunch as the knife struck agonisingly true into the sorceresses chest, burying itself up to the hilt there. Her eyes alit upon the frenetic combat between Ebri and her own accomplice, and she yelled, "She fights with the Way of Shadow! Take her down, capture the bitch! And get that package!" 

Alaric leapt to his feet, drawing his blade and striking with it in one smooth movement, but the monk easily dodged the swipe and continued to send the Flame Hawk squire reeling from his assault. Ebri found her original target outside of her range, but she had this new assailant to deal with, and in the midst of dodging his hail of blows managed to time her own strike perfectly, hitting him hard below the ribs and eliciting a grunt of pain; though the strike was no-where near enough to drop this tough opponent. Everything had happened so fast that as Sebastion slammed the table forwards, all it achieved was to send cutlery and soup spilling everywhere, for the woman had already leapt back away from him. What it did do was make the entire wooden thing collapse under the force of the judder, at least now meaning everyone could easily stand up without the obstacle of the table. 

With a surge of natural magic, that caused tiny buds and leaves to sprout from some of the nearby wooden fixtures, Meg'anna conjured up a sizeable and very irritable dire rat that came into existence on the wreckage of the tabel, next to its mistress; it looked to her for orders, seeing no-one immediately threatening her. 

Caught up in pain, Melisande nonetheless managed to lash out reflexively with her magic, a beam of icy energy biting into the woman and drawing an angry hiss from her lips as the freezing cold burned her slightly. Nonetheless it seemed it had done little to actually stop the Huronese, as she prepared for another knife throw. 

For Ebri, the hiss and thunk of the knife seemed to echo, reverberating as if it were the only sound in the chaotic room, and the only blow. 

_Failure. _

A rock plunged through the surface of her consciousness, disturbing her accustomed, reflexive calm that was a product of fighting. _Failure... _

But she could not allow fear to influence the outcome._Focus._ The blue woman was intelligent-- spirited, and gutsy, if absent-minded and inexperienced. Perhaps she would remember that she had a elixir of healing. _You were right to think she might need it later.._ 

She detached Melisande from her mind, bringing the rest of her attention back to the opponent in front of her. _End this quickly. Time is short. _

_Each moment is an eternity._ she reminded herself. _Each moment creates the next. _

She struck out again at the monk attacking her. 

It was like a small explosion erupted around all of them. The table was flung away, knives, throwing stars and other weaponry filled the air, the glint of the light on metal catching her eye. Nothing could describe the generalized chaos that was battle, but Meg'anna understood that this was the way of most people; primal, war-like, attacking and killing all for no reason. Yet, she had a reason to fight, these people were trying to harm her friends. 

Seeing the azure-skinned sorceress fall to the ground, Meg'anna could only think of one thing: Help Melisande. The words rang through her mind, echoing through the empty corridors that were filled just moments ago by the ponderances of human activity. Needless to say, Meg'anna had evolved from the helpless forest girl into the hardened druidess warrior. She would fight, like so often in the past few days, to save her friends' life. 

Wretching her spear from the shards of table it was buried under, Meg'anna thinks only briefly about casting a vial of flaming death upon the attacker. She dismisses the notion rather quickly, knowing that it would only lead to endangering her comrades, and she was here to defend them, not endanger them. Her knowledge of offensive _gifts_ were limited as well, as Nature provided for her followers, she did not wish for them to war with each other. Without giving it a second thought, Meg'anna lunged at the maiden attacking Melisande... 

Animal instincts were one thing, but then again, so was loyalty. Micah was distraught trying to decide to help his Mistress or whether to stay out of trouble. The small fox ended up hiding behind a fallen chair, watching out for her back, rather than engaging the four-legs directly. 

Feeling the structure of the table collapse beneath his efforts, Sebastion was disappointed to see that he hadn't managed anything more than creating a little more work for the maid. Keeping hold of the table leg, he grasped another as the table broke apart, and wielding one in each hand as a club, he advanced on the nearest of their assailants, ready to do battle. 

This, then, was something he understood: man against man, face to face, battle for the right to walk away. It was harsh, it could get brutal, but it was really _living_, just for those few moments where death rested with a hand on your shoulder. 

The half-remembered sweat reappeared at the small of his back, and the sound of his own heart echoed in his ears once more, adrenaline heightening his senses and his anticipation, as he feinted with one arm and lashed out with the other, seeking the reassuring feel of wood connecting on flesh and bone. 

Sandslipper remained seated, still charmed, amidst the confusion of the melee; around them the tavern patrons had fled to the lower level, as the innkeeper ran out to call for the guard. Down below, over the railing that lined the upper level, the crowd below could be seen looking up in awe at the furious combat unfolding up above... 

The monk who had initially attacked with shuriken seemed to have no more of the lethal razor-discs, and instead charged lightfootedly at Sebastion, agilely and gracefully moving through the wrcekage that was rapdily becoming the fate of most of the furniture in the area. The man came in hard and fast, a flurry of bare-handed strikes storming at the warrior, but Sebastion managed to avoid the worst of it and remained unscathed as he fended his assailant off; the furious gaze of the monks eyes from behind his mask betrayed his unpleasant intent. The katana-wielding warrior waved his free hand beckoningly at Sandslipper, saying "Give me the package from Fireball!" and the dazed woman began to root through her pack, searching for it. 

The dual-wielding monk continued to batter at Alaric with his twin spinning weapons. The Flame Hawk squire was defending himself desperately with his own blade but the battle was going against him, his skills clearly not as honed as Sebastions. There was a painful crack as a nunchuk hit him solidly, winding him and sending him staggering as he winced in pain. Triumphantly the monk stepped forwards to try and finish off his assault, driving the squire towards the railing and the edge of the upper level... 

The monk attacking Ebri changed his tactic against her. Instead of the flurry of strikes he instead tried to bullrush the woman towards the edge of the upper level, doubtless the wily fellow planning to hurl her off, and this sudden change in tack caught Ebri off guard, missing an excellent opportunity to strike where he had opened himself up. Fortunately she managed to pivot and exert her strength excellently - in a manner her teachers would have been proud to see her display - and the man was unable to force her back. The doubts continued to nag at the back of her mind though... 

The angry Huronese woman pulled another of the needle-like throwing daggers from her hair, and hefted one in each hand, eyes narrowed unpleasantly as she focused on targets. The blue-skinned sorceress was down, maybe dead - good thing too, the irritating wench had been getting on her nerves - and that ridiculous Myrmecian was under the control of her comrade and on the way to handing over that package. That left the Huronese man, seemingly a skilled warrior from his stance, the Naserian who was, unbeknownst to him, edging towards the void, and the female who was fighting so well in unarmed combat against her monk foe. 

She reached a decision, hands whipping forwards. With a zip, one blade slived through the air towards Ebri, and the other towards Sebastion. 

Sebastion, caught up in fending off his energetic assailant, was caught completely by surprise by the missile. He felt the agony as it tore into the side of his chest and hot blood gouted down his side, staggering him but not enough to take him down. Sebastion gasped as the knife sank between his ribs, grating against the bones as it settled into place, sending a rivulet of thick, heavy blood winding its way down the inside of his shirt. His face was grimace as he took a half-step back, the jolting pain keeping him awake as the shock made his vision waver for a moment.  The knife ground against his ribs, and he coughed with the difficulty of breathing, but a half-smile flickered across the pained expression as he stepped in close to his opponent. He could back off now, but there were other assailants around, and in his condition he would fare badly against two, let alone one. Better to finish this off, and see what situation presented itself then.

At the last moment, Ebri proved once again that she could survive anything thrown against her, jerking her head aside to dodge the knife that would otherwise doubtless have hit her in the throat. The missile was enough distraction though for Ebri, as she reached out for a strike to her opponents neck that would have temporarily incapacitated him, to flinch, and the monk easily dodged the stunning attack. Even as this occurred, Alaric managed to rally and lunged forwards with a crude but powerful attack that hit his monk foe solidly and elicited a hiss of pain as it drew blood from the dual-wielders chest - it showed his discipline that he did not cry out in pain at such a punishing blow. 

Sebastion was hard pressed, the dagger in his flank hurting badly but _now_ he had weapons, skillfully striking with the two rather unconventional improvised weapons. The long hours of training to become experienced in the two-weapon style paid off as the amibidextrous warrior struck back with ferocity, sending his surprised opponent staggering as he slammed strike after strike into the man, successfully hitting with each table leg and badly injuring the batteerd monk who seeemd amazed at the sudden fightback after what he had considered easy prey had been hit by his mistresses hurled dagger. 

Mel had seen the glint of the woman's knife coming at her fast--so fast--and then she was on the floor with the wind knocked out of her. Her mouth opened for breath and nothing happened. _Did the knife strike? _

As if on cue, a blinding explosion of pain burst from her chest by way of answer. The shock at least got her breathing again, if only in wheezing, choked gasps. Pierre's mind was screaming. _I'm dying_. The unnatural weakness inflicted seconds before from a shuriken was now joined by the warm, floaty sensation of blood loss. _Pulmonary vein,_ she thought, sinking into the drowning warmth for a moment. Blood the color of a summer night sky soaked through her dress, making a dark flower bloom on her chest around the hilt of the knife. She floated. She heard shouting as if from a great depth. 

_I hope they get Sandslipper out of here. I hope no one's hurt. I wonder if the nasty spying amulet person is still watching even now. Show's over. Someone save Sandslipper. _

Remembering the unhealthy, blank stare on the genasi's face, Mel managed to surface enough to open her eyes. Sandslipper was still sitting on her chair by the overturned table, unmoving but sweating with some internal struggle. _Someone help her!_ she cried but the knife had stolen her breath and her voice, and all she could do was gasp. 

Meanwhile, a panicky toad was rooting through her pockets in desperation. Snail shells rolled. _Here!_ Pierre sent. _Me! _

Obediently, Mel reached for him, her oldest and truest friend, for comfort. _Poor dear. At least you'll never really be alone in the world. Be brave, little toad._ She patted him. He nosed something cold and hard into her palm. A vial. 

The shadow-demon's healing potion! _Oh Pierre, you wonderful, sweet, darling toad!_

Melisande shakily lifted the vial to her lips, tasting the alchoholic tang of the herbal mixture as it slid down her throat. Immediately the pain dulled, and her injuries seemed to be lessened as the flow of blood stuttered to a halt; it was still bad, but nonetheless she could be sure she had some life left in her yet. 

Meg'anna's silent charge over the debris-scattered floor seemed to bring a tinge of surprise to the Huronese woman's features, as if she was surprised that the druidess had the audacity to even consider attacking her; but it quickly became clear who had the upper hand, as Meg'annas spear thrust was easily slapped aside and downwards by the woman in a display of highly skilled unarmed martial combat. With a sneer, the woman hopped back a step or two, leaping easily over the dire rat's attempt to gnaw her leg off, and as the oversized vermin disappeared again, Meg'anna's spell concluding, she seemed to be about to reach into her robes for something... 

Yet again the druidess's attempts had failed. If only she had been a bit faster, then maybe she could have hit the superfast woman. Anger begins the soft rolling boil into a muted rage. A rage which could have been expressed through screaming battle cries, a masterful display of weaponry, or a show of brute strength. For Meg'anna, she could do none of these things and she merely clamped a hold of her oaken spear, gritted her teeth and continued to concentrate on the target. It was then that she heard a muffled cry of pain behind her.

When the long knife had flown through the air, Meg'anna did not know, but she saw it now, or at least part of it as the blade was buried to the hilt in the soldiers side. Life-blood seeping from the wound, she had to act quickly, before they were all doomed. Melisande seemed to be recovering from her wound, at least well enough so that she could still function. She was the only one uninjured as of yet, and it would be up to her to help the others. 

Fragments of plans flew through her mind, as the young druidess scrambles over broken bits of table and other debris to get to the wounded man. Thoughts of the vials of fire tucked into her sash flew through her mind again, yet she knew that it would only endanger her life and those around her if she did. Calling upon Nature's gifts once again, Meg'anna touches her hand to the youth's body, allowing the life-energy flow from her being and into his. 

_This should help quell the bleeding. I need something more effective than this spear. I need a more powerful weapon, but what can I use? _

Too late, Melisande realized she hadn't tried to pull the dagger out of her chest. In retrospect, it probably would have killed her to budge the solidly lodged blade, so perhaps it was just as well, but now that the shadow-demon's potion had weaved its life-giving force into her damaged blood vessels she was just going to have to live with the excruciating grind and scrape of the knife against her ribs. The hilt protruded from her chest like an embarrassing appendage. 

Gathering what little strength she had left she struggled to raise herself up onto her elbows. Her first thought, now that Pierre had saved her own blue skin, was Sandslipper-- 

_No you don't,_ she glared at the masked monk advancing on the genasi, whose eyes remained void even though she was moving, digging in her pack for something--what, Melisande could easily guess. That imperative sense of _loathing_ was on her again, rising in her wounded heart in spite of the agony, driving her on even though her every instinct, as well as her toad, screamed for her to crawl away to safety. _Not until I've cracked a few skulls,_ she thought, grimly borrowing her mother's expression. 

Later, if she survived, she might laugh about leveling a finger like a deadly weapon. Right now, however, she was furious, and her eyes burned with angry blue flame as she pointed at the man who was leaning over Sandslipper. 

Sandslipper, digging around in her bag as ordered, seemed to have found what she was looking for, grasping hold of something within and beginning to tug it out. Around her the battle continued to rage chaotically, monks almost dancing around in agile and dextrous stance as they rained a hurricane of strikes towards their foes and the defenders company fought back with equal ferocity. Only the katana-wielding warrior held perfectly still, poised beautifully for action on the spur of the moment as he waited for the earth genasi to deliver the package to him; only his eyes showed any trace of movement, flickering to catch the events unfolding around him. 

The monk hefting the two spinning blurs that were nunchaku frantically tried to defend himself from the sudden burst of fierce energy that seemed to have surged into Alaric. He found himself unable to get back on the offensive and was unable to land another strike on the squire. Over by the edge of the upper ledge, the monk facing Ebri reverted to simply trying to hammer her down with a storm of strikes, but the woman wove around the flurry of blows as if shadowing and foreseeing all his strikes, a reflexive defensive dance that the others would have found beautiful if they were not so caught up in the immediacy of the situation. 

Sebastion and his monkish foe were caught in frantic, tense battle. Both were badly injured now - very badly injured - and he could see fear on the man's face. It was all he could do to hold his own against the martial artists storm of strikes, and then he let one punch slip through, a mistake, brought about by the fatigue and pain of his own injuries. A glancing punch like that from a normal man would have hurt but he'd still have been standing. 

The monk's style though,a whiplike tenseness locking in as he ended the punch, smashed Sebastion off his feet and dropped the soldier unconcious to the ground. Bashing his fists together in triumph, the monk threw his gaze around to land on the embattled Ebri. 

The woman, facing Meg'anna with an expression that was a mix of furious anger and haughty arrogance, reached into her robes and produced a long, slender, coiled whip, sinuous leather tongue ending in a fierce metal blade that glinted glutinously with a coat of some dark, viscous liquid. She smiled sadistically, and lightfootedly danced back to lash out with the weapon hand, bringing the demonic tendril round with a crack as it bit through the air. The long whip wriggled through the intervening space at the druidess but by dint of quick reflexes Meg'anna managed to avoid the weapon's strike. 

Alaric growled as he forced his foe back, the frantic monk battering strikes away with his nunchuks, but he knew he was in trouble. With a grunt of effort, the squire thrust his blade straight at the midriff of the man with such speed that he didn't manage to dodge. Kicking the corpse off the sword it had become impaled on, now slick with blood and glinting red in the tavern light, Alaric prepared to move to intercept the monk who had just felled Sebastion; the situation looked grave and he needed to keep the enemy from being able to gang up on the others of this band. Ebri herself was unable to break the deadlock with her foe; the blur of limbs was simply block after block as both martial artists proved unable to overcome the other.

Sebastion was down, and unconcious, but Melisande had just managed to bring herself back up again and despite the pain in her chest around the protruding blade, managed to overcome the agony and concentrate enough to unleash burningly icy energy at her chosen target. The ray lanced out and _now_ the poised man moved, dancing easily to one side as the cold beam petered out, and then striding purposefully and gracefully towards the young aasimar. Melisande did not have time to curse her bad luck.

A few quick paces and he was there, then the katana slashed down. 

Her mouth went dry. _Pierre, get away from here. Hide! Go!_ she projected, but the toad didn't need telling twice. He slipped from her pocket and slunk down the length of her skirt using its folds for cover. Oh for a swamp and a deep muddy refuge. Melisande's mortal terror was too much for his amphibian brains; it was all he could do to keep from making panicky, haphazard leaps. The image of the flashing hurting thing raised over his Friend impressed on him how important staying under cover was at the time, however. 

It was a display of swordsmanship, of true mastery of the katana and its style, that left Alaric breathless for a moment as if he was watching a blademaster demonstrating technique rather than an enemy in a deadly battle. Sebastion, had he been concious, would too have marvelled at the skill of the man.

The katana hit her with such force she was unconscious before a fountain of deep, sea-blue blood gouted from the cleft in her body and a panic-stricken two-headed anuran sprung in a terrified bound toward the cover of overturned chairs, his minds going abysmally dark with the absence of Her. 

Melisande tumbled like a rag doll, a perfect cut from left shoulder to right hip bitten in by the blade and gouting gore. 

Even as the man had been striding purposefully towards the sorceress, Meg'anna had been scrambling away from her superior opponent, running to the side of Sebastion and letting natural energy flow into him. It assuaged a few of the bruises, but more importantly brought conciousness flowing back into the young man. His eyes flickered open to the faint sound of birdsong echoing around him as the magic soothed a little, though he still hurt like hell. Both of them looked up just in time to see Melisande brutally cut down. 

Sebastion returned to consciousness with a gasp, looking up to see the expressive face of Meg'anna above him, staring down. Past her, however, he caught the glint of a blade, and moved his attention to watch the blade flash down. 

His mind was still a little rubbery as he watched the damage being done, feeling his heart clench slightly as he watched the result of crossing the line he had felt such strange exultation in walking. 

_She might have had the brain of a chicken, but I didn't want to see it..._ He felt a giggle try to lurch up from his stomach, roiling there in a fight with bile for a bid to escape, and he forced them both down. 

He moved to stand, and his arm brushed the knife lodged in his side, sending a wave of pain through his ribs and behind his eyes that drove the wavering from his mind. Gripping the slick handle of the knife he dragged it out, and cast it with all the strength he could muster at the back of the swordsman, hoping to distract him before he could finish Melisande. 

_"Squire!"_ he hissed, through clenched teeth, pointing to the swordsman, as his eyes met the monk he had been up against before. Grasping his makeshift clubs from the floor, he rose slowly, raggedly to his feet, squaring up against the man, wondering whether Meg'anna would stand with him, or move to attack the Huronese witch. 

Within a blink of an eye, the fluttering of power escaped her person, and the entire scenerio changed. One person entered the combat, while another person exited. As the blade sliced through the small woman, Meg'anna's heart broke into small pieces. The muted rage that she felt now exploded into a full blown torrent of rage. 

From somewhere deep within her mind, a spell broke to the surface. Her mind began the sing-song chant before she even realized what was going on. The words broke to the surface of her mind, amid the swirl of enraged thoughts. 

_Wood unliving,
may come alive.
From death to life
may this gift unfold,
spring to life
from warmth gone cold.
With Nature's fury
this stave en-twine. _

Oblivious to the carnage around her, Sandslipper finally found what she was looking for in the depths of her pack and stood up, reaching out towards the dark swordsman with a hand that clutched a small parcel. He moved quickly away from the fallen Melisande, apparently unconcerned with checking if she was finished or not, to grab it himself; the face of the woman wielding the whip became gleeful as finally their objective was complete. 

The monk facing Ebri continued in their dance, each strike blocked or pushed aside as they each attempted to gain the edge. He feinted a strike, then suddenly lashed out with a palm with a blow obviously aimed to incapacitate Ebri by hitting a nerve point; but he stumbled on debris as he did so, overbalancing himself and missing wildly. Meanwhile the other monk saw Sebastion bringing himself up from the floor again, with the druidess next to him. Cursing loudly at healers in general, the monk hurled himself back in the direction he had came, unleashing a furious attack at Meg'anna but fortunately for the druidess she was quick enough to be able to fend off the warrior. 

The woman grinned, seeing their work done, and backed off towards a nearby window which she opened wide with a fluid, graceful motion, the other hand still cracking the bladed whip angrily. "Men, we are leaving! Bring the package, let's go!" Immediately the monks all began to try and disengage from their respective foes. 

Alaric paused to observe the situation, which was so rapidly changing with every few moments that passed, unsure as to where his blade would do the most good. He saw the monk attack Meg'anna and Sebastion - they could surely hold their own. He saw Ebri still locked in combat with her foe, and saw that in that struggle the only one who had been injured was the enemy; she too was not in dire straits. Melisande lay bleeding but there was little he could do, for the ways of the healer were a foreign province to him. 

But the swordsman had the package, and though he knew not what was in it, if it was destined for a Truth Seeker and these people thought it worthwhile to kill to get it, he was not about to let it fall into their hands so easily. He charged the expert warrior, gravely aware that from the demonstration of the mans prowess against Melisande, and the burst of strange ephemeral power he had conjured earlier, the young squire was likely outmatched. But he charged anyway. 

Blade struck blade as they began to duel, Alaric unable to penetrate the defences of the swordsman who kept the package tucked tight against his side with one hand. But even as they circled, the swordsman trying to break off to leave but hampered by the young mage-knight, a hum was audible in the air. A strange blue glow began to suffuse the area, and in the air around them, all over the upper floor, strange ethereal doorways began to solidify. 

Alaric smiled grimly. "Flame Hawks are coming, and they're mere seconds away - give in now and maybe your lives will be spared," he growled. The swordsman simply spat in his face and began to back off towards the window and his female accomplice. 

In the glimmering light shed by the materialising portals, Ebri continued to trade strikes, still unable to land another solid blow, while Sebastion hurled the dagger which had so recently been buried in his side at the swordsman, the blade flitting through the melee of blades to strike home and elicit an angry snarl of pain as it bit deep in, dark blood gurgling from the man's abdomen and sending him coughing and staggering back. Meg'anna cast her spell, natural magic surging into the staff and imbuing it with power, but as she did so the monk attacking her took advantage of the opportunity and struck hard, hitting home; fortunately she managed to keep her concentration, and the magic sent her weapon flourishing into bloom. Still wringing her spear in her hands, the stave sprang to life, in a muted flash of pale emerald light. Vines sprang forth, coiling about her hands and the rest of the stave became quickly embroiled in the writhing mass of vegetation that erupted from the once dead wood.

Spinning the weapon in her hands, Meg'anna then set her sights on the fiend whom struck down her friend... 

Snarling savagely at seeing the dagger strike home, Sebastion felt rather more enthused as he struggled to his feet, breath rushing out in a pained gasp as his table-legs swung up in front of him. 

"That's got to hurt..." he muttered, though it wasn't immediately clear about whom, or what, he was talking. Stepping closer to the battle between Meg'anna and the monk that had floored him, Sebastion tried to move around to the best striking angle, and lashed out once more. 

The swordsman had the package now, and their leader had ordered their departure, but still the monks were unable to leave; Alaric's timely assault meant that his opponent could not back off without opening himself up to the squire. The katana-wielder sneered at his foe's warning of impending doom, instead lashing out with another near-perfect slice at the Flame Hawk, which bit deep through his chainmail and sent him staggering in show as a sluice of blood splashed out of the wound. Ebri's foe once again tried to stun her with a carefully placed blow, but his increasingly desperate attempts to finish the fight - and to escape - came to no avail as she blocked the strike. The monk attacking Meg'anna broke away, moving towards the combat between Alaric and the swordsman, ready to dive in when next he saw the chance and aid his brethren.

The leader, the woman, with bladed whip in one hand, reached into her hair for another dagger, hurling it with force at Alaric, but his armour caught the attack and it caused him no harm. 
Alaric, caught in combat with the swordsman, was unable to penetrate the warriors defences with his own blade, but Ebri managed to place a strike through her opponents defences and hit solidly with a cracking sound; combined with her earlier blow, it was enough punishment to drop the monk, lung punctured by the rib that she had just smashed in. Sebastion, weak but now standing again, headed after his earlier foe, and assailed the monk with both chairlegs; enough to batter the man to the floor this time, unable to dodge all the strikes in his own weakened condition, where he lay, unmoving and perhaps dead from the smashing clubs. 

Meg'anna, full of rage and now wielding her staff empowered with the magic of nature, charged without battle-cry nor scream at the katana-wielder, who found himself embattled and nearly surrounded. She swiped out, catching him unawares and hitting with fury-augmented strength that sent him reeling though it was not enough to kill him. 

Then the ephemeral blue glow crystallised into three phantasmal portals, through each of which stepped a warrior resplentant in the garb of a Flame Hawk. They leapt into combat with the katana-wielder, one lashing out and connecting solidly with a strike that flared with flame and caught the man, immolating his torso in a single blow. The smoking corpse dropped, and at that moment Sandslippers gaze changed from vague and distant back to normal, and she looked around her in horror as if seeing the carnage for the first time. 

"Oh Grumand..." 

The Hawks went for the woman, but she was too quick, dancing easily out of their reach and through the window, seemingly dropping catlike to the alley below and disappearing into the shadows. In the growing dark of late evening, they stood no chacne of tracking one such as her. 
* * *
One of the Flame Hawks saw Melisande on the floor, bloodied and slashed. "A Cerulean One?" he said in a surprised voice. "Lieutenant, get that woman to the Naskharites quickly!" One man gracefully scooped up the limp pile and in moments was back through another glimmering door of blue. 

The apparent leader of the Hawks, a middle-aged and stocky warrior, turned to the party, nodding to Alaric. "We came as soon as we heard of the trouble, and got enough details to know where it was and who it involved. I'm... sorry that you have to had experienced this in our city; from young Alaric's presence I assume you are the band that Lord Falkmar told me were guarding a package for Lord Seeker Ecurius. I assume too that _this_ is that package," he said, picking it from the floor by the smouldering corpse and handing it back to Sandslipper. "I'd make sure it was in a safe place, if I were you." Sandslipper stared at her feet, a look of shame on her face. 

"I don't know if you might be able to shed some light on why these people attacked you, but I don't see it as a matter my troops need to investigate seeing as how you managed to deal with it more or less by yourselves; you've earned whatever possessions these scum might have been carrying. I must ask thought; I didn't realise you were accompanied by a Cerulean One. She's safe, don't worry; the lieutenant took her to the main temple where she'll be given healing. I'm sure she'll be fine in no time." He didn't sound too sure though; the injury had been pretty bad. 

Watching the Flame Hawks end the confrontation with a single, augmented strike was somehow a little galling after the struggle, and the rather hollow assurance that Sebastion tried to give himself - that things would have been different had he been armed and armoured - settled him not a whit as he sat rather heavily in a chair, breathing shallowly as his ribs ached. 

Unable to rest against the back of the chair in any way that was comfortable he leant forward, arms folded over the wound to stared down at the monk he had finally felled, seeking a sign that he was merely unconscious and not dead. 

Watching the rather smug sounding Flame Hawk speak, he looked up, feeling the first shakes of the departure of adrenaline start in. "What is that, anyway?" he asked, teeth chattering slightly as he tried to stand, and weak, rebellious legs decided not to comply. 
_And why did that nutsucking Huronese b|tch want it so badly?_ he added, silently, as the queasy feeling in his stomach lurched violently. Taking a deep breath, and wrapping his arms tighter about himself as his vision swam a little and he realised how cold it was, he settled into the chair, not really expecting an answer. 

The Flame Hawk captain raised an eyebrow quizzically at Sebastion's question. "I assume you mean the package that your companion carries with her - if so, then no, I don't know what is within it. That is for Lord Seeker Ecurius to know, not me." 

Ebri padded over quietly to Sebastion. "You are injured. Badly. Hold still, let me see what I can do for those wounds..." 

She muttered a quiet prayer under her breath, then laid her hands over the knife injury and let positive energy flow into Sebastion's side. Flesh knitted back together and his mind was flooded with soothing calm that balmed the feeling of pain shootuing through his body. 

Kicking herself for letting the woman get away, Meg'anna looked around at the carnage from the battle. Tables were overturned, chairs smashed, blood and gore smattered all over the walls and wood splinters everywhere. 

Her body was fatigued. Small cuts and bruises began to surface, as well as the rather large gash that she had suffered. Yet she was the least injured. Sebastion had suffered a near death experience and Melisande's body lie crumpled on the floor, an azure fluid leaking from her body. Ebri had her bruises as well, and the squire was bleeding from every feasible position on his body, the chainmail armour he wore now splint and broken in many places. Yet they still had very little idea who had attacked them and why. 

_We all need healing and rest, yet trouble seems to follow where ever we travel. Surely there is some way to rest and heal without being disturbed.... 
And just who were those people? What did they want? More and more unanswered questions! Why cant we just be left alone?!? _

Sebastion slumped slightly in the chair, spots appearing before his eyes as each successive breath seemed harder than the last, even as the lids hung heavier and heavier. 

Hands on his side stirred him only slightly, but the warm, flowing sensation that emanated from those hands woke him suddenly as a slight haze passed over his senses, dulling them momentarily. He looked up into the disinterested expression of Ebri Zol's face as she broke away, and reached down to rub away the remaining blood from his side where the hole was closed. 

"Didn't even leave a scar..." he muttered quietly to himself, half amazed at the act, half disappointed by the lack of a victory marker. "Thank you." were the words that came from his lips, though, sincere and hushed. Examining his side for a few moments more before lowering the remains of his shirt to cover his torso again, remembering suddenly he was in public, he coughed nervously, spun the chair around and leant on the back of it with his chin on his hands. 

"Suppose someone tells me what one of these High Seekers is, anyhow? Seeing as we're heading to see one... maybe you can tell us about it as we go to see how Melisande's doing? It'll only take me minute to get my armour on." Despite Ebri's healing magic - and the fact that the only hole he felt aware of in himself was the one in his stomach as it rumbled loudly - he still felt more than slighly naked without the reassuring weight of the chain, and he hoped they would be moving soon so he had an excuse to fetch it. 

Pleased to see that Ebri had taken care of Sebastion's wounds, Meg'anna sunk to the floor, leaning heavily against the wall. Today had been trying. They had almost been imprisioned and killed. For some of them, they had been on death's door, or extremely close to it. Regardless, with the rage within her being subsiding, in its wake it left a terrible chill. Tears flooded into her eyes. It was all that she could do to wipe them away before new ones sprang to life to replace them. Micah scampered across the debris-littered floor and leapt into the woman's lap. Whether it was more of a comfort to himself or the woman whose lap he sat in, no one could tell. 

Moments later, she had gathered most of her scattered emotions, and sat against the wall, legs pulled against her chest, the small rust-coloured fox lying ontop of them. Her mind was empty. She was mentally exhausted, and she could think of no release. She let her mind touch on brief memories, that of her father and mother, whom she could not remember very well any more. That of her surrogate father, whom was lost at the hands of some vile creatures, that of a band of gnolls, whom she had found slaughtered by a band of soldiers. Images of death and destruction filled her mind, and again the mute woman fell into a silent sob. 

The two Flame Hawks watched uncomfortably as Meg'anna descended quietly into tears. Sandslipper shyly walked over to the tall druidess and crouched down next to her, trying to be a reassuring presence but not quite sure what the cause of the mute oman's distress was. "Come on, Meg'anna, let's go and see ho Mel is faring in the temple. I'm sure the priests will have made sure she's fine already." 

The Flame Hawk captain turned to reply to Sebastion's question. "Truth Seeker, not High Seeker, young man. They are an ancient and highly respected society of sorcerers, who search for truths in many fields. They are akin to historians in one way, for they research a lot into the past of the world, and the causes for how things have come about. Always, relics and pieces of old things are being collected by them - I wouldn't be surprised if that's what's in that package. It is said they have many old prophecies scribed down that are thought lost by others, and certainly the Seekers tend to keep what knowledge they have accumulated to themselves." 

They waited as Sebastion pulled on his armour, and some olf the others checked the bodies of the fallen foe. Each of the Huronese men, it could be seen, had a tattoo on their upper arm depicting a scorpion ready to strike. They managed to scavenge four potions marked 'healing' from the corpses - and corpses they were, for not a single one had survived in the end - along with a single little vial containing dark liquid, and marked 'Scorpion's Hatred'. 

When they were all ready, the Flame Hawk turned to the others. "Ready to go? Follow me. If you have any more questions, please ask." 

They strode down from the wrecked upper level of the _Cowardly Dragon_, past the small crowd of patrons who watched them cautiously, and then out into the night-time streets. 

* * *

Melisande awoke, and despite what she had feared, there was no pain. 

Maybe that was worse, since she was surrounded by cool white sheets, in a white room, and so there seemed every possibility that she was dead and perhaps in heaven. On the other hand, it was only poorly lit and then only by a few guttering candles. Maybe she was in some worse place? 

The others in the room discouraged either hypothesis. Two women in blue and gold garb, the holy symbols hanging round their necks depicting the golden dragon head that symbolised Naskha the Great Sorcerer. They looked down at her with kindly eyes, smiling to see her regain conciousness. 

The third figure was a tall man, also in blue and gold robes though these were of a far less orderly pattern than the two healers. He was bald, but seemingly well muscled; most notably was the fact that his skin was entirely a cerulean blue colour, it seemed. 

He smiled too. 

"Young lady, you are in the temple of our Lord Naskha, here in Corvus city. Do no panic, or worry for your friends. Flame Hawks came to their aid and your attackers were defeated, and then you were brought here were we might tend to your wounds." 

It took her a few moments to find her voice. She was still disoriented and weak, although apparently healed, and the shock of adrenaline comedown as well as this made her voice come out rough and wavery. The hot sting of tears was in her eyes. 

"They're all right? Sandslipper and her package? Oh, thank goodness." She sank down into the pillow again, swallowing a lump of relief in her throat. "And I'm alive and this is the Temple of Naskha and..." Mel wanted desperately to ask this man, from his robes and gentle smile probably a priest of Naskha, why he was blue. But for the life of her she could not think of a nice, polite way to put it; all her life, people had teased her, pinched her, asked rude questions. So how did one go about pointing out something so embarrassing without risking hurt feelings? Instead she just smiled, pretending it was perfectly natural for two blue people to be conversing. 

"Thank you. And thank the Flame Hawks. My name is Melisande, by the way. I'm a--a--uh, you didn't find an unusual toad anywhere around the restaurant, did you?" 

The cerulean-skinned man gave a wry smile as he sat himself down on the edge of the bed. "Yes, your friends are all fine, as far as I gathered from the Flame Hawk who delivered you here. I'm afraid I don't know anything about a toad though; it has not been long since you were brought here, and the Hawk in question travelled here and back via magic, so I would think your companions - and probably this toad - are still in the tavern." 

"Ah. I didn't realize. Feels like it's been days. Guess I was out of it, wasn't I?" Mel smiled weakly. Even as she idly chattered, she eyed the man's skin tone with wonder. It really was nearly the same sky-blue shade as her own; a little darker in hue, which in a normal person might be termed ruddy, but otherwise quite similar. An idea occurred to her. 

"Are you an aasimar?" Belatedly recalling Lord Corvus' annoyance at her question _Are you a real sorcerer?_, she amended, "...by any chance, because I've been reading up on them and I heard they were often--you know--" her tongue caught on the word "--blue." 

She tried an apologetic smile, fearing she had ended up offending him in spite of the pains she had taken not to. 

The blue man gave a friendly laugh at Melisande's question. "Ah, my child, I feel it is that you ask because _you_ are blue as well, not because you've been reading up on aasimar, eh? It's quite hard not to notice your own hue of skin." He grinned. "The Flame Hawk who delivered you here thought you were a Cerulean One, though of course you are not - your skin is quite genuinely blue, and what a blessing it is you have recieved from Naskha! I have heard you are a sorceress too - truly the Great Sorcerer has rained gifts down upon you, and you not even a Naserian too!" 

"I am not an aasimar, child, no; I am quite human in physique. Look closer." 

And, now that she was concentrating a bit more, and the feeling of cotton wool stuffed between her ears had receded as she awoke properly, she could see that he _wasn't_ really blue-skinned at all. Rather, his skin was _covered_ in intricate blue tattooes, of amazing complexity and all down to a tiny level of detail. The patterns were so tightly packed that from more than a few feet away, to one not aware mof it, the man did indeed seem to have blue skin. 

"I am a Cerulean One, young sorceress. Myself and the others who follow the path of the Cerulean seek to be one with Naskha, to be tools of His will in both mind and body; as such we seek to bring ourselves as close to Him as possible, by decorating ourselves in His likeness; for the Great Sorcerer was of blue skin Himself, so it is said in the Azercorium, our sacred text. Our tattooes bring us closer to Him, and He in his grace grants divine energy to flow through them and protect us." 

Melisande's disappointment that the Naserian priest was not really blue was quickly offset by her excitement at hearing about the Cerulean Ones--not to mention her amazement that anyone would be blue on purpose. She had never heard about Naskha being blue, nor that He had followers who were tattooed to resemble Him. What she had learned of Naseria and its god in Carthagian schools was quite derisory--and derisive. 

She sat up, her eyes wide with wonder. "Do you think Naskha meant me to be a tool of His will? Do you think his divine energy could flow through my skin like it flows in your tattoos? I mean, I always wondered if there was a reason for this. My mother wouldn't tell me anything about who my father was or why I'm this way. 

"Maybe Naskha wants me to help defend Naseria against my homeland, Carthagia. I was an apprentice Manipulator there, until I couldn't stand it anymore and decided to try my luck here..." 

She wanted to ask him to pray to Naskha for her, to find out if the Naserian god had a mission for her. How easy life would be if a divinely imposed goal were set before her like a shining road; no more tortured decisions, no more foundering in doubt. But on the other hand, she realized she might not _want_ to know what Naskha had in mind after all, even if gods were in the habit of spelling things out to people, which even she knew they weren't. Right now keeping Sandslipper safe on her journey north was foremost in Mel's heart, and in the end that probably was service to Naskha anyway. If He had some darker ulterior struggle in mind she didn't really need to hear about it just now, still recovering from a mortal wound and enjoying the last days of her innocence as she was, yet--yet the temptation was strong... She may never have another chance to get some answers. Naturally, she gave in. 

"Is there some way I can be of service, do you think? If I perfected my skills as a Manipulator, could I help Naseria protect itself from Carthagia? Is that what I'm here for?" 

* * *

Huddled amidst debris in the abandoned restaurant, feeling more than a little anxious, a two-headed toad nosed its way out from under a cloth napkin. He knew without knowing that if his Friend had died, as his right head had feared, he would sense it; she was in both his heads most of the time and her presence was still there, though distant and muffled. He probably should enjoy the peace and quiet. Yet both his heads would remain uneasy until they found their way to their safe and comfy pocket once again. Or perhaps not so safe; but comfy was one thing toads had an excellent grasp of, and valued very highly, and Pierre somehow knew he would not be comfy again until he had located his wayward Friend. 

Because Pierre didn't think of Melisande as his mistress, owner or protector. Sometimes it was the other way round, in fact. What trouble she had gotten herself into this time was far beyond his amphibious brain but Pierre was fine with that. He truly did not want to know. It was his (literally) stick-in-the-mud simplicity of purpose that had more than once guided Melisande out of dangerous complications, and he sensed she needed it now more than ever. 

Walking in the woods collecting snails is good. Fighting with bipeds is bad. 
Pierre shook loose the napkin and took a low, tentative leap out from the debris. His Friend's still-hot blood stained the floor dark blue. Though an inveterate lover of puddles, he avoided this one, directing himself toward the flow of cool night air from below. It was going to take time to negotiate the stairs, even for a jumper, but Pierre had a single-minded patience and nothing else as important to do, and so he slowly, ponderously, clambered down toward the doorway and freedom... and probably cockroaches! 

* * *

The band was led through the night-time streets of Corvus, amidst the tall, looming buildings. Here and there lights flickered from windows, denoting the presence of some late worker or someone partaking of evening entertainment. Few others wandered the streets, though clustered under lamp posts, knots of guards wandered the streets. The gas lamps that lined the main streets were a marvel to behold, perhaps magic or perhaps technology that shed orange light over the cobbled boulevards. With one Flame Hawk leading the way and another taking up the rear, the band was not stopped nor questioned as they made their way towards the temple of Naskha. 

Feeling, strangely, far more comfortable in his armour, knotting his hands about the central hilt of his two-bladed sword, Sebastion had felt considerably more secure as they stepped out into the street on the shoulder of the Flame Hawk. 

Stepping boldly, moving closer to Sandslipper, he drifted into the position of almost a bodyguard, instinctively, as he watched the surroundings for a repeat performance from the Huronese woman. 

"So what do you think the package might be?" he asked her, quietly, scanning the surroundings constantly. color=silver]"And why do you think she wants it so badly?" [/color]

In response to Sebastion's quiet question, Sandslipper could only shrug. "I really don't know what's in the package, Sebastion. The one who hired me made it pretty clear it wasn't any of my buisness, but from the size of the thing I doubt it is anything large, and it's not very heavy either. As for why that woman wants it, I don't know either. Maybe she's an enemy of the Truth Seeker? From the tattooes on their arms, all those men must belong to some group who use the scorpion as their emblem, I would imagine, though I've never come across such an organisation myself." 

Eventually they arrived at the temple of Naskha, the great building's front doors open to let light spill out onto the street in front. As they approached the entrance, they could see the gerat golden dragon head inscribed on the wall glinting in the meagre illumination. 

* * *

Pierre, a mere toad posing no interest to the guards on the streets, slowly made his way towards the temple, following distantly in the trail of the big two-legged people who had also gone in that direction. A cat hissed at him, but didn't try to eat him because the Manipulated toad scared it too much. 

* * *

"My child, Naskha works in ways that often we cannot hope to understand, for He is the Trickster too and delights in subteruge to defeat His foes. Perhaps you are right, and you have a calling gifted to you by Naskha, but only you can know that, in your own heart. I am not so learned that I can tell a persons fate merely by looking at them." He chuckled. "Yet it is clear you are special to Him, certainly. I cannot tell you what your future holds.I cannot give to you a clear, definite command of what He wants you to do. But I can tell you that you are in His favour; believe in Him, and He will give you strength." 

He reached into his robes, and withdrew a little necklace, from which hung a tiny emblem; th holy symbol of Naskha, a circle within which lay the profile of a dragon's head, the entire emblem in gold. "Here. Take this as a gift from the Church of Naskha." 

"Oh, thank you!" Melisande gasped. Her blue eyes welled with heartfelt, grateful tears as she accepted the gold pendant from the Cerulean One and reached back to clasp it around her neck. 

Yet as she did so a disagreeable memory arose unbidden in her mind, of the moment in the druid glen when she foolishly donned the shadow-demon's amulet only to discover later that the thing held fast to her like a tick. While she did not hesitate with the emblem of Naskha, still the thought of the scrying amulet stole some of her joy. She drew the eye and pyramid symbol out and held it up for the Cerulean One to see. 

"I'm sorry Naskha has to share my neck with whoever this belongs to. I put it on without thinking and now there's nothing I can do to get it off short of cutting my own head off. And worse yet I have a strong feeling it's scrying on me. Do you know what I might do to get rid of it, by any chance?" 

* * *

The band was ushered in by blue and gold-robed priests, who looked on with concern and set to caring for the battered party members with bandages and healing magics. Offers were made of lodgings for the night - for the temple was surely as safe as any other place - and reassurances that Melisande was alright, and was even now speaking with a Cerulean One. The clerics seemed slightly in awe of the young aasimar, excited by the fact that someone so clearly blessed by the Great Sorcerer had been delivered to them. 

Sebastion accepted the offer of seating, and the prospect of a night's rest, with a mixture of welcome relief and - to his mind at leats - healthy scepticism. He had been attacked at an inn, why should a temple be necessarily any safer. 

That said, he did feel rather more at ease here - how much threat could there be from a group of men who wore dresses, after all. 

Settling a little, he still kept his armour on, and waited for something to happen, for he felt sure the evening would not pass uneventfully. 

* * *

His Friend's mind came back to Pierre in a rush of sound and emotion, so much that only one of his heads noticed the cat and even then could only respond by staring in dismay at the spitting predator while the other head steered him ever forth. 

He lumped along the night street, sticking to the ditches whenever possible, and seeking the mind of his Friend like a beacon. However, now that he had been buoyed by the comforting awareness that she was alive and well and even for some reason _happy_, he felt a somewhat less pressing need to find his way to her pocket again, and so lingered as he approached the temple, hoping for a crunchie. 

* * *

The Cerulean One took the emblem in his hand, looked at it for a moment, then pulled the necklace round so he could instead see the catch. After fiddling with it for a bit, he raised an eyebrow. "Magical lock, I would guess. A simple dispel should do the trick..." He chanted a low prayer under his breath, and with a click the necklace undid itself from round Melisande's neck. He handed the now unattached necklace back to her. 

"There you go. Sleep well, for it is late, and I shall leave you now to rest." 

* * *

Even as Meg'anna tried to get Sebastion's attention, more priests came, and the blue-and-gold robed men ushered them to various rooms where they could rest overnight. As they walked the marble and white-washed corridors of the temple, in many places they saw the sings of a more military side to the church; armoured clerics in chainmail guarding some of the doors and walkways. This was, after all, a city most at threat from Carthagia. 

The lodgings they were given were comfortable enough, not opulent but pleasant. Provided with baths and fresh dressings for wounds, the company was advised to get rest. The Flame Hawks had long since departed, but the priests told the band that they could see their friend Melisande in the morning, when she had rested too. 

* * *

Morning light flooded across the cloisters of the temple, clergy contemplatively wandering through the temple and guards watching vigilantly. Each of the band found themselves gently awoken by a cleric, who quietly told them that they could, should they so wish, have a morning meal in the refectory; and that the Flame Hawk Alaric had departed that morning, saying he would be back soon once he had finalised the company's trip north to Tarravus. 

Melisande's first waking thought went to Pierre. She hadn't slept a night separated from him since the magical link was forged between their disparate minds over a year before. So anxious was she to recover her warty yet adored little companion that she did not even take the time to _mend_ her laundered but shredded clothing before racing out into the Temple in search of the exit, both hands clutching her dress shut as she went. 

Wild with worry, her navy hair whipping loose, she hurled herself through a blessing of morning acolytes and out the Temple gates. 

Placid as a clod, Pierre marred the marble Temple steps with his blobbish presence. No one would have stepped on him. The only danger he was in was the possible passage of a street-cleaner with a shovel. 

Kneeling, she scooped him up fondly and hugged him to her partially exposed chest. "There you are, you ugly, sweet little lump. Into the pocket again? All right with me. Upsy-daisy! Yes, I'm much better now too. You won't believe where we are right now..." 

Ignoring her chatter, Pierre settled into his familiar old pocket, which he found he now shared with an uncomfortably cold piece of metal on a chain. He shifted so it lay under his backside where it was least uncomfortable. 

Wandering back inside she realized belatedly that her dress truly had suffered as bad a wound as she had, and although the clerics of Naskha had seen to laundering the blue blood out of it, it still required serious healing of its own. 
She stopped in the sun-flooded vestibule to work her familiar old Mend spell, magically bringing the frayed gash back together and wonderingly recalling the last time she had used the spell. Similar circumstances... she had received a slash wound to the chest from a gnoll ranger. This one must have been worse. It was a good thing she passed out, she realized. How dreadful and exciting her life had become since she left Carthagia! She had fled the horror of vivisected goblins only to be vivisected herself, repeatedly. 

Once presentable, she followed the scent of hot bread toward the Temple dining hall. If her Cerulean friend was there she hoped he'd be able to direct her to wherever Sandslipper, Meg and the others were this morning, as she was anxious to see them alive and well again.

The acolyte that came to wake Sebastion found him already up and alert, running through basic practice routines with his sword on the balcony outside his room. Acknowledging the invitation, the warrior returned to the room to oil and tend to his weapons, before shucking his armour long enough to check it quickly, bending a few links back into place with a small hook and liberally oiling the whole ensemble. 

So it was that he found himself approaching the refectory, armoured but not armed, just as Melisande was arriving. Realising he was rather obvious in appearance, and knowing it was too late to hide from the often acerbic young woman, he coughed slightly, to cover the pause in his pace, and carried on, arriving at the door as she did. 

"You are looking well." he said, neutrally. "...uh... how... how do you feel?" It was weak, as greetings went, but it would serve for now, he decided, holding the door for her, and feeling assailed by the smells of cooking. 

At the entrance to the refectory the ebullient Melisande found Sebastion Cornell wearing a pinched expression, as usual as sour and macho as a sweaty leather codpiece. Nevertheless, on impulse, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as she breezed past to breakfast. 

"Wonderful! Thanks for asking. And you?" 

She stood scanning the dining tables for Meg'anna, Sandslipper and Ebri Zol, guessing from Sebastion Cornell's presence that they were all lodging here at the Temple of Naskha. Unless Sebastion had volunteered to come check on Melisande's healing by himself, which seemed to her somewhat unlikely. 

The kiss caught him by surprise, and he found himself clearing his throat repeatedly as he followed her into the refectory. Looking around he hoped none of the Priest's had seen: despite being blue, she was a passably attractive woman, and this was, after all, a temple.

Once inside, though, such thoughts rapidly disappeared as he sought out something to eat, hoping that the priests here weren't so ascetic as to pass over the joys of eggs, bacon, black pudding and the like for breakfast. 

They found the others clustered around a table in the refectory, eating of bread, cheese, bacon and eggs provided for them by the priests. Sandslipper appeared a little groggy and not very talkative, instead concentrating purely on eating. 

It wasn't long before Alaric returned. "Good morning," the liveried warrior said quietly as he entered the refectory. "Glad to see you're all alright - are you feeling better, Melisande? I've been aranging matters for our journey to Tarravus; horses are outside, ready for whenever we choose to leave. That is, assuming that you _want_ to go today; I'd better point out that Lord Falkmar would probably prefer you on your way soon though." 

Sebastion barely halted in his eating, staring for a moment over the top of his fork as another mouthful of bacon disappeared. Chewing quickly he gestured with his fork at the squire as he spoke around the mouthful of meat. 

"If Lord Falkmar is so keen to be rid of us," he pondered, aloud, "I wonder if he might be willing to aid us with supplying for the journey? I could use a few replacement throwing-axes, or even a bow, if there's a barracks with spares near here?" 

It was a long hope, he knew, but 'don't ask, don't get' was an old and tried aphorism. 

"Yes, Squire, I am feeling better, but of course better than disemboweled isn't saying much. Thank goodness--thank Naskha--for you and the Flame Hawks. 

"I suppose the longer we stay in one place, the more likely this is to happen again. Although I'd love to stay a day or two longer in Corvus City..." 

She motioned broadly, taking in the beauty of the Temple, the peaceful clergy and the sumptuous breakfast all at once. 

"You don't suppose his Lordship would mind providing a little for the journey, seeing as how we are serving his liege...? Just some trail rations, that sort of thing? I mean, in addition to the horses, which were really very thoughtful." 

Mel cocked her head, looking sidelong at Sebastion Cornell. "We'll need all the help we can get. Guards, too..." 

* * *

It was later that day when the small band trotted out of Corvus city atop their steeds, clattering over the wide wooden bridge that spanned the expanse of water seperating the northern gate and the northern bank of the river. The sun shone pleasantly down over them, covering the landscape in its balmy glow. The countryside of Naseria was lushly green and verdant, cultivated fields and thick woods spread over the rolling hills. 

Alaric had arranged for more supplies, and their packs bulged with rations. he had even managed to secure a well-made bow for Sebastion - "made in Fayen, the elven realm in the north-west" - which the warrior had found to be serviceable and even decorated with engraved vines. 

Yet they departed the city missing one thing, or rather person. Meg'anna had left them. 

* * *

None of them had been able to tell what it was that had been weighing down on the shoulders of the tall young druidess. Mute as she was, she could not speak to them of it, but even if she had been able to there was no certainty that, whatever the matter was, she would have wished to tell them. All she had given them was an apologetic shrug and miserable face before she set out of the southern gate of the city - heading not south, but east... 

* * *

They made good time north on the well-travelled road that day, but some confusion over how far they'd be able to make it before sundown happened meant that they spent that night camping out by the side of the road as darkness fell. 

Sebastion had spent the day comfortably slumped in the saddle, alert when it was his turn, but dozing gently for the remainder except for the few times he drew his new bow to accustom himself to the draw. 

Unsure of the necessity of the decoration, especially when contrasted against the rather stark, austere, pristine lines of the remainder of his equipment, he knew enough of the near-legendary elven archers to accept the bow at face value and believe its crafter knew more than he. 

The night air was cool, pleasantly so after the sun of the day. The disparate collection of individuals quickly slipped into sleep, except for Ebri. 

The woman found herself unable to settle down properly. She couldn't be quite sure why, but it was as if she was on edge,a s if something had made her nervous that she wasn't aware of. No-one had set a watch, this being well into the civilised territory of Naseria, and around her the others slept soundly. 

It disturbed her that, for all her discipline, her mind would not quiet.

Ebri sat upright in her blankets, her wool wrap about her shoulders, absolutely still and composed except for the minute movements of respiration. This posture was a favorite of hers, soles of the feet touching, hands curled halfway and resting on the knees. It was the first thing she had been taught upon her acceptance to the monastery, after months upons months of dishwashing, laundry, and countless other menial tasks. Although she had long since advanced beyond such simple things, it was well to be mindful of one's humble beginnings. She had raised three successive crops of vegetables in the thin mountainous soil, learning balance, she had later realized, from having to work in the precarious terraces that clung to the sides of the mountain. One could not relax, not simply let one's mind go to daydreams as one walked along a rich black furrow for lengths and lengths, the whole length of their land... Forget for a moment where you were, and you would reach for a spade behind you, be counting seeds while stepping out a row, and there, you'd fall off the edge into the great chasms below. Balance, Ebri nodded to herself, _and awareness._

She used the words to rein in her fractious mind again. Memory, memory had been a terrible lure all afternoon, in the idle time as they rode, and now, when it was the time for sleep. Not _remembrance_, not the useful and productive reflection on the teachings of her elders and the mysteries of the Great Prophet, but _memory_. The useless re-living of the past. It was wasteful of energies to dwell overmuch on the past; it removed one from the present moment. No doubt it was the cause of her inability to be centered for sleep. _It causes one to be nowhere; not here, not there... _

Her eyes caught the dull gleam of the mimir in the starlight, there next to her knee. The thing was a meditation in itself. A replica of a human skull, its grisly reminder of death, an artificial memory, one that, if it were to be believed, circumvented death-- it preserved the words--the voices-- of those who were long dead. It was inanimate metal; it was not a weapon, except as one considered those things that contained knowledge weapons-- and Ebri did--;it was a product, obviously of powerful magic... and, like a mirror, it gave a reflection. Admittedly, a small, rather warped one, as it was not a flat surface. But there, at her feet, in its cranium was a tiny, dark, distorted image of her. 

_Well worth reflecting on--_ she thought, without the slightest bit of humor. 

She sat for the next hour, using the mimir as a subject to focus her thoughts, much as her old teacher had given her impossible riddles and made up words to train her mind to discipline. 
_It sits there, staring back, like a pagan idol, except that it speaks, much as the simple people would wish it to... _

_Ebri, ask them... ask them... _

She sighed as the sounds of drumming filled her ears. _Do not we all have weak days? _She remembered something her master had said, early on. _Moments of weakness remain only that--moments-- unless we think to much upon them. When we cannot forgive weakness, it grows in power over us... _

_Ebri, ask them... ask great great grandmother... wheat or barley this year? the north field to pasture...? when is Nilesu's baby coming... _

Sitting amidst her sleeping blankets, she could not help but jolt in shock as she heard the voice. Strangely sibilant yet at times harsh and snarling, deep and strong. 

"Ebri Zol... Ebri Zol..."

"Look to me, Ebri Zol. I stand here. We must speak." 

There, shrouded in the night gloom, a few metres outside the camp, the bulky, shadowy figure stood. Her breath caught. _Old master. _

She'd never heard one speak before. 

Around her, the others continued in their slumber, untroubled by what was taking place in the waking world. 

The voice seared into her mind, startling her out of all composure._ An Old Master[//i]--Surely it knew of her lapses. She had almost failed now several times, it had taken her longer than it should have to find the blue woman, and she was proving ineffectual to protect her. She had learned little of the shadow that touched her. I am a poor student. She swallowed hard, and rose to approach the indistinct figure, then prostrated herself to the ground in obeisance. 

"Old Master..." she murmured. "speak thou to me; thy humblest servant is listening."

There was a moment of near-silence as Ebri could feel the gaze of the Old Master boring down into her; all was quiet except the faint rustling of breeze through the leaves of the foliage around the campsite. long now had the fire been quelled to mere glowing embers, and it was by faint moonlight piercing through the clouds that she could make out the shadow-wreathed figure before her. 

"Abasement is unwise; to lower yourself before shadows is to offer your neck to a blade from the dark. Show wariness and care, for pure darkness hides many things, while shadow-light distorts and alters what can be seen. Both can be used; against you, if you are unwary, yet for you, if you are wise." 

It raised its inhuman head-shape up, as if looking towards the few dots of light that pierced the cloudy veil above. "A pleasant cast of glimmer across the landscape, this night. Well-suited to travel." Then, without warning, it changed the subject again without missing a beat. "The ward is well?" 

It moved to survey the campsite. "Ah, yes. Good. You do well. Now listen." 

"When you arrive in Tarravus, seek out a man called Karbal; he will act as a liaison between yourself and higher authorities, to give you further instructions. It is important that you seek him out, as he will be a link between you and us. If I had the time, I would speak longer to you this night, but events elsewhere call my attention. Know this though; your ward is not merely under threat from steel sword or fletched arrow; the foes arrayed against us in our great task find equal use of corruption of mind and insanity. In time, you shall know more, but for now, be wary and alert against all forms of attack." 

"I see you have a mimir. I have not seen one of those for many years now - a valuable item, indeed. Keep good care of it, it may prove most useful to you." 

It gazed down at her. "Fortune be with you, young priestess. One day you will you will prove worthy of understanding the Purpose, I have no doubt. For the time being, be tireless and faithful in your task, and prove to us your skill." 

It brought up one darkness-covered arm, and for a moment Ebri could see a glimmer of metal, silvery in the moonlight. Then with a slicing action it brought the arm down, the metal tearing through the weave of reality with a faint noise. Edges of existence flapped loosely, as through the tear Ebri could see gray-black void, too blurred for her to make out any details of what lay there in that realm beyond the real world, and the figure stepped through. 

Within moments, the tear had sealed, with no evidence that the Old Master had ever been there at all. 

"Of course, master..." Ebri whispered reverently, glad the exalted one had gone, so as not to see her weeping. She wiped the traces of tears from her cheeks, and sat back on her knees. "Thank you..." 

Carefully avoiding any taint of worship--that belonged only to the Prophet-- still, she locked the master's words in her heart, more precious than any treasure, than any gleaming thing of gold or silver could be. Wisdom was sacred, and she allowed herself to cherish what remained of the encounter. She would not need a mimir to recall them. You do well... You will no doubt prove worthy... There was no denying that the path she walked on was long and difficult. Encouragement was sweeter than she remembered. Her eyes welled up again; she wiped them sternly. Tears cloud the vision. You must watch, and see clearly. She rose, and turned to survey the little camp. The three there, huddled in their blankets, sleeping all unwary in the wilderness, they were the objects of her vigilance. Her especial ward, Melisande--who frowned and muttered in her sleep-- but the others as well. The soldier, Sebastion-- a simple man, she judged, with simple aspirations, but not without courage. He had placed his bedroll farther than necessary from his female companions, but sleep had betrayed him-- his hand stretched out, as if of its own accord, towards the blue woman. Ebri noted it with a wry smile. It was well; it would make him more irrational than he already was, but if the soldier had affection for Melisande, he would fight all the more to protect her. It would serve the purpose; she, Ebri, could think clearly for both. The woman Sandslipper slept, for all the world like the statue she resembled. Unmoved, and untroubled...? She did not know the genasi's importance, but her arm would be another between Melisande and the enemy's blades. She would watch them; although she would defend her ward alone if need be, it would be folly to be so arrogant as to spurn help. After all, they may have a part in the Plan, though I cannot see it. 

Her muscles trembled with unused energy, and she was still far from sleep. Rest, at least, she should try to find, if not for the body then for the mind. Kata, then. Breathing deeply, she began the slow dance that formed the basis for the Way of Shadow. 

A shadow can exist only where light is. Thus are a thing and its opposite intertwined. Think on this. They cannot be separated... 

The night was far from over, but it was hours before Ebri's thoughts troubled her again.

Horses, although Melisande knew a good deal of the theory--ruminant stomachs and vestigial toes and such--proved a new learning challenge. She much preferred small, predictable, hoof- and toothless beasts like toads. Besides, there was not any part of her lower body that did not ache desperately after a day in the saddle. 

On the other hand, traveling on horseback allowed her more leisure for magical musings. Only the second day out she discovered yet another new technique involving a phase-shift, but this time of energy. Instead of making focused beams of cold, she found she could propagate a high-frequency vibration in thaumic potential; except that such a beam had to be grounded in a kinetic life-energy source or, more properly phrased, a target. The first time she tried it was on an unsuspecting squirrel and tearful regret still haunted her. Such experiments were more the cruel profession of her former mentor. At least, she consoled herself, the creature endured but the quickest of deaths. 

DM Note: Mel gains the Magic Missile spell 

Perhaps it was the bad dreams that had set off a more violent series of magical experimentations. Since the attack at the Cowardly Dragon Mel dreamed nightly of poisoned blades and mind-melting stares, mixed with the stock dream potpourri of childhood embarrassments and symbolic angst. Pierre helped enormously with soothing her startled awakenings. The connection between their minds seemed gradually to be growing clearer, as if coming into focus. 

He had let her know early on that she would have to do something about that cold metal thing in his pocket. Mel took out the scrying amulet with its etched symbol of an eye on a pyramid and held it out to Ebri as they rode side-by-side on the road to Tarravus. 

"The Cerulean priest in Corvus helped me get this off. All it took was a dispel, can you imagine? I'm tempted to clasp it around the neck of a badger and be rid of it for good, but then again, that healing potion that came with it has saved my life twice and I can't make up my mind. What do you think?" 

"No, not a badger-- we should give to whomever watches a better show than that, surely." Ebri laughed, in good humor. "But I will take it, if you wish to be rid of it." With lowered eyes, between packing and riding, and the wealth of interesting plants that lined the path, she had been watching Melisande all this morning. She had let it go far too long: even more than a victim, a ward required study. Be alert against all forms of attack-- the Master had warned her. She could try her utmost to prevent Melisande physical harm, to stand in the way of her enemies, but-- not knowing her strengths and weaknesses, how could she protect her from herself? 

Or, the emblem glittering on the silver chain reminded her, from the unseen threat... There were those among her order--Ebri was not one of them-- who were gifted in prescience, in the ways and manipulation of the mind. Such things could be done. She observed the slight droop of her shoulders, the weak blue tone of her skin, the hollows beneath her eyes, and recalled her attitude in sleep of the previous night.

Was it only chance, or was her ward not sleeping well? 

"What I think is--without information, we should reserve judgement, and not throw things of power away hastily. If the removing of it was as simple as you say, perhaps it was not malevolent after all-- there are situations, I imagine, when having an amulet that could not be removed easily would be very useful. The clasp would not break by accident, it would not fly off in a fall, and it would be difficult for a common or even an uncommon cutpurse to steal it. The potion was beneficial, yes. Perhaps the one who watches you...watches over you..." Ebri suggested, then shrugged and shook her head. "That too, is speculation, and I would not credit either line of thought. It would be well to be wary. Let me keep it, and I will study the thing as I may. It will be a useful pastime," she added, after a moment of thought. "--tonight, if I cannot sleep. Lately, I find my sleep is not as restful as it might be. Perhaps my god is reminding me to be more dutiful, if travelling has become less of a joy than it should be..." 

* * *
Melisande missed Meg'anna, she reflected as she curled up to sleep by the side of the road in the gentle, sweet-smelling Naserian countryside. Never had she met such a patient listener... And the druid would have enjoyed the kind spring of this generous land, she was sure. As she drifted off to sleep she tried to keep her mind on pleasant things in order to ward off the assassins from her suconscious. The memory which seemed always to ease her mind the most was of beams of sunlight glorying in the vast Temple of Naskha in Corvus City. She thought of the blue god of sorcerers with hope and affection. In spite of herself, however, her mind turned uncontrollably back to her mother and her mentor in stony Carthagia... the mystery of her own conception and the fear of what her mentor might do if he discovered she was in Naseria guided her into troubled sleep, as usual. 

Sebastion rose early, just as the sun hit the horizon, seeing to the horses as he scrubbed sleep from his eyes, and ran a hand through his ruffled, sandy hair. Sleeping on the floor was not his usual preference, but he had done it often enough that he could stretch the worst of the kinks out quickly enough, and it didn't take long to water and feed the horses, though one of them didn't fancy her salt, and he took a moment to check she wasn't pregnant. 

That would have caused problems, but thankfully she was just obstinate - mares often were, he thought, with a chuckle - and was easily cajoled into taking it by an experienced hand. 

Having checked the shoes as they ate, he turned to make a start on his own breakfast, wondering if he would have enough time to tend his armour before they left, and set about his work. 

Placing his pack on the back of his own horse, a solid, dependable, if uninspiring mare, he checked the padded pocket into which he had placed the healing philtre that had been meted out to him, making sure it was well wrapped. Of course, if the horse fell on it, it would make little difference, but he padded it nonetheless, and eyed the vial of poison that Melisande had spent so long studying the night before. 

"Listen, if no-one else is willing to use this, I'll take it." he said, pointing to the bottle. It had already been made quite apparent to him, by actions and looks if not words, that they didn't consider a future in the martial sector to be a suitable qualification for ownership of a mimir, and he had given up hope of convincing them it might be better in his hands when he left them. 

And that day would be soon. He couldn't abandon them in these lands with just the Flame Hawk squire to guard them, obviously, but once they had arrived, and he had seen them safe to delivering their package, then he would leave. 

He would, on his own. 


Leave... 

But...

_


----------



## Carnifex

*Darkest Day pt 1*

*The Darkest Day:* Part 1

Well, we've been following the adventures of the Corvus Company for a while now, but here's a return to the chronicle of the tale of Wolf's Company; this is the first part of an account of the horrors that descend upon them in a small, innocent Adbarian village...

The walk out of Halstath was uneventful enough. Despite Kale's worries, the gate guards let them pass without a second glance, and they were soon out of the town. 

Out in the cool night, a faint breeze rushing over the surface of the Sapphire, the party made camp in the small, secluded spot not far along from the Halstath waterfront that Wyshira had previously found. Looking out over the water gave a view of the wide lake surface in the gloom of night, some small light from the night sky shedding little radiance over the scene; it reflected in dappled patterns from the ripples. Over the far side, cliffs rising up and topped with forest could be seen. 

The campfire crackled and hissed, food cooking in a pot that Wolf had slung over it. The ranger sat down by the warmth, having 'gone for a wander' a few minutes earlier. 

"No sign of anyone following us, and I guess we'll be safe enough here tonight. Tomorrow morning we strike north-west and try and get out of Corinthia into the lordless lands between here and Adbar." 

He settled to make himself more comfortable. "Not the best of things to happen today, I have to say. We could have really done without Toranites taking an interest in you." He paused to scoop some of the food out of the pot and into a bowl. "I hadn't thought anything of it when I'd heard there've been more Carthagians in the area over the last few years. Not that I could've guessed they'd get involved in this fiasco as well." 

Kale sat there, reflecting on the recent events. As the rudy glow of the small fire lit the crew's still-intact faces, everything seemed all right. 

Only, everything wasn't alright for Kale. Battle over, camp set, Wolf returned from the perimeter check, all that was left was to reflect on what had happened. Reason could not dispell the unknown dread that grew in Kale's thoughts. He looked at these three around the fire- walking together into something much bigger than 'fighting to make some coin.' What they were working for sounded suspiciously more and more like a Cause, with the Toranites and plenty of other folks with opposing Causes of their own. 

Kale paled as visions of armies of black-armored soldiers approached. Spiked gauntlets, and divine spells. "You'll die for this, fool!" For what? He was only doing his job... But no, it had become personal. 

Feeling his sore neck, the gauntleted hand may have been gone, but Kale still felt strangled. His fate might already be out of his control, but it was just a race, whether someone like the Toranite, or a Cause would catch him first. His days of freedom were coming to an end, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Wyshira knew there was definitely something going on with Kale. 

They had reached a place to camp and made preparations for the night. Everyone was pretty quiet after the disruption at the inn and their flight from the town. Each seemed to be busy thinking their own thoughts about the day. 

Wyshira was tired - the afternoon swim had left her both hungry and sleepy - but was torn between dozing where she sat, and getting up to fix herself a bowl of whatever it was that Wolf was cooking. So far, dozing had won out. She watched the others through half-closed eyes as they sat round the softly flickering campfire. 

Her eyes kept coming back to Kale. He looked as though he were being consumed by something. His hands were constantly moving; fiddling with his weapons, stripping the bark from a bit of wood, rubbing at the back of his neck. He stared into the fire without seeming to see it, then out into the darkness of the night. She knew that he was going to get up and walk out of camp, probably before even *he* knew he was going to. She briefly considered following after him. But that was something that even she understood you just didn't do in a band such as this. If someone walked out of camp like that, it was because he wanted to be alone. 

_Give him a little time,_ she thought. _A little, but not too much, under the circumstances... _

Burl too had noticed Kale's discomfort, but for the quiet necromancer there seemed little he could do. After all, he figured he was quite possibly the cause of the young man's discomfort anyway. Instead, he just remained quiet, his overexcited hedgehog familiar scurrying around his feet.

Rising slowly, Kale walked uphill and downwind from the fire and camp. Away from the warmth of the fire, he breathed the cool air and relaxed for a moment, head swimming with all the things he didn't know. The trees around him swayed with the trailing winds from the recent rains, forest fresh with the smell of new life. Crouching over with a desperate look in his eyes, there was a tubed-slosh sound and a messy splatter as Kale vomited silently. 

Wiping the bile from his chin, flicking it to the puddle at his feet, he regarded the whole scene dispassionately. Control was an illusion, it seemed, even when it came to his own body. But what was control to a soldier? With even his life lifted up to the hands of fate, a soldier like he longed to be had perhaps the least control of any being to draw breath. 

Shadows and gods and magics and countries and armies- and what was Kale but one bloody blade? Yet that which he was, he was: one heartbeat, one voice in a huge chorus of souls. From time immemorial until times to ever come, voices from the bloody poor infantry create, word by word, the epics sung by bards and gods. A grievous wound to the pride of all powers, the Cause always came down to common men: the mortal, temporal, often futile lives of those whose blood wetted the battlefield. 

Those who sit on thrones, those who hold power are fooled when they consider themselves better than the chambermaid, the armsman, the scribe. The wise know better than to curse the hands and feet. 

"You'll die for this, fool...." 

_You first. _

Straightening, Kale kicked dirt over his vomit to keep the scent from spreading. Taking another deep breath, he felt much smaller, and yet less afraid of all the powers and mysteries mounting against the group. 
Walking back to the fire, Kale acknowledged the looks from his companions, reassuring Wyshira for her look of concern. Shooting a small grin, Kale quipped, "Damn inn needs some help- food tastes better coming up than going down..." He did not deny what had just happened, but Kale evidently didn't feel like talking about it at the moment. 

Producing his waterskin and bowl, he refilled his stomach while listening to what Wolf had to say about the evening's events. 

Meanwhile, Wyshira was feeling a little more awake. It seemed that they had made a safe get-away and wouldn't be running into any problems again tonight. She felt she could spare some of the Lady's power to perform some healing. She began by taking out her kit and tending Wolf's injuries. Using her innate ability to create clean, pure water, she washed the wounds and dressed them. Then she called on the goddess to heal him. 

When Kale returned, she did the same for his wounds. She took a little more time with him, just to offer him some extra support. She cleaned the puncture wounds on his neck and applied a pungent, watery green paste to hopefully stave off infection. Then laying cool hands on the injured area, she breathed a prayer to Ishrak over him. The power of the goddess coursed like a mountain torrent down her arms and into his body, washing away most of the pain and the damage. 

"Kale, don't worry. We'll probably never see him again." She meant the priest of Toran, of course. There was more she wanted to say to try to comfort the young man, but Kale wasn't easy to read. She thought he had more than fear of an avenging cleric with a personal grudge against him on his mind, but she wasn't sure what it was. And she wasn't really sure he wanted such comfort from her. She thought it best to leave well enough alone for now. She gave him a reassuring smile then turned away. 

Wyshira looked first at Burl, the unassuming necromancer that everyone seemed to be so interested in, and then at Wolf. She wondered if the mercenary knew more about what was going on than he was letting the rest of them in on. 

"Wolf, tell me again why that rival Irilian family wanted us to rescue Burl from the Pendarmes?" 

Wolf leaned back, eyes carefully observing Kale without expressing any hint of what the older mercenary might be thinking. Around them, the breeze through the forest generated a faint sussuration, a faint voice almost. Listening as carefully as one could, a fellow might even have thought they could pick out faint words on the wind, just beyond the edge of understanding - yet no more a reality than the ephemeral breeze itself. 

"Thanks for the healing, Wyshira - praise the Storm Lady and all that," he said with a smile. In response to her question, he shrugged. "They wanted Burl gone because if he was snatched from their grasp it would be a major embarrassment. The only prisoner from the raids in the north, in their hands, and they lose him... it won't be looking good for the Pendarme's reputation just now, I imagine the king'll be wanting a word with them about that little fiasco. Odd though, they must not have realised what everyone else was planning, to put our wizard here in such a vulnerable position like that. If I'd been in their position, I'd have just got a priest to come to the residence and question him, rather than taking him to the temple, even under guard." 

He paused. 

"We're being watched. Listen." 

There, on the breeze again, the faintest suspicion of words on the breeze, flitting at the edge of audibility. 
The mercenary slowly stood up, looking around the clearing, hand on sword pommel. 

"I've had just about enough fights for one day," he hissed under his breath. 

While Wolf talked, Wyshira filled her bowl from the cooking pot and returned to her seat. She sat as near to the water and as far from the campfire as she could possibly get, without appearing to be antisocial. 

She sighed. She had been afraid that getting mixed up in Irilian politics would not be a good thing for their little band. And see where they were now. But poor Burl! He had become involved, through no fault of his own, apparently just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If they had not shown up to rescue him when they did, who knows what might have happened to him? 

She suddenly became aware that Wolf had stopped talking and had risen from his seat by the fire. He stood tense and still, listening. The rising whisper of the wind in the leaves of the trees was the only thing she could hear. Burl gathered his things and began to move toward cover. 

"What.....?" Wyshira began, but then she heard it: words on the wind; a voice or voices that she could just barely make out, but while the sound seemed like speech, it was unintelligible to her. She stood up too, and began to look around. She didn't feel afraid, mainly because she couldn't imagine what there was to be afraid of. Voices? She wasn't even really sure what she was hearing.

Relaxing, Burl had been watching Spike moving around, while he listened to Wolf’s ideas on why he was being hunted. Twice he had noticed as Wolf slightly cocked his ear, so when he told them to listen, he was not surprised. As Wolf grabbed his sword, Burl quickly picked up Spike, placed him in his bag which was thrown over his shoulder. Looking for somewhere to take cover, Burl moved to some small boulders and waited. 

Still sitting, Kale shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, beside the fire, but practically squatting in place. Looking past Wolf to the forest fringe beyond, he scanned in exact opposite to the older mercenary: now Wolf had eyes in the back of his head. 

Never one to stare into a fire, Kale's night vision was shot nevertheless. Rather than dwell on this shortcoming, though, he focussed a smooth eye on any movement he could find, and listened carefully. 
_No need to stink of fear,_ Kale reminded himself as he told his body to relax. Soft firelight played across Kale's face as he turned placidly, a camper simply regarding his surroundings. If there was anyone there, his manner could not fool them: he had heard something, and was aware. But more than being aware, Kale wanted to show another thing,_ I'm not afraid. _

An important message to convey, especially when one _is_ afraid... 

It sounded like speech but for all that they could make out of it, was more like insane gibbering caught on the edge of reality and filtering through to the real world only in fragments... _herethererunwalklookseewebweavertearstrandhereovertherewalk... _barely words at all but closer to nonsensical meaning being transmitted straight into the listeners ears, and constantly leaving them unsure whether they really were hearing anything more than the breeze through the trees. 

Then a stronger gust of wind whipped across the sheltered slope, tugging at clothes and filling their ears with its roar, blocking out other noise before calming again. 

Try as hard as they might, none of the party could pick out even the faintest suspicion of speech on the wind anymore. 

Clearly unsettled, a sheen of sweat on his brow glistening in the meagre firelight, Wolf slowly sat back down again. 

"It seems we're alone again." 

* * *

The night passed without further incident. As the fire burned low into embers, one after another of the disparate party dropped into sleep, and no creature of the night nor whisper on the wind came to put an end to them while they slumbered. 

Burl's sleep was wracked with trouble nonetheless. Strange dreams of half-formed thoughts shimmered in his head, until finally he dropped into a dreamscape so vivid it seemed almost real. He stood on a massive plain of blasted, scorched earth, thousands of hazy figures moving on the terrain around him, blurred and indistinct as they moved in swarms to clash with others. The sky was dominated by black roiling clouds that occasionally flared into red flame, and beneath them he could see huge shapes outlined, like the mountains themselves had uprooted to stride amidst the battling figures that seemed tiny at their feet. They too seemed indistinct, titans far away moving like icebergs, and only a hint of arm or head occasionally made them more recogniseable as figures or huge animals or worse. 

And the ground shook around him; he turned to see, looming over him, one of the monolithic beings, a shapeless, undefined form that seemed to expand to fill all his vision till he could see nothing else but oblivion... 
* * *
It was a long walk the next day, Wolf rousing the others before dawn so that they could get a good distance between themselves and any pursuers from Halstath who might have tarried until morning before venturing out. After a couple of hours the sun had broken over a vallye rise, flooding across them with warm golden light. Certainly, the weather seemed to be improving as spring rode on, though clouds still dominated the sky above. 

Burl had debated with himself as to whether to tell the others of his dream or not, in the end speaking of it but downplaying the importance of it. Wolf had listened to Burl hesitantly recounting his dream, then had shrugged. "Everyone has dreams; largely they mean nothing. I wouldn't worry about it too much; probably just nightmares brought on by what you've been through in the last few days." 

Kale watched Wolf, wondering as always how the ranger somehow managed to be awake before everyone else, as if he didn't even sleep at all.

Trudging on through the watery light of the low sun was tiring, and by the time midday had come even hardy Wolf seemed eager to stop for food and a rest. Here on a rolling plain studded with copses of trees they paused, atop a rise giving them good views all round of the land. The sun was still defiantly shining through patches of open sky above. 

Wolf leant against one of the handful of trees dotted on the rise, chewing on bread and cheese. "We'll make fair time if we continue at this pace, I reckon. I'd prefer to travel by horse though, or else we're going to be taking weeks to get anywhere - I might take the chance to 'liberate' a few if we come across any. After all, once we leave Corinthia we're in lawless land and I'd prefer to spend as little time as possible in wild Drakkath before we can reach Adbar." 

Kale nodded in agreement. He was used to travelling by foot, but the way was long, and time was of some importance. 'Liberating horses,' indeed- Kale would be sure to tag along, so that Wolf couldn't hog all the 'glory' for himself. Four horses would be fairly difficult for one man to handle. 

"Hopefully we wont have anymore nighttime visitors either," Wolf muttered uneasily before tearing into his lunch again. 

"Indeed," Kale agreed as Wolf attacked his food once more. Leaning over to Burl and Wyshira, smirk on his face, Kale eyed Wolf and remarked, "You may not know this, but Wolf is a nickname... referring to how he eats." A lie, but a fun one at that. There was no need to spend all their hours fretting about dark armor and haunting voices- Kale found diversion 'sowing discord' among the merc crew. 

* * *

It had been a quick 'raid'. Kale and Wolf had snuck off to a nearby farmstead, where a few horses grazed in a field. The older mercenary knew that there'd be no way they could convince the owners to sell the beasts, but the party needed transport, hence it was a sad necessity that the two mercenaries had to quietly lead out four of the animals and guide them back to the camp. To make up for the losses, he left a bag of coin tied to the gate of the field; enough to pay for the animals, whose loss would only mean a minor setback. For the party, who couldn't risk travelling back into Halstath, their options for acquiring transport were more limited.

Basic riding gear had been stored nearby, so when Wolf and Kale brought the animals back to the camp they were more or less ready for travel. Wolf spent some time whispering quietly to the creatures, reassuring them and keeping them calm for their new owners. 

"Time for us to move, I think. We've wasted enough time today already. Everyone ready? We'll be leaving Corinthia soon, with any luck; once we're in unclaimed Drakkath, keep your eyes open. It can be dangerous." 

Burl had been sitting, eating his cold lunch, watching Spike scamper about foraging. He must have been lost in thought, since he didn’t even notice their absence until they were leading four horses back into camp. Walking over to Wolf and Kale, “I won’t even ask where you found these horses. I am only grateful as my feet were beginning to complain.” Burl did, however, listen to their story about the peaceful raid on the farmer’s livestock, grateful that they had not needed to resort to force. “Let me know how much I owe you for my horse. I can’t let you spend your hard earned money.” Gathering his equipment and Spike, Burl claimed the horse that Wolf said was his, stored his things and mounted, ready to leave.

“Unfortunately, we seem to be leaving a trail, if anyone wishes to follow. There are four of us and the farmer had four horses stolen. If anyone is following, it would be pretty easy to guess we were here.” 

Wolf shrugged. "Not a lot we can do about that, not if we want to get to Naseria within the next decade or two," he said wryly. 

Wyshira had never sat on a horse before in her life. In fact, she had never even really gotten very close to one; she found them to be rather large and intimidating. She tried not to let her uneasiness show, however. 
"I've never ridden before," she said simply, looking with more than a little trepidation at the shaggy-coated animal Wolf led over to her. They had given her the most docile one, a chestnut gelding, and it stood there calmly, waiting for her to mount. 

"How do I do this now?" With half a wary eye on the animal's head, she reached up and grabbed two handfuls of the coarse mane. With a flourish of his traveler's cloak turned 'cape', Kale offered her his hand, and helped her to mount the 'noble steed'. She rode astride; she needed her legs to hang on, she decided, so side-saddle was out of the question. She hiked up her acolyte's robes, and clung to the horse for dear life with both hands and her knees. It seemed like a very long way down to the ground. 

At first it took all of her attention to stay in her seat and make the horse go where she wanted it to go, but in a few hours she was doing fine. The miles passed more quickly and it seemed to be a bit easier to talk with her companions. She asked Burl what he remembered of his early years in Cryosia, and encouraged him to talk about his mother. She in turn told some stories about her childhood; how most of her time had been taken up with temple duties, but that she and her twin sister had often played hooky to go swim in the mountain stream. "Mother couldn't very well come in after us - she couldn't swim as fast as we could for one thing, or hold her breath very long!" She also talked a bit about her father, whom she only remembered as a man who wandered into their lives occasionally. He was an adventurer - a mercenary most likely, she now realized - who taught the girls how to use weapons, for one thing, and to see a bit beyond their narrow world-view, for another. "I haven't seen him in several years now though," she added, only a little wistfully. 

* * *

Some few days later, and they broke out of Corinthia and into the wilds. It was strange; apart from the occasional independent settlement, usually mere hamlets, it really _was_ wilderness; seemingly unclaimed by humankind, rugged valleys and untamed forests. 

Amazingly they were untroubled by bandits ot beasts over those long days of riding; the worst they suffered was aches and pains from spending all day in the saddle. Stops in villages were uneventful, with sullen, suspicious villagers keeping their distance; many could well be criminals themselves, living outside national boundaries after having fled the law, and wanted nothing to do with travellers. Wolf spoke once or twice of the potential dangers of non-human inhabitants of the Drakkath like orcs, but none showed their face. 

Eventually they left the wilds once more, and before them lay Adbar. 

* * *

The sun was on its descent as they broke from the edge of forest onto orderly, cultivated fields. Spring was advancing well, the weather improving and the vegetation beginning to spring into abundant life, crops pushing upwards though the tilled ground. 

Not far down a dirt track was a village, several buildings clustered round a central crossroads. For a village it was large enough, and the sounds of life were clearly audible, speech, the clang of a hammer on metal in the blacksmiths, the snort of an animal. To the north and the east, the landscape seemed to be undulating plains, and in the east the far away Khaya-Dan mountains rose up on the horizon. 

They had taken a north-westerly direction from Corinthia, and Wolf had stated his plan to only skirt the edges of western Adbar as they continued in their former direction. Now that path had brought them to the outskirts of the Realm of the Sun, where the Church of Solanthar held such sway. Even in this small border village, some of the military and religious aspects of the might of Adbar showed through; the small white-washed sun temple, built at an angle to recieve as much of the light of the rising sun as possible, and the guard building, two mailed men sitting on its steps and watching the world go by. 

Burl was none too happy - the realm where Solanthar's religion was so powerful was the last place he wanted to be, after his previous experiences with the deity's priesthood.

Wolf led the band up to the steps of the village tavern, a sizeable establishment identified by a sign depicting a bunch of grapes, once the horses were safely stabled. The plan was to lodge here for the evening, collect some supplies the next day, then continue on their way. 

Inside it seemed pleasant enough, a fairly large number of clientele sitting around and drinking or talking. A meal was quickly served, of fair fare, but almost immediately as the party had begun on the food what looked like potential trouble reared its head. 

Tall and gleaming like the sunrise itself, the man could hardly be missed. His plate armour was so polished and reflective it seemed almost like silver, inlaid with curling designs in golden etchings and regularly featuring sun motifs, and over it lay a surcoat emblazoned with the solar orb. Long black hair cascaded down to frame the bearded features of the man, whose dark eyes bore into the party as he strode towards them, white cloak swinging with his steps. One couldn't help but notice the hefty blade at his side. 

Wolf watched the man as he closed in. It was evident to Kale at least that this individual must be some sort of warrior of Solanthar, yet he could surmise little more than that. 

Wyshira watched with apprehension as the Solanthar warrior approached their table. Normally, she would have been at least a little curious about the man, wondering about the symbols etched into his armor, and about his relationship with his god. But recent events made her only wary and distrustful. 

With the clank of armour, the knight came to a stop next to the table, laying a hand on Wolf's shoulder. "Wolf Kieresane. Haven't seen you in a _long_ time."

Burl involuntarily cast a quick look for the nearest exit not in the direction of the warrior, prepared to run for his life. Kale tensed up, despite himself, ready for action if need be.

The knight grinned. "How've you fared?" and Kale relaxed.

Wolf shifted his own seat sideways to accomodate for the newcomer to pull up his own chair. "Well enough, Evant, though surprised to see you here. Oh... Evant, these people are travelling with me, we're heading to Naseria for work. Wyshira, Kale, Burl, Evant is a Solar Templar... you know, you might be able to fill us in on a few things. I haven't been in Adbar for a while." 

The Templar nodded amicably. "Good to meet you people. I can be sure enough that if you travel with Wolf you must be good folk. What would you want to know, Wolf? Lots to tell, after all." He shrugged. "Lots of talk that it'll be a bad harvest again, like the last few years. There're mutterings it isn't just an act of nature, too; some of my superiors in the Church have ordered an investigation into it, which is why I'm here. I'm with an Inquisitor, Master Latorath, you see. Anyway, there's that... um, ah, yes. The Sun's Children, a powerful sect within the Church, have been very active north of our border; a lot of clergy don't like the sects influence so I'm guessing we're heading for strife there. More conflict with the hobgoblin nations of the north-east." He shrugged. "That's just off the top of my head, there's lots more. If any of you have any questions I'd do my best to answer." 

As the conversation continued, Burl hoped that he was trying to remain calm in the presence of the Solar Templar, but at the mention of a Church Inquisitor, Burl blanched, nearly choking on his drink. Although he didn’t recognize the name, Burl excused himself, pleading bad food and headed outside to try to find a place that he could sit until he could regain his composure. Stepping outside, he spotted a wooden bench several buildings down in front of a store. Burl quickly made his way down and sat, his head between his legs. After several minutes, his breathing returned to normal, Burl noticed that the store had supplies for sale. Walking into it, he looked to make the purchase that he had promised himself he would do at first opportunity. 

Wyshira wasn't too surprised when Burl excused himself, blaming the food - which could well be the cause, judging by the sick look on his face - and fumbled his way out the door to the street. She gave Kale a meaningful look, said, "I'd best look after him," and stood up, preparing to follow in the necromancer's footsteps. Before she departed however, she smiled at the Solar Templar and said, color=aqua]"It was a pleasure to meet you sir. I'm sorry that I'll miss the chance to know you better. Ishrak's blessing on you." [/color]

As Burl made his way whitefaced toward the door, Kale was a bit upset. _But if someone told me old acid-face was in town, would I be able to keep my seat? _

_Hell yeah,_ Kale decided finally, hoping that Burl could someday come to the same conclusion. Still, Kale was glad to see Wyshira politely excuse herself. He nodded his approval to the young genasi as she made her way out. Company, comfortor, and an extra set of eyes, Wyshira's presence is just what Burl needed, and she knew it. It was a relief to know the four were looking out for one another. 

The Templar threw a curious glance at the retreating back of Burl, and nodded in respectful acknowledgement to Wyshira as she departed after the man. Shrugging with the jingle of mail, he looked back to the two remainders. "So, anything I can help you with?" 

"We're skirting the south-west of Adbar then heading west over the Plain of Sorrows. Any trouble around there?" 

The Templar shrugged again. "Not that I know of. There's always the threat of undead on the Sorrows but that's nothing new to you." 

* * *

Outside, Burl found it easy to acquire some more drab clothes as Wyshira caught up with him. "Are you really sick, Burl?" she asked the mage, full of concern. She could see in his face what the problem was. "No, I didn't think so. It was the Templar. Well, I don't blame you, after your experience with Solanthar priests. Perhaps it is best that you stay away from this warrior. Although I'm sure that Wolf would have warned you if it wasn't safe. I'll stay with you, if that's all right."

For a few coins, he was able to purchase some drab gray and brown cloth garments, totally unremarkable and good for if he wanted to make himself more inconspicuous. 

Wyshira took the opportunity to ask the wizard if he could shed any light on the small magical globes she had acquired from the sahuagin pirates several weeks ago, but Burl too was puzzled by them. With that, the pair returned to the tavern.

* * *

Evant mentioned the possibility of undead on the plains, and Wolf's past experience with the things. With the other two gone, Kale had an opening to ask questions of Evant of a more personal nature. 

"Perhaps you could help me, good Templar, about a great mystery." With current events infomation in hand, Kale sought out a different kind of information. 

"I've known Wolf for a while now, but it seems he's forgotten to tell me quite a few interesting tales." Kale looked to Wolf with an inquiring eye, lightly concealing the mischief behind. "I wonder, Evant, how you met the man. Doubtless, saving him from the clutches of some fearsome goblin scout..." Kale speculated. Wolf, and Evant, too, were warriors experienced to a level eclipsing the young mercenary's short exploits, yet how was he to learn about his companion's dastardly deeds when the man was so quiet all the time? Perhaps this was the chance he was hoping for. 

He had itched to ask earlier of Wolf's past exploits, but respected the veil the elder mercenary put over his past. Was it modesty? Manners? Past Pain? Likely just business, but Kale didn't want to range into new waters with new faces around... 

At Kale's question, Wolf gave a kind of irritated snort and leant back in his chair, while the Templar's face creased in amusement and he rested his plated elbows on the table, clasping the gold-inlaid gauntlets together, throwing a glance at the mercenary warrior. 

"When did we meet? That'd be some seven years ago, wouldn't it, Wolf? I wasn't a Solar Templar at the time, either, merely a Knight Sunbringer of the Order of Solanthar's Eye."

"Wolf was one of the mercenaries hired to help us deal with a problem that had arisen. A heretical sect had broken off the Church, calling themselves the Followers of Dusk and causing unrest and rebellion where they could in the western provinces. We put them down, and then we stormed their headquarters; they'd excavated some old temple just to the west of Adbar, on the Plain of Sorrow's edge. We fought through the upper levels and it was only when we reached the inner sanctums that we..." he suddenly paused, as if he almost said too much, "well, we saw some unpleasant, unsettling things. A success in the end though; the cult was cleansed, the temple..." again, another uneasy pause, "well, we thought it best to collapse the thing and seal off the lower levels. No more problems from it since."

"That's how I met this fellow, on that campaign." 

He looked up as Wyshira and Burl returned. "Feeling any better?" 

Taking his seat, Burl answered, “Thank you for your concern. Yes, I am feeling much better after getting some fresh air. Can I buy the next round?” Turning, Burl looks for the serving girl, waving her over to refresh everyone’s cup.

The Templar smiled at Burl's offer of a round of drinks. "Why, I think I'll take you up on that offer." 

Kale nodded simply to the history Evant revealed, not wanting to dig any deeper into nasty matters- he had mostly only wanted to chip away at Wolf's veil of anonymity. 

_And the world is safe for humanity once more... Good men should be embarassed from time to time for being soft-spoken._ Kale had enough time to lean back in his seat before Wyshira and Burl returned. Face no longer pale, Burl certainly looked a lot better. 

Wyshira sipped self-consciously at her second ale. An awkward silence had descended on the gathering after she and Burl had returned to the table. The necromancer himself seemed to be wishing that he were sitting anywhere *except* next to a Solar Templar; Wolf was being his usual enigmatic self; while Kale - who was usually pretty good at easing tension in these sorts of situations - had also lapsed into moody quietude. Maybe she was imagining it all, but the silence seemed so heavy that she just had to break it. 

"I, uh, don't really know what a Solar Templar is, er... Sir Evant." She smiled shyly at the gleaming warrior encased in his shining armor. "Or an Inquisitor either. Will you tell us about yourself, and what you do in your Church?"

Once the fresh round of drinks had arrived, he spoke to answer Wyshira's questions. "The Solar Templars are the highest ranking Order of holy knights here in Adbar. The Dawn Guard rival us for prestige, but they perform a very different role in the defense of our nation. I was a Sunbringer knight before I was offered a place within the Templars." 

"We are, well, just elite warriors; our training and faith gives us some further blessings from Solanthar as well. We're generally dispatched to wherever the Church hierarchy feels we are needed." He smiled. "In this case I've been assigned to guard Inquisitor Latorath; he's one of the most respected and wise members of the Inquisition, and it's an honour to be given such a duty, I have to say, even for a Solar Templar." 

_More like a no-yield job._ Kale thought cynically. The 'honorable' armsman position may take may well be critical and high-profile, but it was also deadly and thankless. Successfully protecting the charge was a matter of course, while any failure meant hell to pay. No real reward, huge risks. Anyone taking high-profile guard duty was either crazy or very dedicated, and often very good. _He's badass, no doubt about it,_ Kale concluded. 

_Modest, but proud... still, not a zealot in the brainwashed sense of the word,_ Kale assessed of the Templar. Evant may be a level-headed fellow, but his charge could be far different. Famous for the purges of the recent past, the Sun God's Inquisition could never be viewed in a bright light, as far as Kale was concerned. Not knowing who was involved with Pendarme or why with regard to Burl, he would just as rather not meet Latorath the Great. 

Kale sipped his drink, pondering a subtle exit. Fine upstanding skull-splitter he may be, Evant was still a servant of the church, but Kale wondered what the Inquisitors would do to Burl if they discovered who he was. 

Hmm.. Kale frowned a bit, taking a gamble on Evant's modesty. He was curious for the man's take on the Inquisitors and the church's factions. "I imagine it takes a bit of a strong stomach, trafficing with Inquisitors," Kale observed neutrally after Evant mentioned the honors. There were all sorts of rumors about what the Inquisitors did, and while Kale believed little, he felt the overtones were well enough grounded in truth for the Solar Templar to defend and justify what his charge does... 

Not really rude, but certainly not a polite thing to say. _He can chalk it up to ignorance if he wants. I need to know if we need to be running for the hills before this Latorath fellow comes walking into the tavern... _

Kale's comment about needing a strong stomach to traffic with Inquisitors snapped Wyshira out of her lax and talkative mood. _What does Kale know about Inquisitors that I don't?_ He seemed to have a negative opinion of them, that was obvious. She had asked Evant to explain about them, but he had rather neatly sidestepped the question, hadn't he? _Maybe he just figures that everyone knows what an Inquisitor is. But I don't! I wonder if Kale is trying to warn me to be more careful... 

I'd better keep a clear head,_ she thinks and pushes her unfinished ale away from her. She straightens in her chair and begins to watch the Templar for any sign that he may be setting them up for something. _I think I am getting to be way too paranoid!_

Burl was glad to see that the Templar accepted his offer of another round, _Good, keep him drinking and thinking of anything but me._ But then Kale went and did it, brought up the Inquisitor and his business. Shrinking into his glass of wine, Burl listened carefully, but avoided eye contact. _Well, I wonder what I’ll do if he mentions that they are looking for a necromancer._ 

Spotting Wyshira push away her mug of ale, Burl decided it was as good a time as any to retire to his room. “Gentlemen, it has been a very long day and I think I am going to head up to my room and turn in.” Turning to Wyshira, “Good night to you also. Shall we meet down here in the morning?” 

Burl got up from the table, gathered his things and headed upstairs for the evening. 

_Excellent_, Kale thought as he saw Burl excuse himself. He didn't want to leave the mage out of his sight, but being out of sight was perhaps the best thing for him. The young mercenary was sorry to have upset the lad again with mention of the Inquisitiors, but he had to take steps to get an idea of what they were in for, lest a completely unknown threat walk right through the tavern doors, much like had happened just nights before. 

Upon recieving word that a bath was ready for her upstairs, Wyshira said a hasty good night to all that were left at the table. Her aching muscles longed for a relaxing soak in a tub full of blessedly warm water. As an after thought, she grabbed her half-full mug to take with her. 

"Take your time," she said to Kale with a wink. He knew by now how she loved to linger over her bath. She wondered how much time she would have, and hurried up the stairs to find her room.

Evant nodded a good night to the two retreating mercenaries, slightly bemused. "Are they alright? They seem slightly on edge about something." 


"Oh, Burl? He's slightly on edge about everything, and as for Wyshira, just don't get between her and an inviting body of water..." Kale said of the Ishrak priestess- Evant was sure to know her creed, and maybe even her species. Regardless, their behavior was 'absolutely nothing to worry about'... 

Evant shrugged and turned his attention to answering Kale's question. "A strong stomach? I'm not quite sure why you think that to be true..." he said amusedly. "Master Inquisitor Latorath is most adept at piercing layers of lies and falsehoods without any need to resort to any sort of _torture,_" he said with slight distaste at the word. "The Inquisition are good men, and skilled at their task of protecting the Church from evil influences as well." 

They talked for some while about the Inquisitors, revealing Evant's high opinion of the organisation. It seemed that there were many sects and factions within the Church, but the Inquisition remained above that and answered only to the highest ranks of the ecclesiastic hierarchy. They also took it as an extremeley serious task to defend Adbar from insidious influences that might threaten the secular ruler, ensuring that Church and state influences meshed. 

At the moment, Evant assumed Latorath was still out questioning people. They'd captured a werewolf earlier in the day, a psychotic woman they'd been trailing for two weeks by the dead bodies she'd left littered in her wake, and eventually found her here - where she'd hidden with her family until they rooted her out. The woman had assumed a wolf-like form and killed three soldiers before the Solar Templar had stepped in and attacked her with holy energies, leaving her subdued and badly burned; they currently had her caged. She kept on gibbering to herself, as if completely insane, and her family had affirmed that she'd seemed crazed when she came to them, although coherent enough not to attack her own kin even in her psychosis. It seemed that this woman, a weaver who worked in a town to the north-east, had not shown any signs of lycanthropy before now. 

Apparently she seemed to mutter to herself all sorts of odd things, that the Inquisitor had a scribe noting down to see if they could piece together any sense from her ramblings.

Evant had no idea when or where Latorath might be, except that he assumed the Inquisitor would be at the lodgings they'd been provided with when tomorrow morning came. 

Far from taking offense at Kale's question, he had answered earnestly about his beliefs- he had nothing to hide. To the young mercenary, Evant, Latorath, and the ever-blessed Church began to look more like a potential ally than a potential enemy. 

Kale could never imagine the Solanthar folk allied with the Toranites, but what if they had their own motives on the mage? Kale had always assumed foul play on the part of Pendarme, wishing to squeeze the truth out of Burl by sending him to the bloody inquisitors. It had never ocurred to him that they may have wanted to get to the bottom of the ork-attack issue just as he did. _Yeah, right. So the Inquisitors aren't a bunch of thumb-screwing tongue-looseners. They've still got their own agenda, and so does Pendarme..._ And so did 'a small family in House Irilson'- the people that hired Wolf and Company. 

_Piercing layers of lies and falsehoods- I could go for a big dose of that skill._ His musings continued as Evant detailed recent news of a captured lycanthrope and her crazed ramblings. Seems the Inquisitors did a good job of taking care of the good old 'grass roots' issues of neighborhood security- Latorath, your friendly neighborhood watchman. 

But cynicism aside, it was likely that the Inquisitors acted reasonably, in their stated purpose of protecting Adbar and the Church. Every organization had its dark side, but was it here? Pendarme had its darkside, yet was it in the order to send Burl to the Inquisitors? The Pendarme House was currently run by an inexperienced heir, could well-meaning naivete or yet-to-be-corrupted purpose signed the order to send Burl to the Inquisitors? No doubt, if Burl was involved in the village attack, or knew anything about it, it would rightly be in the Adbar authorities' realm to know... 

Kale continued to listen respectfully to Evant, a useful fount of information that spurred much thought. Hoisting a refilled mug, he enjoyed the Solar Templar's company, hoping he'd never have to face him or his friends in battle. _She was subued and badly burned, eh?_ Kale pondered the power of the sun god._ Maybe when Wyshira gets better or holier or whatever she can rain on our enemies until they submit..._ Kale thought, hoping Ishrak had similar tricks. 

_So we don't know what Pendarme's up to, Solanthar may just be working in their own self-interest... things don't seem as sinister as they might. Yet, there are always the Toranites- what do they want? And those three in Iril who wanted Burl very dead... If Pendarme was involved with the village attacks, why wouldn't the man just order Burl killed?_ Kale's orc-army for the Pendarme coup of Corinthia theory was crumbling. _What did they want from the mage? He was in the House for DAYS before being transferred to Adbar. He was kept alive, but someone in Iril wants him dead... _

Kale continued to ponder as Evant mentioned Latorath may not be in until late. All the questions in his mind left the mercenary almost wishing for an Inquisitor to get to the bottom of all this. 
"Gods!" Kale began irreverantly, before giving Evant an apologetic glance, "It seems the Church has its hands full, managing out here in the Drakath. Werewolves and undead and bad harvests- 'least you don't have to spend all day weaving politics..." 

They continued to talk for some small while, Evant providing Kale with some idea of the politics of Adbar. The nation was, like the other nations of the Drakkath, somewhat akin to an island within the wilds; a burgeoning population would allow for massive expansion into the unclaimed territories around it but the aftereffects of war, pestilence and other events like the Dread March ensured that they simply lacked enough manpower to expand in such a manner. Because of this the kinds of boundary conflicts often found between nations were less, and it was on other matters that Adbar had disputes. The bulk of the waterways and access to the coastal trade routes had to be done via Corinthia, which lay to the south-east; to the east was the Khaya-Dan area of mountains, and to the north-east, hobgoblin nations blocked the way. Thus the merchants of Corinthia had a lot of economic power over Adbar, and they knew it. Killanon, to the north-west, had a number of ongoing disputes with Adbar over some small areas of fertile lands that lay in between the nations. Adbar was not really allied to anyone, and these days there seemed little need with no massive threats like the days of the Dread March. The hobgoblin tribes only really threatened Adbar of all the human nations, so they could seek no aid there. 

The Solar Templar made it clear though, that the politics of Adbar were different to the politics of the Solantharian Church. Adbar might have a strong Church hierarchy within it, but the clergy of the Sun Lord outside of that country did not necessarily fall under the authority of Adbarian ecclesiastics. 

Eventually the knight made to leave, the evening deepening outside. "One last thing you might want to be aware of," he said as he prepared to head off, "is that there's word of disturbances to the far west, beyond the Plain of Sorrows. Some local warlord or somesuch is uniting the area, welding together his own little kingdom; or so it seems from the rumours we've been receiving. It wouldn't be that much of a point of interest but that there's also rumour of his advocacy of the Bringer of Pestilence, Keyavek. He seems to have a large number of Scarred Ones and Pestilentials in his retinue. Be careful, since this fellow is an unknown, if he exists at all. There's no telling whats going on." 

* * *

Wyshira slept the sleep of one who has ridden long and hard all day, and drunk a couple of mugs of ale before crawling into bed for the night. Her dreams were vague and sort of hazy: she was was back home, performing a sacred ritual that normally only the high priestess had the right to perform, but the motions seemed as familiar to her as sweeping out the shrine or polishing the altar bowls had been, all the years of her life. Then the dream shifted, and she was standing at the prow of a great sailing vessel, the wind whipping her hair behind her as she looked out over a vast landscape of rolling, gray-green waves. She leaped into the air, and for a moment she was flying; then she dove into the warm, salty water and it closed around her soundlessly. With steady strokes, she reached for the cool darkness down and away from the surface foam, and was pulled into its depths. 

Then she woke up. Daylight was creeping in under her lashes, but the bed felt so good, at least compared to the prospect of getting back up in the saddle again so soon, that she couldn't bring herself to fully open her eyes. 

_No wait,_ she thought reluctantly. _They will be looking for me. _Wolf, and Kale, and Burl would be expecting her to join them for breakfast. And she still needed to ask for Ishrak's favor. She sighed and threw off the covers. 

* * *

The new day rose, bringing light to the taproom of the tavern wherein the four ate a meagre breakfast, soon to head out of the village. Apart from the innkeeper and a few other patrons, there was no sign of anyone else. 

Kale woke early, sheathing the dagger under his pillow while silently yawning in the morning air. Rising quietly, he donned chain, blade, and boots before even walking away from the bedstead. Checking outside the window, then approaching the door cautiously, the peace and comfort of the morning day was a foil to the necessary watchfulness Kale had learned from the wilds. 
Downstairs he found Wolf already awake, of course, as Kale's eyes spoke 'good morning'. Flexing his ankles and rounding his shoulders as he walked, he looked to the views outside the windows, took in the room, and picked up a flat of breakfast fare before settling down at Wolf's table. Gulping tea and oat mash, Kale saved the slated potatoes for the end. The end wasn't long in coming, though, as he was soon left with just his cup of tea, and a relaxed morning expression. 

"Some day, I'm going to discover whether or not you sleep at all," Kale said idly as he looked toward the window. Looking back to Wolf with more interest this time, he wondered aloud, "How DO you do it? I mean, late nights, early mornings... I'm going to have to learn if we're gonna keep you from becoming a zombie or something," Kale finished the last just speaking to himself. 

No matter, there were plenty of things left to learn- Kale was jsut anxious to get clear of Adbar, the Drakath, everything around, so that they could regroup in a relatively safe, distant spot. _Get back to business... _

Wolf smiled wryly at Kale's comments. "Ah, sleep - who needs it?" 

* * *

Kale, eager to be out of Adbar and away to safety, was first out to the stable. As he entered the small building though, the stench of death assailed his nostrils. 

Kale's hackles rose, trying at first to convince himself that a steed or dog had simply died in the night. Approaching the stable door cautiously, hopes for simple explanations were dashed. The mercenary's blade slid quickly, silently from its sheath- _Bloody hell_, Kale intended no pun as he surveyed the chaos. 

The stable sat silently, threat likely long gone, as Kale waited long, long moments for anything move or sound off. A faint fly's buzz was all that was heard as he moved in, enveloped by the warm, stale smell of spilled blood. 

The construction held some dozen pens, six down each side compartmented off. Straw covered the floor, various instruments of the stablehands trade along with owners riding equipment arranged on hooks and on a table at the far end of the path that ran between the two rows of horse pens. Except the table was knocked over, objects scattered around, and the stablehand was no-where to be seen. 

In the pens to his left and right - the ones he could see into - Kale found himself staring at the brutally eviscerated corpses of horses, slashed, torn and partially chewed, gore staining the straw red. From the puddles of blood seeping out under the gates of the other compartments it was likely that the horses in those too had met the same gruesome fate. 

His senses prickled at attention, slowly walking, slowly surveying the stable. Whatever had killed those horses, Kale didn't want to face alone. Yet, if it was still here, he couldn't let it get away. 

The young mercenary's mind raced, thinking how quickly Wolf could get there if needed, how he could beat a quick exit, and what sort of thing could possibly wreak such carnage. Careful of his footsteps, Kale surveyed the tracks in the stable, taking care not to misplace anything as he searched to confirm that the stable was indeed empty. 

No sign of the stable boy, nothing alive at all. His mind wandered to Evant's tales of a local werewolf. Sure the woman was caught, but the blood-matted straw and limp bodies testified to _something_ vicious and wild on the loose. With no experience with the fell creatures, Kale was happy to exit the stable and beat a retreat back to the inn. 

One hand opened the inn door as the other -clacked- his blade back into its sheath. Wolf looked up at the familiar sound, and Kale walked briskly over to the man. "All the horses are dead." Kale said evenly, softly. "Mauled. No sign of the boy." 'You'll want to check it out' Kale didn't have to say. 

Wyshira's morning greeting to Kale had died on her lips when she saw the look on his face. ." 
It took a moment for the news to register with her. "What? All four horses dead? *Mauled?* How can that be? And the stable boy is gone? I don't understand."

Kale gimaced, looking about the inn to who else may have heard. As he looked up, he prayed the innkeeper was not anywhere close- very likely, it was his son, or a boy well known who was now missing. 

He looked to Wyshira for one telling moment, but said nothing. There were more pressing matters than worrying about 'our inside voices'. 


Next time: Part 2, and the nightmare begins...


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## Carnifex

Hello everybody,

I'd love feedback from anyone who has read the last few updates on the new format of the story hour. It lets me get in much more of the actual character thoughts and details, and saves me having to write as much, but I'm aware it might be a bit unwieldy in places where I've tried to weld a number of in-game postst by different people together to try and achieve a unified effect. And of course, as always, any feedback, criticisms or comments on the campaign itself are welcomed!


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## Carnifex

Argh!

It's taking me ages to get round to the next update for this story hour, mainly because formatting the posts can take so long.

Fear not, one shall arrive before too long. The game itself is now well past the point we've reached in the story hour - the prologue is over, and we're into Chapter 1. When I've got to the end of the prologue in this thread I think I'll start a new one to catalogue Chapter 1 - mainly because I intend to change my writing method back to a general overview of events rather than a straight transcription of the posts onto these boards. I'll keep with that format for the rest of the prologue though, msainly because there's lots of stuff that I want to put up here in those posts.

Anyway...


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## Broccli_Head

good thing I subscribe!


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## Carnifex

As a side note, I'll be starting a new story hour up on here in October (when I return to uni) - Planescape: Soulfire   

Look forwards to lots of planar goodness. It'll be a very different game to the one I'm cataloguing in this story hour, mainly because it'll be face-to-face (and this one is an online game).


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## Carnifex

-


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## Carnifex

Grr, it's been really difficult for me to post on the boards in the evenings recently, the entire thing seems to be slowing right down... oh well. Without further ado, the latest update of Wolf's Company:

Wolf's eyes had narrowed at Kale's announcement. Finishing off a bite of breakfast, he asked, "Any idea what happened to them?" The warrior seemed suddenly tense. The others could feel it too; a sense in the air that something was very, very wrong. 

The innkeeper stumbled in from the kitchen entrance, alarm printed over his face as he shouted to get the attention of the patrons in the tavern. "There's a... a body out back," he said, shuddering, as alarmed customers got to their feet. "Shredded... I don't know who it was..." The blood had drained out of his face, leaving him pale and terrified. 

In the corner, one of the patrons began to laugh loudly, apparently greatly amused at the situation. "Well, looks like time I set to work," he said through a mouthful of food, tearing the last pieces of meat from a cooked chicken leg. Everyone else looked at him in confusion. 

The man tossed the chewed bird bone aside as the customers turned their attention to Wolf, who had just drawn his blade and was staring suspiciously at the man in the corner. A well-built, stocky man in commoners clothing, he appeared to have decidedly wolf-like features; suddenly Kale, Burl and Wyshira realised that the reason for this was his features were changing... 

With a sickening sound the man shifted form, the werewolf appearing as a gaunt, lanky canine humanoid, hunched over and covered in scraggly matted fur. Snarling, the leprous beast lashed out with both claws and siezed a terrified nearby man by the shoulders, talons biting into flesh as blood spurted from the injuries. The man screamed as the werewolf leapt onto him, overbearing him to the ground. 

Others started screaming, yelling and running, a few of them clearly more hardened travellers as more weapons came from sheathes. The innkeeper somehow still clung to his wits, reaching under the bar for a weapon of his own. 

Wolf made a half gasp, half mutter. "Gods, not werewolves, not here..."

Baring teeth of his own, Kale reacted instinctively to the carnage. Sense demanded flight, but there could be no escape even if he could bear to leave the beast to mangle the poor man on the ground. The bystander screamed as more of his blood showered forth, pitched sounds that no man imagined he could produce, until he watches his own body being ripped apart. 

Growling in defiance, Kale reached for claws of his own. The ropes of his neck stood out as he hurled his missiles with a huge overhand throw, mad energy speeding the darts to their viscious target. He didn't know whether the normal weapons could harm the fabled beast, nor did he care. Encountering the horror, it was critical that he do ANYTHING besides nothing. 

Manuvering to advantage, he covered a flood of escape while willing all blades in the room to encircle the wolf-monster. The world shrunk to just a pinprick of existance: his companions, his beating heart, and a bloody monster that simply MUST be destroyed. 

* * *

Confusion. 

Wyshira was still trying to wrap her mind around the idea that the steadfast, chestnut mount that she had ridden for untold miles, and nicknamed Otter, was dead - _no, not just dead,* mauled*!_ - when the innkeeper stumbled into the common room from the kitchen yelling something about a body out back. 

_What in the name of the Goddess is going on around here? _She was just beginning to step toward the pale and shaking taverner to see if there was anything she could do to help, when raucous laughter from the corner stopped her cold. "Well, looks like time I set to work," came the voice, and the evident amusement with which the owner seemed to view the situation made her shiver with revulsion. 

She heard Wolf draw his blade, and in that instant, everything began to sink in. It was real; the horses were dead; there was a shredded body outside; and the horror was here with them, closing in. She followed Wolf's gaze toward the corner table, feeling as though she was turning in slow motion. What she saw there was almost too incredible and hideous for her to believe: a man becoming a wolf-beast, changing right in front of her eyes. Before she could even take a breath, it leapt upon one of the inn's patrons, rending with its terrible claws, and knocking the man to the floor. 

A couple of darts came flying from nowhere toward the beast. _Kale,_ Wyshira thought, and her comapanion's swift response prompted her to take action herself. All of her thought was upon the poor man that lay bleeding on the floor. She had to get to him, and help him. She had recently felt Ishrak grant her a new blessing, a holy, magical weapon that she could call into existence, and that would attack as she directed. She sang out the words to the spell and with graceful motions, grasped at and flung an imaginary javelin toward the wolf creature. A silvery, blue force-javelin sprang into being in a flash of lightning, and sped toward its target. Hoping that the weapon would distract the monster, Wyshira ran without hesitation toward the downed villager.

Although Burl was used to death and dying, the actual rendering of a man or a beast, complete with splattering blood and tissue always turned his stomach. Seeing that a number of the inn’s patrons, including Wolf, readied their arms and moved to try to help the man or to protect themselves, he decided on a course of action. Burl began to speak and move his hands in an intricate pattern. Shortly after Wyshira’s javelin flew at the werewolf Burl finished his incantation, two bolts of energy left his hands flying true into the furry body of the creature.

There was a gristly crunch as the wolf/man hybrid bit into the helpless man's throat, gouts of blood spattering over its muzzle and the now-corpse's chest and features. Standing up from its victim, it swung its head round to gaze at the other occupants of the room; fearful innocents cowering in the other corner, a handful of hesitant armed men and the mercenaries facing it in a line. 

With a zip Kale hurled his darts; the beast moved insanely fast, quicker than the eye could see. It jerked around to face Kale side-on to dodge the first dart, which thunked into the wall uselessly. The other dart struck it, hitting solidly, but the werewolf didn't even flinch and Kale could see no evidence that he had actually hurt it at all. 

The energy javelin that Wyshira had summoned lanced towards the agile creature, but it dodged the attack with ease as the spiritual weapon drew back for another stab. It couldn't dodge the energy bolts that Burl hurled at it though, however hard it might try, and the magical missiles made it yelp and snarl in pain as they struck true, thudding hard into the werewolf. 

The ring of men, emboldened, began to approach the creature, but it gave a half-snarl half-sneer, and howled loudly, gaunt muzzle pointing upwards. 

From outside the inn, other howls answered its call. 

Snickering, it turned and hurled itself out of a window, glass pane shattering around it as the beast disappeared through and out of sight. Everyone's attention was quickly drawn off in another direction, as the tavern door splintered and another gaunt, leprous form stood silhouetted there, red eyes boring into the crowd of people within. 

It began to growl, stepping forwards, when it seemed to be illuminated for a moment from behind, as if there was a bright, golden light outside the front of the inn. Then the werewolf erupted into flames, howling pitifully as fire consumed it in seconds to leave only a heap of ash and some badly scorched paws.

The glimmer of light on armour showed Evant's entry to the inn, wisps of smoke drifting up from the paladin's gauntlets. The warriors face was spattered with blood, apparently not his own, but he looked exhausted as if he had been fighting hard for a while already. 

"Everyone, _move_! These things attacked our camp last night and snuck into the village; they've killed quite a few of the locals already. My men are rounding everyone up and escorting them to the temple of Solanthar; it's defensible, and this way we know where everyone is. If you want to survive this, I'd advise you all come with me _now_ to the temple." 

The sussuration of worried chatter amidst the tavern patrons as they quickly began to gather their belongings hung in the air as Evant strode over to the mercenaries. "I'm sorry I couldn't warn you earlier about this; they've been making hit and run attacks on our camp since before dawn, and we only just managed to fight our way into the village itself. There must be a whole coven of bloody werewolves; my guess is they're here to reclaim the woman we tracked down. They control several buildings on the western outskirts of the town, we know that for sure, and several have infiltrated further in. It's hell out there, since my men aren't locals and don't know who's a villager and who's a werewolf. We're pulling everyone back to the temple for safety." 

"I hope you've got silver, Evant," Wolf growled. "I doubt Wyshira and Burl's magic alone would be enough to kill off a dozen werewolves, and we can't fight them with steel. Unless you've got a whole lot more of that sunstrike left up your sleeve, we're screwed."

"Most of the men are already armed with silver, since we _were_ tracking a werewolf after all. The Inquisitor ensured we were allocated a crate of firebombs as well, which we've transported to the temple." The Templar pondered for a moment. [color=yellow"I think we've got enough to fend them off." [/color]

People began to file out of the building, Evant moving to take up the rearguard of the column and motioning for the mercenaries to follow him. "Since you lot are mercenaries, I'm figuring you can help us out in the defence. Apart from our militia band it's mostly farmers and I don't want to see what happens when you pit several dozen farmers against werewolves. It'll be a massacre unless we protect them. You two," he gestured to Wyshira and Burl, "You can do magic? Is there anything you can do to help us?" he asked in a hopeful tone. 

Burl answered, “I will do whatever I can to help these people and ourselves. I have a few things that I can try.” 

Wyshira tried to shake off the shock, and the nausea, and the fear of what she had just seen; she stood straight and tall, remembering that she represented the Church of Ishrak, and with an effort she answered Evant's questions without letting her voice quaver. 

"I can use magic, yes. I'll do everything I can to help, but I'm afraid that I'm not prepared for something like this."

* * *

"Kale," Wolf said quietly to the younger mercenary, "here's a little test for you." It seemed something totally out of place to be speaking of in this dire situation - but it was also clear that Wolf was making Kale the sole target for his words, speaking so softly that no-one else could hear. "When you are faced with opponents that are little more than animals, what do you do?" 

"Exploit their instincts," He replied evenly, unsure how that would help them in their current situation. 

Wolf grinned unpleasantly. "Exactly."

"They're werewolves - part man, part beast. Did you watch it carefully in the fight? If we retreat to the temple, they'll have time to consider our position, to watch, learn and think. Their human side'll come through, to let them take advantage of it best. If we sit around, we're giving them time to _plan_." 

"When they're fighting though, when they're _hunting_, they let the beast side take over, let themselves devolve into killing machines. They don't think straight, can't think straight, since they just let themselves loose without higher thought. That can be taken advantage of by _us_."

"Maybe take out their alpha? Without a leader, what effect would that have?"

"I don't know what effect killing their alpha would have, if they _have_ an 'alpha'. Probably no more effect than killing the leader would have on any band of troops. I'm pretty sure we could try and lead them into a trap though - but we'd need bait. Someone for the werewolves to chase - I bet if they saw someone running away they wouldn't be able to resist chasing..." 

"_You_ feel like running?" Kale asked Wolf rhetorically as they neared the Temple. Not yet, whoever ran- the bait would have to run when everyone else was safe. For now, Kale walked slowly, alert, mainatining order on the way to the strong oak doors of the temple. 

Dusty brown boots made silent steps down the dead street. Sides hard for support, tops oiled for full motion, Kale walked limber steps toward the temple. There was only one suitable choice for the task ahead... 
"Hmm... hazard pay for the rabbit?" Kale pondered, walking alongside Wolf. 
_You can't be serious..._ Kale thought to himself. 

Up ahead the temple of Solanthar was visible, other houses, silent and empty, lining the street in its direction; it seemed they had already been evacuated, their inhabitants moved to the safety of the sanctum. The front of the temple revealed the forwards part of the building to be single-storied though high, with tall and wide stained-glass windows of yellow and orange hues allowing a great deal of light into the interior. Further back, beyond the main chamber, a second storey probably provided chambers for the resident priest. Thick oak double-doors opened into the prayer chamber, a half-dozen militiamen clad in leather armour and clutching light crossbows scanning the deserted street nervously. The T-shaped plan of the building, the doors at the bottom of the T and the cross-piece of building being the area with a second storey, sat in a square of property that was walled off with a low stone perimeter wall, some four feet high. 

The convoy moved cautiously down the street, the guards at the front of the building seeing Evant and relaxing a little. As they slowly got closer to potential respite, Evant continued to speak with the two spellcasters. "What kinds of things do you think you can do to aid the defence?" 

Burl answered cautiously. “I am not the great spellcaster that you really need, but only a fledgling in the arts. However, I do have a few minor magics that I could use as well as some alchemist’s fire in my backpack.” 

Wyshira shook her head slightly as she cast about in her mind for ways to help. "I- I can call for Ishrak's blessing on all those who will fight the creatures. Do the beasts know fear? I could perhaps frighten one of them away... I know, that isn't much. I might be able to tell who is a werewolf and who is not, if they give off a magical aura. I also have a scroll that will grant a priest _sanctuary_ for a very short time." With a sigh she glanced over at Evant. "I'm sorry. If I had known what we were to face this morning, I could have prepared better." 

Then she turned to Burl. "I don't think these could help in any way, but I suppose it is possible." She reached into her pack and withdrew the pouch holding the crystalline globes. She held a couple of the bluish glass balls in her hand, showing them to the necromancer. "Can you tell me anything about them now?"

Inspecting the little crystalline globes that Wyshira had offered him again, Burl once again couldn't dredge up anything about them from his memory. Certainly, they'd never appeared in any arcane text he had ever read about, and once again he found himself unable to offer any useful new information on the odd objects. 

At Wyshira's question, Evant shook his head. "A lycanthropes shapeshifting isn't magical - it's natural, if a twisted mockery of nature, so they don't give off an aura of magic. Frightening them is hard but I don't see why it'd be impossible..." 

* * *

"Hmm... hazard pay for the rabbit?" 

"How about you have as much chance of surviving this if you bait them as if we all just sit in the temple anyway, _and_ I'll be impressed if you lead a bunch of werewolves on a wild goose chase," Wolf replied with a grin. "Evant mentioned they had firebombs in the temple - you might well be able to make use of those. Fire hurts werewolves too, as well as silver." 

* * *

They made it to the temple without further mishap, the last few feet being covered with urgent steps as the militiamen ushered them all into the interior of the temple. The long, rectangular prayer chamber led up to the altar and doors into the back rooms at the far end, pews arranged along the room and tall stained glass windows pouring in light. 

Huddled and fearful villagers clustered in the middle of the room, sitting on pews and talking in low, hushed tones. Some small children and babies cried, women sat cradling them with tears on their own faces. On a couple of pews, injured men were laid out, their pitiful groans echoing around the chamber as blood stained their clothes and the church upholstery. The local priest tended to them, fear and anxiety imprinted on his own face; the aged man was probably a local himself, and hadn't expected anything like this horror to ever happen. In the corner, partially obscured there lay an object rolled in a blanket, Burl guessing one who hadn’t made it. 

Militiamen prowled around the room, peering out of the stained glass windows or wandering in and out of the doors at both ends of the chamber. Clad in leather armours of various types, most clutched light crossbows and wielded short, silver headed hunting spears. 

Two of them were aiding a man into armour at the altar end. Stocky and muscular, Inquisitor Latorath must have been in his early forties yet was still energetic and strong; the elaborately decorated and heavily spiked armour he was putting on pointed to his capability as a warrior. Instead of any blade or spear, the man pulled on heavy plate gauntlets from which long blades jutted forwards a foot, covered in silver; once fully armoured he smashed his fists together in readiness and looked up to see Evant and the newcomers. 
Pulling on a full helm, eyes peering through the slits, he hailed them. "Ah, Evant, you're back. Those are the mercenaries you spoke of, I assume... welcome, gentlemen," he nodded respectfully, "and lady." 

"Looks like the wolves're holding off just yet." 

"They've been prowling around, howling occasionally. I believe they are being directed by the most intelligent member of the pack, probably some sort of coven leader, so they'll just prepare to attack us on their own terms. I fear we may well have to wait until tonight before they choose to make their move." 

Crates were scattered around the entrance to the chamber; mostly military supplies, ammunition, and suchlike, but one full of carefully cushioned vials of viscous liquid. 

Kale still couldn't resist lightly touching his neck while staring at those foot-long gauntlet spikes. _But he's on _our_ side... _

"Favor, Inquisitor, there may be a way to engage the beasts on more our own terms," he began, seeming slightly out of place that he was offering battle plans to a spiked veteran, flanked by his Solar Templar Champion, of sorts. Yet, the plan wasn't all his, and unlike certain Fuldarian fools, he had a feeling the suggestion would be weighed by its merit, not by the rank of the one proposing... 

"Wolf supposes that were one to run, the hunters would give chase without heed to more common sense. We could flush the wolves out, into ambush, and before nightfall, if only we can appeal to that animal instinct." Kale continued evenly, though he was unsure how the others would take the plan. It was a plan, open to suggestion, but he made sure to speak with conviction- if any hope or chance was to come out of this scheme, it would have to start with him. 

"I take off down the road, desperate. The wolves give chase. Within one of the houses, I can slow them and double back, but no matter how animal they may be, even a pack of wolves will trail a rear guard to make sure I don't make it back to the temple." Steeling himself, he continued.
"Only the temple isn't my goal, for as soon as the wolves have all eyes on me, men can take station here, and here," Kale pointed to houses opposite the road, second story windows with a command of the passage, "Haul me the hell up, and rain silver and fire. When things go awry, a reserve of spears and... spikes can deploy from the temple, flanking the beasts while the archers have the high ground." He didn't end with a flourish like this was some kind of hero finale. It was a plan, a bloody, dangerous, unlikely figment... but it was a figment Kale believed could just work. 

Burl was standing at the rear of the group when they were introduced and the Inquisitor threw out his ideas. He was totally taken back when Kale stepped forward and presented his plan. He had heard him mention a rabbit before, but he had thought that Kale was merely hungry. Burl couldn’t let his companion do this on his own, “Sir” speaking to Latorath, “If you propose to let this young fool ..." "Every village needs one..." Kale murmured deadpan as Burl continued, "attempt this, then I must ask that I be one of those in the house to help give his some support. I saw a crate of what looked like alchemist’s fire over there." pointing to some crates to the left. “Let me take several of those and combined with a few arcane castings that I might employ, I think I could be of use."

A pained expression crossed Wyshira's face when she heard Kale suggest himself as bait for the werewolves. _No! Someone else can do it..._ she wanted to interrupt. But she bit her tongue. Maybe she had the wrong attitude for a mercenary: she couldn't stand to see the other members of the group put themselves at risk. But at least she knew enough to realize that Kale wouldn't thank her for objecting to his idea. Burl volunteered as well, and she quickly stood beside him, indicating that she too would go with the support group in the houses. 

Latorath stood in silence for a few moments, pondering the young mercenary's proposal and the indication of the others of their willingness to support such a plan. 

Then the Inquisitor shook his head. "No, I cannot agree with this plan. Spreading men out amidst the houses puts them in a very vulnerable position; I have little doubt a werewolf will go through a barricaded door with few problems. Once we start splitting up and scattering amidst houses we open up a whole series of opportunities for getting torn to shreds. What of not all the wolves chase you? What then? As my men move across the street they could get caught in the open - the werewolves can make us of crossbows as easily as we can - and with such a weakened guard at the temple," he swept one armoured arm to indicate the sheltered villagers, "one werewolf getting in here could cause carnage amidst these innocents." 

"That is indeed alchemical fire - firebombs," he replied to Burl's question. "Some two dozen vials of it still remaining; fire hurts werewolves, we know that much at least." 

"Young man," he spoke again to Kale, "You are right to consider that our werewolves will follow their instincts, but your plan is simply too foolhardy for me to allow my men to follow it. I think they have a clever leader, and it would be able to exert enough command over the coven to make their wholescale duping by your ruse unlikely." 

"Still, couldn't we try and lead some of them into a trap? If we're going to have to face off with them come sundown, surely we should try and whittle down their numbers a little?" 

"If you can think of something a little less risky, then yes. After all, with this silver you have brought us," the innkeeper in the huddle of people sighed at the thought of losing all that coin jhe had brought in his strongbox, "we can make a number more weapons to fight the beasts, and to arm you and the others who are capable of combat. Yet we'd need to get to the blacksmiths forge, to get enough heat to melt the silver."

"The blacksmith assures me it is a defensible building of stone, so once we get some men entrenched in there they can make the weapons and hold out - but to get them there in the first place we'll need a diversion, and possibly the same to get them back out again. If we could, as you say, try and lead some of them into a trap, it might prove the diversion needed to sneak some men to the forge."

Kale listened soberly as Latorath broke it down by the numbers. Taking a deep breath, the mercenary considered, upset that he didn't have the experience yet to come up with good small unit tactics. Too risky, the plan could not be hazarded, but maybe there was something else that could be done. 

Considering their position, Kale thought for several moments, then spoke. "If the leader is biding his time, then it will be much easier to get a force to the forge than to get them back. Judging from the howls, aside from some p


----------



## Carnifex

I think I'm going to return to writing this story hour as a mix of summary and chosen pieces of the actual text, rather than a total text reformat - I think it'll just be a bit easier for me to write it all up 

*Volunteers, Anyone?*

Latorath listened attentively to Kale's ideas, nodding as he did so. "I can indeed use my magic to protect from fire, though the individual in question might well still be scorched - I can't guarantee full shielding from the firebombs. They'd need to carry... five, maybe six vials, detonate them all at once, if they hoped to drive off or kill any werewolves close enough to lunge at them."

The inquisitor then listened carefully to the words of Burl as he too outlined some measures to combat the lycanthropes. "Your plan with the bandages, although somewhat gruesome, is well thought - I'm just not sure whether these werewolves would be crazed enough to take the lure of a few bloodied rags. As for tossing the body out to the pack,"the man's voice hardened, "I refuse to allow the corpse to be desecrated in such a vile way, especially a follower of Solanthar. Your priestess companion speaks well - that was once a man and as such I will not see him used as bait nor fodder for ravening fiends such as those outside. As a priest of Solanthar I cannot stand by and allow such a thing to happen." He snorted. "If perhaps we had some werewolf corpses, then the foul things could be used for such a purpose, but all we possess in _that_ vein is our captive lycanthrope chained up in the priest's quarters, and I want her kept alive."

It was obvious from the reactions of the others that they agreed with the Inquisitor on the matter of using corpses as bait. The necromancer's idea had been expedient, certainly, but at a fundamental level too gruesome a concept for most of them to stomach, and certainly not something they would undertake if they could avoid it. Burl was just beginning to realize that there was a fundamental difference of opinion between most people and those who chose his field of study. To Burl, the human body was just a vessel for the soul, no difference from an old ale or wine barrel that had outlived it’s usefulness. However, since he seemed to be in the minority, he would have to keep his ideas to himself from now on or continue to draw unwanted attention to himself.

[/color]"Now, we need to organise both a party to sally out to the forge, and who is to undertake the distraction. The sallying party will take a number of weapons and bolts with them for silvering in the forge; the blacksmith assures me he possesses a few silver bars anyway, normally for use for ornamenting, and adding a few iron bars to increase the total amount we can make shouldn't decrease the effectiveness of the silver in any sizeable way."[/color] As he spoke, the parish priest headed into the back rooms and returned with a small chest of silver coins; offering the tithes he had accrued for times of emergency as further material for silvering weapons. 

Kale took the moment to look around the temple, seeing the shafts of light illuminating the knots of weary villagers clustered within the sanctuary. _How much would be lost here, if our little plans fail?_ Kale pondered, shifting his weight on his heals as he sized up the situation. Squaring himself against the increasing burdens of reality, the young mercenary set his jaw, and listened determinedly.

"We couldn't free her, mustn't kill her, but what if the woman was to plead the lives of her family from the back gate? While the crew runs out the front to the smithy- we could have our first distraction." Kale thought aloud, his first real low-risk idea the entire day. Latorath regarded the four mercs with exceeding patience, but as Kale looked to the Inquisitor, he hoped that his simple suggestion would help smooth out any ruffled feathers and dinged confidence as a result of their earlier reckless ideas.

But to gets the smithy crew back? That still left the question of "who is to undertake this distraction." Kale clenched his jaw at the mention, conscious now more than ever of his environment. Great warriors before him, hopeful villagers- how much did they hear?- and crew companions who knew he was certainly no god... 
The promise of quick healing regardless, the concept of baiting wolves and immolating oneself was wholly unreal. His eyes ran over the temple once more- their condition hadn't changed: a huddled mass, counting the moments. What he did here would be reflected in so many eyes: villagers who through necessity endured the unbearable, veteran warriors who had seen all this and more, and a young trio who hoped to see some more. Images in those eyes, all he could be, all he wasn't, what little he was... for what little it mattered. Different ways to see the same man, amounting to what? 

_Failure and death- close partners today. If I just make it to tomorrow, then whatever I am... it'll be enough. _

Kale stood straight and relaxed. To occupy his hands, he eased them behind to a casual parade rest. These warriors before him- to speak up to the task felt an inexcusable act of ego. Kale would run, and he would burn, and he could very likely die... but it wouldn't be for merit, it wouldn't be for ego, it wouldn't be for 'honor.' And the gods know it wouldn't be for The Cause. 

A little task, for Kale alone. He could prepare when the others had left to the forge, hiding his emotions then from the Sun God's Champions who remained. He could do all this, or die. It was a world of small choices, but Kale stood ready to walk out the few before him. 

"I'll do it."


----------



## Carnifex

Wyshira and Burl volunteered themselves to accompany the smithy party; a decision on Burl's part that was partially based on his desire to keep away from the Inquisitor. It was obvious that they had their differences of opinion on certain matters, so the best course of action open to him seemed to be to keep a low profile and do what he could to help that wouldn't upset anyone else.

Latorath gazed at Kale, the Inquisitor's features locked in impasive calm, but the young mercenary thought he could detect a litlle... admiration? in the man's eyes. "You are brave, young man. I respect that." Kale looked quizically to the Inquisitor, unsure what to think. The effects of such a declaration, Kale couldn't know, but it was a compliment from a good man: Kale shook himself from his indecision and nodded respectfully. 

_Let's just hope this bravery gets me back alive... _

"Nonetheless, our captive werewolf is of no use in creating a distraction for us. She is, to be blunt, a raving madwoman; all she does is mutter and speak what is more or less gibberish at the moment. I believe her mind has broken - shattered, like a mirror."

"So we have yourself, young man, to provide our last distraction. You, young priestess, and your wizard companion here, perhaps accompanied by the smith and two more warriors? Yet we need the preliminary bait still."

"Nothing I can't deal with," Wolf said in his quiet tone, locking gazes with Evant; and the knight strode over to stand by the mercenary, gleaming armour catching the rays of sun and sending them dazzling off in all directions. 

"It'll only be a short distraction before they realise that there'll be no point attacking us," the Templar said enigmatically, "but I'm pretty sure we can catch their attention for a _little_ while, enough to get the smithy party out of the back of the building and over to their destination." 

The Inquisitor nodded. "I trust you two to have a good plan, then." He smiled suddenly. "Evant always does seem to in situations like this. Very well, are you all ready? Any last suggestions before we embark upon this?" 

There were no more suggestions.

The merc team equipped themselves liberally with firebombs, though Wyshira found a certain repulsion at the thought of horrible, consuming fire, her water genasi nature coming to the fore. Kale dumped most of his gear within the temple; if he was going to effectively immolate himself there was no point incarrying any gear with him that might be damaged in the chase and subsequent flames. His quiver of arrows was passed to Burl with instructions to silver the tips while they were at work. He also borrowed some boots of an unsuspecting villager, having no real wish to burn his own footwear. He just hoped he wouldn't end up like these temporary boots...

"Wolf, tell me something about these werewolves." Wyshira asked the older mercenary before he walked away with the Templar to plan their diversion. "I've only heard folk tales, which I never really more than half believed." It was certainly true that, even if she did believe that werewolves existed, she had never imagined being faced with such creatures herself, outside of a nightmare. "What do they want? Is it our blood they are after? Or is it death alone that they feed on? And what about what the legends say? Is it true that those who are bitten by werewolves are cursed and become one of them?" Wyshira spoke quietly, just loud enough for Wolf and any of the crew to hear. No need to give the hapless villagers any more reason to be afraid, after all.

Wolf shrugged at Wyshira's questions. "I think _these_ werewolves want their packmate back. I don't think they feed on death or blood any more than any other carnivorous creature, either. As for whether others can be turned into werewolves by a lycanthropes bite, I doubt it. I've never seen it happen myself."

"Right, form up," Latorath commanded loudly, suddenly falling into the persona of field sergeant with apparent ease as he marshalled the militiamen into action. "You two - crossbows and spears, yes, that's right, take some scale mail too, you might need the protection. Grab one of the crates of crossbow bolts. You two," he gestured to Wyshira and Burl, "take another container of weapons between you." They then ran into problems of course, because there was still the matter of carrying a few more weapons to be silvered, and the silver itself, so Latorath quickly assigned an additional militiaman to what he had originally planned to aid the blacksmith, a big burly man, in carrying such objects. "Four men, covering the rear exit with crossbows, fire on any werewolves that attempt to block the sallying party. Another four, cover Evant and the mercenary out front, same orders. Others, keep up same perimeter positions, fire on _any_ sign of werewolf activity - we'll need to keep them cowering. Don't use any firebombs unless they suddenly try and mass an attack." 

As the Inquisitor dispersed orders, the small band of six headed through into the back of the temple, entering the kitchen. The small room had a door opening out back - currently barricaded, along with windows from which militia soldiers scanned the open ground around the priests herb garden, a small area lined with a low hedge. The fire was on, a pot boiling up food for the refugees in the main hall, and the elderly priest carefully doled it out into bowls to be dispersed amongst them. 

With the guards having pulled on scale mail, they were ready to go; the blacksmith had grabbed a hefty wood-chopping axe for himself but the merceneries knew it was unlikely to prove much use against the lycanthropes. 

At the front entrance, the throng within watched the Templar and the mercenary curiously, the two men apparently rather jovial for people about to run the gauntlet of a rabid lycanthrope coven. 

"Time for some wolf-baiting," Wolf said quietly, suddenly grinning in uncharacteristic fashion. 

The Solar Templar drew his blade, the weapon glinting in the light, and nodded. "Certainly. Let's see how long it takes for the message to get through their thick skulls, shall we?" 

* * *

The two men rushed out of the front double doors down the street, a good many feet covered before they came to a halt and began yelling, taunting and generally making a racket. It wasn't long before trouble showed. 

Shapes suddenly moving amidst the nearby shadows revealed that the werewolves stationed to watch the temple were closing in with interest, a certain wariness visible as they slunk out of cover to approach. All in hybrid form - scrawny, mangy wolfmen of haggard but wiry appearance, they circled in towards the men and snarled with slobbering jaws, feral visages twisted in malice. 

Wolf simply made a rude gesture at them. 

Snarling, they all loped in. 

* * *

"Go!" commanded one of the militia crossbowmen, and the party of six began to run down the street towards the blacksmiths, the sound of conflict coming from over the other side of the temple. Hopefully the diversion was working, but it didn't make the run any less nervewracking; hearts skipped a beat at the slightest movement within shadows, that might herald the appearance of a slavering killer. 

They were nearly there when the _zip_ and _zing_ of crossbows heralded pursuit. A lone wolfman had come running from a sidestreet to intercept them but the militia bolts sent him scuttling back for cover, and they made the last few feet to the smithy. 

* * *

The militia crossbowmen at the front of the temple opened fire, their precious few silvered bolts arcing at the closing wolfmen. Few hit, and there was fear of striking the two men. 

But this sudden sting, as one werewolf staggered with a bolt in its thigh and an other ran yelping in pain from a hit to its buttock, caused some faltering from the oncoming pack, and it was only compounded when Wolf raised his hands, and simply clapped three times, muttering something under his voice. It was odd, maybe a prayer or something, but the rather launguid stance of the two men combined with this nonchalant gesture confused the werewolves momentarily. Then they just charged in anyway, four werewolves against two men. 

Wolf and Evant stood there with faintly bored expressions on their faces as the lycanthropes tried to claw them to pieces but with merely the effect as if they were hitting a brick wall. Latorath watched fascinatedly from the temple, saying to himself quielty but loud enough for Kale to hear, "Fascinating. I can feel Fenris at work..." 

The werewolves stopped, puzzled, then Evant ran one through with his sword. 

* * *

In the smithy, the party could hear the sounds of fighting had died down - they could only pray that the diversion had made it through alive, for from here, with the limited vision supplied by the building, they could not see for themselves. The lay of the building meant that the people in the temple couldn't get a clear view of them, either. 

A squat, low building off of the blacksmiths actual home, the square single room was walled with stone and rooved with thick timbers and slate. One single window looked out onto a sidestreet, while the broad door opened up onto the adjoining side. With the forge taking up much of one corner of the place, the other walls were lined with tools and objects, and fuel and boxes of materials were scattered around. 

The three militiamen quickly closed the wooden door and barricaded it solidly, though through cracks they could keep a view into the street beyond. Likewise, the window had its shutters bolted closed. Dumping their baggage on the ground, they set to work aiding the blacksmith to fire up the forge, and the smith then searched out to find his own bars of silver, along with iron chunks to add to the quantity. Laying the massive axe down by it, he began work. 

"It'll be a while before we have enough heat to melt up the silver - sorry 'bout that. We'll just have to sit it out 'till then." 

* * *

Wolf and Evant strode back into the temple, the werewolves having fled. "Did they make it?" 

* * *

There was a _crunch_ as something slammed itself against the barricaded smithy door, and the militiamen sprang to grab their weapons. On the other side, a werewolf rabidly began to claw its way through the timbers. 

Suddenly the bolted shutters splintered inwards as the upper torso of a werewolf appeared through it, this second interloper pulling its way in with a crazed and feral look on its muzzled features.


----------



## Carnifex

The entire smithy band had been incredibly jumpy after the desperate run for the relative safety of the building; now the sudden werewolf assault kicked them into a frenzy of activity. Wyshira surged with the might of the Storm Lady, power flowing into her voice as she cast a _cause fear_ spell with a shout of *"Run away in fear! For I serve Ishrak and the Storm will take you!"*

* * *

Wolf gave a mostly humourless grin as he set down his weapons on one of the pews, Evant sitting himself down to clean his bloodied blade. The villagers just watched the duo cautiously, unsure as to exactly what had just happened, and Latorath peered at the pair with narrowed eyes from his position by one of the windows. 

"Well, as long as they made it, now all we can do is wait..." 

* * *

The rabid lycathrope at the door continued to try and smash its way in, but the one at the window was nearly entirely in, scrawny arms pushing against the stone walls to force itself into the building. 

"Alchemists fire wont speed up the forge, lad," growled the blacksmith in response to Burl's frantic ideas for speeding up the process of melting the silver, hefting his greataxe and looking from door to window. "It'd just burn itself out in moments, won't help the heat much." 

The three militiamen moved to head off the window-wolf with their spears, jabbing at the creature, but Wyshira's spell filled the beast with unnatural fear, and in terror it fled back out through the window it had entered by, disappearing from sight as it howled in panic. Even as that attacker fled, the one assaulting the door apparently thought better of a solo strike and it too let up on smashing at the door. 

Eerie quiet settled over the village again, not a sound from outside betraying the presence of the werewolves in the settlement. Only the forge gave noise, fire crackling away as the heat began to build up. 

* * *

The blacksith was working away over the forge, sweat dripping down off his forehead as he made preparations for the silvering. It wouldn't be long now before they could do it, he had said, and then be done with this place and back to the temple. 

The silence outside was broken by a pitiful moaning, that of someone in terrible, terrible pain. Looking out of the window showed a horrible sight. 

Crawling slowly through the dirt, hands clawing into the earth to drag himself along, a dishevelled and bloodied man in peasant garb was slowly dragging himself towards the door of the smithy. His other hand clutched at his belly; it looked like he had been severly injured in the abdomen, for as he dragged himself along he was leaving a long smear of blood in his wake. 
His voice, pitifully weak, could just be heard. "Help me, please," he called out towards the barricaded building some thirty feet away. 

* * *

Wolf's mirthless expression was mirrored in Kale, as the return of the ranger and Templar marked the beginning of what could be a very long struggle. 

The young mercenary clasped his hands behind him, as he itched in nervousness to do something, anything. Instead, he just stood beside Latorath, trying to affect the schooled patience that the Templar of Solanthar and the follower of Fenris wore like familiar battle mail. 

Shadows lengthened in the temple, villagers milling about and trying their best to go about the necessities of life, to pretend that a tangible curtain of death didn't hang over them all. The militia went about their own routine, knotting together, talking softly about things other than wolves and battle. Wolf, Evant, and Latorath, they all seemed deep in thought, but confident. 

Kale beathed in a musty breath- the very air held tension, so many agitated people in one place. The Sun God Temple, with high ceilings, and large, well-placed windows was well-made to let in the light, setting off the simple but expert craftsmanship. Ironically, the open plan, the inviting spaces, the lighted areas served only as a painful reminder of the clearance and freedom that were denied those held hostage inside. 

Moment by moment, they waited. 

* * *

As Wyshira watched the terrified werewolf retreat back out the window in response to her spell, she hoped that she hadn't just used power that she would need later on. Being able to do something though, had helped to steady her nerves, and surprisingly, she felt a little calmer after the brief assault on the smithy by the fiendish creatures. 

At first, she didn't hear the low moans coming from the street outside. One of the militia men whose hearing was keen picked up on it, even over the sound of the smith's preparations, and alerted the rest of them. She stood at the window peering out at the deserted town and saw him: a man who seemed to be barely alive, dragging himself toward the safety of the smith, leaving a bloody trail behind him. 

"Quickly! Open the door!" she called to Burl urgently. She unslung her pack from her shoulder and pulled out her basket of healing supplies. She hoped that the man wouldn't die before she could get to him. 

Burl looked, knowing Wyshira couldn’t resist helping the wounded man, but he had his suspicions. “Wyshira, I know that you want to help him, but please wait until the militiamen are ready to give you some cover before you run out. Also, maybe it would be wise to see if any of them recognize the man.” Burl yelled to the militiamen to take positions, one by the window and the others by the doors for when we open them. Then Burl started to open one of the doors only enough for Wyshira to slip through. 

He paused to mentally communicate some safeguard measures to his familiar. _Spike, we are going to bring this man inside. I am going to let you loose. If you smell or see something wrong about this man, let me know. _ 

In the background the sounds of the blacksmith resounded through the forge, pumping the bellows into the hot coals to bring the furance into roaring ruddy-lit life. The burly man sweated and muttered as he went about his work. 

The militiamen shrugged at Burl's questioning; they did not know the man, butt hen they themselves were not locals - none of the militia were. They were just a militia detachment attached to the Inquisitor for his use. 

Spike, having been put down on the floor, didn't seem to have noticed anything wrong about the injured man, instead quietly snuffling after woodlice in the dark corners of the forge. 

The door, opened slightly for Wyshira to slip through, spilled sunlight into the red-lit room. Stepping outside, the priestess could see that in all directions the lanes seemed clear of any threats. Some twenty feet ahead of her, the injured man seemde to be weakening, his clawing through the earth dragging him shorter and shorter distances. He didn't seem to be entirely aware of his surroundings, eyes not focusing on the woman ahead. In the back of her mind, she questioned how this man could still be alive, echoing some of Burl's caution - _Why haven't the werewolves finished him off, and where are they now?_ But the way seemed clear, and the man looked to be very near death. If she didn't get to him quickly, he would not survive much longer. 

With one last glance around for sign of any creatures lurking in the shadows, she quickly moved the 20 feet to reach the man as he continued to try to drag himself to safety. She knelt down beside him and focused completely on saving his life.

"I'm here to help you now... Be at ease." She spoke soothingly as she gently examined his wounds and tried to ascertain his condition. 

* * *

Against Burl’s better wishes, he watched as Wyshira slipped through the doors and went to the aid of the wounded man. He watched to see if any of the werewolves would try to take advantage of her while out in the open. Turning to the militiamen, he checked, making sure each had silvered weapons to assist Wyshira if the need arose. “Smithy, how much longer before we have the weapons ready for our flight back to the temple.” Burl waited by the doors for Wyshira to drag the man back to the relative safety of the blacksmith’s shop. Spotting his familiar chasing dinner, Burl sent a mental request that the little hedgehog return to the safety of his case.

Spike scuttled back to Burl as the blacksmith threw the necromancer a glance. "Give us half an hour before we can start silvering the weapons." 

Spike was sniffing the air as he scurried over. Through the empathetic link with his familiar, Burl could tell that the little creature was somewhat dismayed by the scent of rotting offal on the air. Suddenly alert, the necromancer turned around just in time to save Wyshira's life.

* * *

With a snarl the man rose up before the priestess. One hand had been clutching to his belly a mass of foul offal, bloodied innards that were now thrown to slap disgustingly against the previously pristine robes of Wyshira. There was a gristly crunch as the man shapeshifted into a foully disfigured wolfman, snarling as it lunged at her. 

Wyshira was almost incapable of reacting to the situation, so surprised was she by the sudden change in the man she took to be injured and in need of her aid. Already on her knees, she fell back from the shifting wolf-creature, instinctively holding her healer's kit out in front of her like a shield and turning her face away. She tried to scramble to her feet, backing slowly away and toward the smithy. The wolfman savagely lunged out and bit deeply into her, tearing out a chunk of flesh and eliciting gouts of her blue-tinted blood from the gaping wound. Even with her desperate defence as she backed off, it followed snarling and lashing out in primeval fury, her own gore splattered over its muzzle and teeth to give it a fearful appearance as it bore down on her. 

The thing's fury was cut short as a knife-like shard of ice stabbed forth from Burl's hand, biting right into the things chest. Blood that spouted forth immediately froze into crimson frost, and with a pained spasm the werewolf collapsed to the ground having been chilled to death. 
Injured and in pain, Wyshira was able to stagger the last few feet back into the smithy without any further incident.


----------



## Carnifex

*Return to the Smithy:*

Burl watched as his frozen shard of ice flew toward the werewolf, striking it in the chest. But his actions had not been quick enough to save Wyshira the pain of having the creature rip a chunk out of her. The werewolf had paid with it’s life, the blood freezing in the wound.

“Quick, help me get the door open for her.” yelled Burl as he began to open the door, letting Wyshira inside the blacksmith’s shop. Helping her to lie down on a pile of straw, Burl reached over, pulling a jar of salve from his pack. Gouging his fingers into the jar, he drew out the healing salve contained, smoothing it over Wyshira’s wound. 

“Lie still Wyshira. Let the salve do it’s job. You will need all your strength when we make the trip back to the temple soon.” There was nothing more he could do for her other than let the salve work on her. He could only hope that the silvering could begin soon so they could make the journey back to the temple and that she would be healthy enough to return without help.

"I'm all right," Wyshira said, wincing as Burl rubbed the bitter smelling ointment into her wound. Though she wasn't all right, not really. It had been such a shock to see what she thought was a helpless villager in need of her healing touch, change in the blink of an eye into a rampaging monster hell-bent on savagely ending her life. 

And the fiery pain in her shoulder.... _Don't look,_ she thought. _That's *my* blood spattered all over the place!_ The thought made her dizzy. 

Burl's salve was beginning to have an affect however. At first it burned, so much so that she had to set her jaw hard and concentrate to keep from crying out; but finally a sort of numbness set in, and she was able to relax a bit and rest. She looked up at the necromancer as he continued to tend to her, his face full of concern, and gave him a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Burl."

As Burl rubbed the glutinous salve into the wound, the flow of blood dripped to a halt and the cooling balm took away much of the pain. The wound itself was still there but already the alchemical substances in Burl's application were acting to ensure fast and clean healing. Over by the forge, the smith took out his first silvered item; the wood-chopping axe. The head gleamed with its silvered plating, and the burly man grinned. 

It wasn't all that long later when they finally finished, batches of arrows, bolts and weapons all silvered and ready for use. The smith sent a gout of smoke up the chimney, the signal to the temple. 

"Everyone prepare to move," he said, bag of bolts on his back and silvered greataxe clenched tightly. 

* * *

They'd been sitting around in more or less silence for a few hours in the temple, not a werewolf in sight, when the calm was broken by one of the militia entering from the back rooms. 

"The signal's up - they're finished in the smithy!" 

Latorath turned to gaze calmly at Kale. "Looks like it's your time for glory, young man. The blessings of Solantha protect you from fire," and with a muttered prayer and bowed head he wove a holy pattern with his hands. For a moment, divine energy suffused the air around the young mercenary with a white glow. 

* * *

Burl gathered up his equipment, making sure Spike was secure in his bag. Turning to Wyshira, he asked, "Are you going to be okay to make the return trip to the temple by yourself, or will you need my assistance?" 

He paused.

"And Wyshira, when we get close to the temple, if Kale is in need of any help, I plan on being there for him. Don't wait for me, but continue on to the temple." 

Wyshira gathered up her newly silvered shark-fang javelins, admiring the way they glinted in the light, and made ready for the return trip to the temple. _Now is when the werewolves are sure to attack in numbers,_ she reminded herself. She tested her arm and shoulder, and found that the wound was only slightly tender still; she could use her arm almost normally, and hadn't needed to call on the healing power of the goddess at all. 

Burl continued to hover round her, helping her with this or that, and she was touched by his concern. "I'm fine," she told him, and this time she meant it. "The wound is practically healed. Is that salve your own concoction? I'd love to know how you made it! I'm sure I'll make it back to the temple without any trouble. But if you think I'm going to run like a hare, and leave you and Kale to deal with those creatures alone, you're daft!" She folded her arms across her chest and glared at the necromancer with mock fierceness. "I might be of some use out there, especially if either of you are in need of healing." She tried not to think of Kale carrying out his crazy diversion, engulfed in flame, charring himself to a crisp. And yet she knew that she needed to be prepared for such an eventuality. She had her vials of healing waters close to hand. "Burl, don't do anything foolish out there. At least, not without me. Promise?"

Burl was glad to see the feisty priestess was okay and ready to go or so it seemed to him watching her handle her shark-fang javelins. “No, Wyshira I am not planning on running out and going toe to toe with the werewolves. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything anymore foolish than our friend Kale.” With that said and done, Burl waited with the rest for some sign that the rabbit had left the hole.

* * *

Making quick fists with his hands, the damp cold sweat was his body's next protest. But as the last colored rays of sun had leapt from temple floor to simple worked walls, softly lit clusters of displaced peoples laid the proof that there was no turning back. 

All was ready, Kale needn't check his gear for the tenth time. Weapons ready, and seven strange flasks fixed, poised for the last hour and tensely awaiting their time for use. Anything that could be done, was done... it was time. 

Latorath stood, plate-armored sentinel, patron of holy powers, sending the divine blessing that glowed briefly in soft aura. To his right, Evant was resplendant in his shining mail, its spotless face so many times past a ready canvas for his enemy's blood. Beside and hardly noticed remained Wolf, leather-clad and travel-worn. Next to the metal so bold, it was as though he were invisible. But a second look, then a third- sharp gaze and sharper blade revealed the mysterious ranger in proper company. Of the three, bards could sing of glory while they still lived. 

"Gentlemen," Kale said simply, before turning quickly to go. It was a relief to be going, after feeling so out of place. _Maybe things will better fit when I return, _Kale thought optimistically, nodding from a distance for the guard to open the heavy door. _Yeah, right._ Gritting his teeth, he burst through the threshold at a full sprint, teeth gritted, eyes slitted- looking for trouble that was sure to come. 

Focusing as he could, his breath came easily and quickly, in gulps he could only hope would not be his last. The orange evening sun silently touched the horizon as road gravel ground and chain flashed the village's only sign of life...


----------



## Carnifex

Kale's feet crunched on the gravel as he left the small hedged grass area of the temple, moving off the stone slab path and onto village road. Around him the streets slithered off in various directions, providing a moments disorientation before he struck off directly away from the temple front. The eerie quiet pervaded the entire settlement; the noise that the mercenary was making in his flight was like an alien interloper into the oppressive silence, a suffocating and cloying thing hanging heavy over hushed houses. 

Only a few more paces down the road and the howl of a lycanthrope destroyed the calm for good, piercing shriek slashing through the air to be joined by a dozen others, howls and yelps and pack-gathering barks to summon the coven after their quarry. Shapes slunk and shifted down side-streets, amidst the shadows by buildings, and in the concealing dark of buildings.

The pack knew he had left the building. The pack chased. 

Some half-dozen werewolves tracked after him, cautious and yet eager to bring down this lone runner. As Kale continued to sprint lycanthropes left the shadows and came into the reddening light, racing after the human with unnatural pace and agility. 

His path took him to one of the outskirts, a barn full of hay. Running inside the low entryway, he found himself in the dark, humid innards of the construction, high bales around him blocking his view but still enough line of sight for him to pick out the ladder up to the loft that hung over half of the interior space. 

He began to climb even as dark shapes slunk in behind him, dispersing amidst the gloomy bales and watching him hungrily. As he reached the loft, he could see in the dark void below the glinting eyes of the ravenous brood; watching and waiting to see what the human might try next.

Fumbling with the firebomb, he sent it arcing through the darkness to splash over the doorway, engulfling the entrance with flame that began to lick and flicker at the dry hay. Alarmed werewolves hissed down below; one launched itself up the ladder, leaping half the height with a single jump and rapidly hauling itself up to be most of the way to the loft already. 

* * *

The doors to the smith’s shop slid open, Burl peeking out. All was quiet, no sign of the werewolves. The smithy party scurried out of the forge, hoping that those in the temple had already put the distraction into motion. The _whumph_ of a firebomb detonating over the other side of the village indicated it had; but the direction and distance meant that Kale was well away from their aid. The smith led them hurrying towards the temple compound and the comparative safety to be found there. 

* * *

Hot, dusty air singed flared nostrils, Kale stood atop the loft breathing desperately. A strange relief washed over him- that although numerous werewolves surrounding him nearly sealed his fate, the quickly mounting flames in the doorway threatened to seal the wolves' fates. 

This was a battle Kale could not possibly win, the reality driven home as one powerful wolf leapt nearly half the height of the ladder: these beasts were far beyond anything Kale could handle. 

_Time, play for time,_ Kale reminded himself as he squared himself at the ladder. Old academy lessons of rampart defence suffused his mind- boring lessons Kale knew he would never use. Poor fodder defending another's livelihood, that was a scenario he thought he would never be in. That, perhaps, was the most ironic part of the sad, frantic scene. 

The young mercenary would sooner run himself through than become a pawn to consolidate a noble's power, yet in a burning barn, surrounded by ravenous beasts, Kale could say that he really didn't mind too much- to detach from the horror of the moment, he considered that dying for one's companions was much finer than being spent as one straw in a bale of some ruler's bloody poor infantry. 

It was satisfaction, then, when Kale set the silvered spear he had commandeered from a militiaman, to recieve a charging wolfbeast. Ramparts hadn't the benefit of rafters overhead, and it was the first and least important of many distinctions that meant that this place, this time was worth dying for... maybe even living for. 

Wild but fearful eyes were not a difficult expression to assume, Kale goading the animal up to the slaughter. _C'mon, think like animals, not men..._ Just a little longer, the wolves needed to think they were still chasing prey... 

* * *

Wyshira strained to see in the fading light; every shadow seemed to quiver with movement caught only with the tail of her eye. She imagined grotesque wolf-like shapes slinking along behind them as they hurried toward the Temple with their load of silvered weapons, the feral creatures holding back till just the right moment to spring. 

But finally she had to admit that the werewolves were unaware of their presence on the streets, and therefore must have take the bait. Were the monsters even now being led on that wild-Kale chase to the outskirts of town; taking their final steps to a fiery end? 

A sound in the distance, like the onrush of flame in a dry, summer-time forest firestorm, made her tremble with fear for her fellow-mercenary. Burl urged the smith and milita men on toward safety, and frantically, she echoed his words: "Hurry! Hurry!" Once the weapons were delivered to the Temple, she had to get to Kale. "Burl, where's that barn? We-" but she stopped in mid-sentence, staring away beyond the Temple at an orange glow reflecting off the low overcast, and a column of thick black smoke rising into the twilit sky. The barn was already burning. 

* * *

As its packmates gathered below the lycanthrope climbing the ladder came towards Kale with terrible speed, jaws dripping saliva down to the straw-covered barn floor far below. The mercenary set his spear to recieve the beast but with insane dextrousness it simply dodged the tip and clambered up using the very shaft of the weapon to aid its approach. 

There was a moment as Kale faced the lanky, tall beast, insane eyes glaring at him from the feral features, and then it lunged at him, jaws tearing at his shoulder. The weight of the beast sent kale staggering and his foot slipped out to step onto void; then the pair plummetted down off the loft to hit the barn floor below with a _thunk. _

Kale should have known better, but a fall as in slow-motion offered him plenty of time to consider his folly. All the unwise and unreal and utterly useless sentiments had stabbed him and sent him falling. Glory was for the bards, indeed. Survival was the mercenary's mandate. 

The impact was agonising, especially with the weight of the werewolf on top of him, and since it had the mercenary as a cushion his attacker seemed barely fazed by the drop. Unable to do much other than groan in agony and watch the pack circle in from the shadows from the kill, Kale felt something digging into his back. 

Glass. 

Shards from smashed vials, shattered by his drop. 

The fireball blasted flaming hay around the interior of the building like a rain of incendiary drops, the werewolf atop Kale covered in a layer of sticky fire that it couldn't douse no matter how hard it tried, as it rolled away into a bale and set the thing alight, consuming it within the inferno. The nearest pack members whimpered and howled as droplets of liquid fire spattered over their faces, the bales and timbers around them blazing up in fire and the wisps of burning hay clogging the air. The animals leapt and rolled around the place in confused and terrified madness. 

Kale could see the liquid fire burning all over the surface of his clothes, but thus far the priest's magics seemed to be holding out and he felt no more than a slight warmth. He couldn't tell how long it might last though, and the pain of the bite and the fall had been bad enough.

Luck was not without a sense of humor, it seemed. For although fang and shard and flame quickly chased away any delusion of grandeur, the engulfing blaze threatened to consume the wolves' pride, as well. 

Rolling to his feet, pain suffused his body, but Kale focused instead on confused and uncertain wolves. Pupils irising to mere pinpricks, it was an odd feeling to be a walking inferno. If not for the searing pain in his shoulder, he might have been able to appreciate the experience. 

In the stories, Kale would have stayed to inflict more pain and confusion upon the foul beasts. In reality, the bruised and bleeding mercenary cut and ran. Only a part of him was upset that he could not take advantage of his enemies so vulnerable. Every other bit of him knew that it was time to run for his life. 

Strange bright light from all directions emphasized the unreality of the whole situation. The human torch took flight, stabbing with his spear at a wolf too hysterical to get out of the way; but the inferno had already caught the weapon in its grip and the charred haft simply broke as it impacted, leaving the silver spearhead embedded in the flank of the lycanthrope. Tipping some bales before the entrance as he left, Kale ran downwind from the barn, a flaming pyre fleeing the chaos. 

Schooling his breath, Kale struggled to protect his lungs- protection fom fire he had, but from smoke he was just as vulnerable. Thankful he had left his cloak behind, Kale sprinted between two buildings, then dove to the dust to extinguish the last of the flames. Slipping into the nearby structure, Kale donned his unfamiliar black ring, quaffed a strange blue vial, and waited to regain his bearings and breath. Truly scared eyes took in his surroundings: Kale still needed to get back to the temple, and he was quickly running out of tricks...


----------



## Broccli_Head

Go Kale, Go!


----------



## Carnifex

*Silent Runnings:*

Finding himself in one of the small villagers houses, Kale slipped the umbramantic ring on his finger and watched as the shadows around the room slipped towards him, draping him in darkness and bringing a cool sensation to his skin after the encompassing warmth of the burning barn. He reached for his healing potion, only to find that it too had been shattered by the fall; the precious liquid within had doubtless spilt on the barn floor, now burned to steam by the inferno that was consuming the building over the road. As he watched, support timbers within failed and the barn begin to collapse in on itself. 

Looking around the house, it seemed to be a normal, one-storey peasant home; but something unpleasant on the air caught his nostrils. He found the source quickly, in a pool of blood by the fire. The owner seemed to have been caught by the werewolves during their initial attck, an elderly man with his throat torn out, curled in a foetal position in death. 

* * *

The temple loomed up over the smithy party as they scurried the last few feet into its protecting embrace; once within, all could let out a sigh of relief. Militiamen grabbed the boxes of arrows and weapons, carrying them into the main chamber to be handed out to the troops; the 'commanders', Wolf, Evant and Latorath, quickly hurried to meet the returned band. 

"Thank Ishrak," Wolf said with a lopsided grin as he saw that the mercenaries had returned without too much apparent damage to life and limb. "Seems the decoy worked well enough to get you lot back here in one piece." 

* * *

Char stung Kale's nose as stifled a growl, angry with himself that he'd broken his needed potion. Sitting enshrouded in shadow, it was more important than ever that he haul his battered body back to the temple- without being detected. 

Foul scent and sight, Kale's encountered the corpse of a hapless villager. There was no sorrow in the mercenary's heart, as the sight served only as a warning in this desperate time. _Screw up, and you end up like this. _

Taking a cloth to quickly bind his torn shoulder, Kale gritted his teeth for the pain, peeking as he did so through the window and the deadly zone beyond.  Precious little time for preparation, he exited into shadow as quickly as he could. Making his way downwind for a bit, he turned then and parallelled his way back to the temple, hoping the wolves' darkvision was an exagerated fable. 

Drawing his sword slowly from a baked leather sheath, Kale moved out, concealing the odd oily blade from any light source. To the balls of his feet, he watched and moved silently, prey in a stalking game he simply couldn't afford to lose.

* * *

The temple doors opened for them. Relieved, Burl uttered, “Quickly men, inside the temple. They must quickly arm themselves as we need to help Kale.”  Burl handed his share of the items off and waited for the last to make it safely inside before he shut the door behind him. Looking to Wolf and the others, “What of Kale? Has he been spotted?” Barely waiting for an answer, he continued, “Shouldn’t we be going to look for him?

His question was echoed by the priestess. "Where's Kale? Did Kale make it back?" Wyshira searched the faces of those gathered in the Temple, looking for an answer to her question. She barely even noticed Wolf's words of thanksgiving to the goddess. 
Kale was not there. "Wolf, Burl and I are going for Kale," she told the older mercenary even as she was heading towards the temple door.

As Wyshira and Burl headed for the way out, intent on seeking Kale, Wolf interposed himself between them and the exit, iron grip grasping their shoulders. 

"No." 

"You go out that door, what do you think you'll achieve? You're right, Kale isn't back yet. That means he's either dead, in which case there's nothing you can do for him, or he's alive and well and trying to make his way back. If you go storming out there after him, and he's trying to quietly make his way back, what do you think you'll achieve?" 

"You'll alert them to his presence, _and_ yours. It'll most likely be the death of all of you. If you go running out there now, the coven will tear you to pieces. Kale, on his own, stands a chance of getting back. We've pretty much expended all the tricks we have of decoying the wolves so we just have to sit and wait for him to make it back by himself." 

"You think Kale wants to make it back for me to tell him that you two got torn to shreds by running off on your own into the village?" 

The Inquisitor and the Solar Templar watched silently; a matter for the mercenaries to solve amidst themselves, it seemed. 

Burl heard these words, then thought, _Maybe we will achieve getting Kale back again_. But he answered instead, “What good did we accomplish by bringing these weapons back if we don’t use them. Arm the men so we can sweep through the city while the beasts are confused. And at the same time maybe, just maybe we can save our friend. If we wait until the morning, the beasts will have had time to recover and regroup and our task will be much harder and more than likely Kale will be dead.” Even as he spoke, Burl knew that Wolf and the others were right and that Kale would just have to make it on his own.

* * *

_It is here that a new PC joins the game: Cord, a monk of Grumand (the earth god) and a dwarf. What makes this character so unique is that he is also entirely blind. We came up with a special ‘Blind’ template for him; effectively he cannot make use of any sight-related ability, while gaining a big bonus to Listen checks and suchlike. However, since he is also a monk and focused towards perfect attunement, the template also grants him Blindsight out to a distance of up to half his speed; meaning that as he progresses in monk levels and his speed increases, so does his ability to sense the world around him to a far higher peak through listening, smell and feeling movements in the air around him._

For Cord, travel didn't abide by the normal rhythms of day and night. He walked when he felt able, and slept when he was tired. For the sightless, whether it was the gloom of night or the light of day did not matter. 
Thus it was that his travels had brought him to the small village in the south-west of Adbar in the morning, after many hours of travel in the quiet of dark. A friendly peasant farmer had offered him lodgings at his own home to sleep in; he found that often people would give him such aid just to hope for returned aid from Grumand in the form of rich soils and suchlike. So that morning, even as the sun rose, he had settled down to sleep. 

* * *

Kale crept through the shadows; they shimmered and tugged after him in his wake, but the growing gloom of evening could only serve to aid his hopes of staying hidden. His progress was slow, agonisingly slow, but he simply couldn't risk being seen now. 

As he snuck past the back door of one peasant house, he struck trouble. Silently padding along, he didn't notice that the shadows that protected him also concealed a resting lycanthrope behind a pile of chopped wood that kept it from his sight. Stepping past the wood-pile, he found himself right next to the being; it was in human form but the feral eyes and blood spattered down its shirt left him in little doubt of what it was. They both stared at each other for a second or two, caught up in shock at the others sudden appearance, and then the werewolf began to struggle to its feet... 

_No. No, NO!!!_ Kale's mind shouted in denial as the feral bloody form scrambled before him. Bereft of team, gear, proper weapons, health, dirty tricks- yet another threat, and the desperate mercenary began to fade despondant. Taking on too much with this assignment, it seemed the mistake would be his last. _But this blood has a cost,_ Kale thought to the wolf, leaping on the thing like a wild animal. Stronger and faster, the stained chest beast would beat the wounded man. Choosing a test of strength, Kale could at least deny the thing its jarring speed. 

The pages of epics, inked in faceless warriors' blood- an anonymous honor, a nameless end. Kale could imagine his unmarked grave, and he could consider it no regret, so long as he drove... this... blade... home. 


* * *

Cord awoke. It was quiet, yet he was sure that for those with sight, it must have been some time before nightfalll just yet; surely the village must still be active and noisy? But no, his acute ears could pick nothing up except... 

...except the roaring, crackling sound of fire. Something was burning, it sounded like a building not all that far away, and to his sensitive nostrils it brought the acrid tang of smoke. 

And yet, apart from that, no sounds. No people desperately rushing around to douse the fire, nothing at all. 
He could smell something else on the breeze too; blood. Its metallic tang lingered in the air, though he could not tell the source. Blood, the scent of death. The uneasy feelings that had been plaguing him for months now as he walked the Drakkath flared up into supremacy in his sensations; it was almost gut-wrenching, just how strongly he could feel that something was wrong here. Cord could smell it, feel it, taste it.

He rose from the bed, gripping the splintering edge with strength and sniffed the air slightly, hoping to catch the distinctive whiff of the man that welcomed him earlier in the day. Nothing, only the overwhelming smell of blood mixed with the heavy charcoal of wood smoke. He hesitated to even allow the thought into his mind, but there seemed no choice: the town was dead. He stifled his reaction. He was, after all, still alive. Others must be as well. 

Cord wove through the house, it's floorplan memorized when he first explored before setting down to rest. He made his short way to the main room, hoping to sense the movements of the peasant and his family. He paused, listening. Again, nothing. Except-

The house was only a single storey; suddenly, just outside the back door, he heard movement. 

He twisted his body in the direction of the sudden sound. It had come from somewhere in the back, a slight movement on the other side of the thin wall. He wanted to believe it was the peasant, but his gut convinced him otherwise. No family could function normally with the palpable sense of wrongness in the air. 

Touching doorframes as he passed, lightly dragging his fingers against worn wood, he made his way to the back door. Again, movement. Cord listened, and waited. _Dear Grumand, what is happening here?_ he thought. He placed one palm smoothly against the door and sensed the vibrations through the wood, mentally preparing himself for what he must discover on the other side. _I must find the way, and act as I need. _


* * *

Wyshira gasped in shock at Wolf's forceful "No", and had to blink back tears at the mercenary's seemingly cold-hearted assessment of Kale's situation. She wanted to argue that there was a third possibility: that Kale could be unconscious and dying somewhere, in which case there _was_ something she could do for him - she could save his life. 

But she recognized Wolf as the group's leader. And she had to admit that some of what he said made sense. She certainly didn't want to jeopardize Kale's chances of making his stealthy way back to the Temple, by actually drawing the werewolves' attention to him. And if all three of them - Kale, Burl, and herself - were killed out there, the hope that this village could survive the werewolves' attack would very definitely be severely diminished. 

But what was she anyway? She didn't see herself as a mercenary, not really. When she had first met Kaerval and heard about his uncle Wolf, the Merc, she had been a priestess in search of a flock to care for. His little band had fit the bill for her nicely: she could use her skills to keep them healthy, while traveling and seeing a little bit of the world. She had been ready to do her share of fighting when the time came too (and so far she had done so), but her real mission, at least in her own eyes, was to take care of the crew by healing their wounds and keeping them safe with the help of the goddess. 

She just couldn't help but feel that she was failing miserably if she left Kale out there to fend for himself. 
"Wolf, I - " she began, but she couldn't find the words to tell the mercenary how she felt. Burl rather heatedly suggested that they take the opportunity to attack the werewolves now while they were still confused by the fire, and Wyshira couldn't agree more. "That's right, we have to do something, don't we?" But then, they couldn't very well weaken themselves by splitting their forces. And a sizable force would have to be left at the Temple to defend the townsfolk. 

She sighed and turned away from Wolf and the others, and began to pace near the door. She whispered a silent and heartfelt prayer that Ishrak would bestow her blessing on Kale.

Wolf stared coldly at Burl. "You want to lead all these men to their deaths too, Burl?" 

"Why do you think they're all holed up in here? It's the most defensible location in this whole god-forsaken village, that's why. If a contingent of men leaves the safety of this compound they are easy meat for the werewolves, who'll be able to pick them off with hit and run attacks, choose when they're weakest and take advantage of the fact that they have no defences... these are _ordinary men_, wizard. They may now have weapons that can hurt the foe but they fear, and they wish they were elsewhere, and they know that what they're fighting _isn't human_. It's called morale, Burl, and if you think you're going to be able to rally them to charge out into certain death behind you, then you'd best think again." 

"So Kale toasted a few werewolves - it doesn't mean they're beaten, and it doesn't mean we'll win if we leave the safety of this temple. We can force them to come to us, if they want the woman back, while we're in a tactically sound defencible position. And guess what? If we all go running out of here now, all those villagers are going to die _because we decided that it was a good idea to go charging off._ They don't stand a chance without the protection of the militiamen, and we've run out of tricks to decoy the werewolves now, I'm afraid." 

"The best we can do for Kale now is wait. If he's still alive, he stands a better chance of getting back alive without us going blundering out there and getting all of us killed. If he isn't, then we should make sure that what he did is worth something by not getting ourselves all killed on some fool expedition into the jaws of death." 

"I fought in a war between the Killanese and a giant tribe of the Storm mountains. I was scouting out their positions, but had to lie low for longer than intended because I nearly got seen by a patrol and their shaman. If they'd seen me, I'd have been carrion. Only, I was away a bit long and the contingent I was assigned to scout for were led by a fool young captain, who decided he'd lead his men off to find out what had become of me. What do you know, as I was creeping away, the forerunners hailed me with shouts and cries. The giants couldn't miss three score soldiers clattering around, and they killed them all." 

He rolled up one of his sleeves, so the others could see the scars ringing his arm at the top, in a serried circle all the way round. "I was ****ing lucky there was a Manipulator in camp to reattach my arm. If you go out there now and draw attention to the fact that Kale's still alive, you kill him as surely as if you'd driven a dagger in his heart." 

Burl turned and walked away from Wolf to sulk in the corner. The wound that Wolf had shown had at first caused him some concern, but after a bit, Burl realized that for someone in his line of work, a few ugly scars was just a natural occurance. _Well Spike, I guess I deserved that chewing out. I’m not the battle smart leader here. I only wished that he had taken me aside and spoke rather than dressing me down in front of everyone. It isn’t like I wanted glory. All I wanted was to find Kale. _

Finding a place to sit, Burl waited for orders, checking his equipment and his component pouch making sure he had everything he would need.

* * *

Kale and the werewolf both reacted at the same moment, the thing pulling itself up from the ground even as Kale lunged at it. He stabbed with the brine blade, the enchanted sword glinting with the oily exudations along it, but the beast twisted amazingly fast even as it changed form with a gristly crunch and a stomach-churning alteration in appearance. It staggered backwards, slightly off balance at the need to dodge even as it stood up, and bared its fangs at him, snarling as it opened its claws wide and prepared for battle. Kale himself had been thrown off-balance too, hitting the wall behind where the werewolf had been with a thud before he could round on the monster. 

And into the confusion stepped someone, a short figure slipping out of the back door of the house. A dwarf, that much was immediately clear to Kale, and one of advanced age it seemed from his long and unruly gray-white beard. He wore merely simple garb, but moved with strange grace and speed for a dwarf. There was something else, something Kale couldn't quite place, which was very wrong with the fellow too. The werewolf seemed as surprised by the newcomer as Kale; both had yet to see what he would do. 

Cord found himself between a man and a beast. His acute senses, amazingly attuned by his blindness and monastic training, could tell the man was afraid by the sweat upon him, but he also smelt strongly of smoke and burned material; his blade had the acrid tang of something chemical lingering in the air. The fellow moved with grace, with speed, and was obviously fighting the other thing... it stank of blood, beast-sweat and foulness, and it had been human one moment and now canine. The stench reminded him of the packs of mongrels in the streets when he had been a beggar, but this had something else too, something corrupted. He could feel it in his very bones; this thing was unattuned to the land, and the land hated it. Grumands antipathy towards it could be felt exuding from the soil beneath Cord's feet; it was a part of the horrible wrongness he had been feeling, he was sure. 

Cord shrunk back from the overpowering scent of the twisted mockery of nature, at the last moment turning his foot slightly into a defensive stance against the creature. He remained unsure of the man behind him, and kept his hearing attuned to any movements, but Cord kept his attention focused on the beast that had fulfilled his premonitions of the past months. There would be time to worry about the fire and chemical aroma later; now, he had to deal with this canine-human. A werewolf. 

He readied his stance and prepared for the onslaught, sensing the ragged hot puffs of breath upon his skin and the slightest vibrations of the air as the werewolf shifted positions. 

"You are a thing not of this world," Cord said quietly, yet clearly, blank eyes staring disconcertingly directly at the werewolf's form. "Leave, foul beast." 

Of course, the werewolf had no intention of just leaving like the elderly dwarf requested. The short humanoid was old, clearly, a weak, elderly being that was no more deserving of the life it had than that pyromaniac human hiding behind it. Easy prey. Easy meat. Easy kill. 

The monster therefore leapt at him without another moments hesitation, but Kale's readied counterattack caught it by surprise. It wasn't particularly afraid of the man darting in with a blade as it sailed through the air towards the old dwarf; who had fallen into a stance that suggested he had _some_ battle experience, because it knew well that normal weapons were no threat to its superior being. 

It was somewhat of a shock, therefore, when the blade slashed in through its ribs and sliced into a lung and innards, the chemical smell of acid billowing from the wound as it corroded through bone and flesh. Agonised and frenzied in pain, it slammed into the monk, rabidly sinking its teeth into his arm held defensively out. Blood spurted from the series of tooth-marks but then the acid tearing through its innards overcame the beast and it collapsed, crumpling into a dead pile at Cord's feet. 

Silence reigned through the village once again. The faint tang of acid now wafted in the air as the werewolf-pile gave one final gurgle before blood streamed out of its mouth and it expired for good.


----------



## Carnifex

Within the temple, it was silent too, except for the occasional sound of nervous movement as a militiaman or peasant shifted uneasily. When one warrior fumbled with his spear and clumsily dropped it, the resulting clang as the silvered weapon hit the stone floor made everyone jump visibly. 

Wolf leant against the wall by one of the windows, impassive featured as he gazed out intently over the area in front of the temple. Evant sat in his gleaming armour on a pew, head bowed in silent prayer, while Latorath sat with a sheath of papers on one armoured knee, one bladed gauntlet removed so he could write on the scrolls; numbers, details, supplies - all plans and organisation from the orderly Inquisitor. 

* * *

"Thank you," Cord said, clenching his fist to relieve some of the pain as the werewolf slumped to the ground. "I have not encountered such a being before; I do not know what the outcome of such a meeting might have been. Your weapon seems to have saved both of our lives, this hour." Cord sighed, rubbing the leathery skin of his wounded arm, instinctively recoiling from the wrongness emanating from the bite. It burned, and the pain of corrupted nature hurt far more than that of broken skin. 

_Note: At this point several players began to get worried about the possibility of acquiring lycanthropy; luckily for them, it works slightly differently in my campaign world._

Cord turned to face the man, cradling his arm, but still on the defensive. He had no reason to trust such a stranger that smelled of fire and acid, at a time when his worst fears had been realized. 

"I am Cord," he said, scarred irises suprisingly focused and penetrating. "What has happened to this peaceful village?" 

Grip tightened on his blade, Kale was unsure what to think, and so wounded and threatened, he was almost to the point of, _when in doubt, kill it. _

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, his hand relaxed, and he tipped an invisible nod of respect to the mystical dwarf. Who was this man? Where did he come from... how does he do it? 

Self conscious for a moment, shadows menacingly cloaking his bleeding form, Kale remembered the dwarf couldn't see a thing. Yet, blind he fared as well as Kale could against the wolf... the mercenary remained wary and pragmatic. 

It was poor thanks for the dwarf's help, but the man now could be nothing but a liability. Long odds on the man making it to the temple intact. Kale had done his foolish deed for the day, and as he steadied his weight and recovered from the quick battle, he planned to leave the simply clothed man behind. 

But even then, the set of the dwarf's jaw, and long lengths of grey hair testified that he had defied the odds in the past- and survived. He regarded Kale knowingly, and his nostrils flared as the telling wind wafted. The dead wolf at their feet was foolish to dismiss this one. That determination and grace, Kale just couldn't leave the dwarf for the wolves to destroy. 

Feeling sick as he spoke, Kale whispered, "Head for the temple if you want to live. I'm going, you can follow at a distance. Walk where I walk, hold when I hold." _Gods, what am I doing? _Turning abruptly, he curled to the balls of his feet and listened carefully. Making for the shadows, his chain-clad form faded from sight and sound. 

Absorbed in his task, Kale couldn't help but wonder from time to time how the dwarf could do what he did: to see without eyes. _He's just a liability_ he told himself harshly, desperate to forget the distractions and haul his battered body to safety. 

Not sparing any loud footfalls to help the dwarf along, Kale used the man nonetheless as a rearguard, whether the dwarf knew it or not. Knowing the wolves would likely see the dwarf before him, Kale focused more of his attention forward. The sound of the dwarf falling to fang and claw would alert him to trouble from behind. Breathing in slow, pained tugs, the lone mercenary moved smoothly and slowly, mind and body screaming to just cut and run the rest of the way. 

Move, listen, move, listen. From house to house, Kale found himself occasionally dragging a fingernail along the boards, or rubbing his smoking scabbard. Far from the sounds of chain or footfall that were the first to be muffled, the extra movements were out of place for one who practiced every deliberate movement while prowling. 

Focusing on controlling his throbbing pain and insuring his safe return, Kale intentionally ignored his departures from proper practice. 

If the dwarf survived... that would really be something to see. The socky old guy could probably track the bleeding, smoking mercenary by scent alone. _Shut up! Focus. _

Cord had easily fallen into step behind him. The measured beat of the man’s footfalls and the slightest tremble in the ground provided a guidepost for him. He walked normally, however, and did not try to silence his own steps with as much effort as the stranger. His fluid grace had served him well in the past, and Cord allowed his body to flow from corner to corner in silence. 

The occasional scrape and dragging of feet were magnified in Cord's ears. He appreciated the thought, but had little need for the type of help this man seemed willing to offer. He sighed inwardly, accepting the situation and willing to follow for as long as needed to discover what had destroyed the village, and why werewolves infested the streets. 

The stranger stopped momentarily. A short whiff of the evening air pinpointed his location; the tapping on rock confirmed his location. He smiled grimly, rubbed at his still-bleeding arm, and continued following the stranger to whatever safe haven the local temple had to offer. 

* * *

They made it back. 

It was almost to Kale's amazement, but they did make it back. 

It had been agonisingly slow and paranoid progress for Kale, ever fearful that a shadow might contain a werewolf - a lycanthrope might pick up his scent on the wind - that wierd dwarf might draw attention and get them both killed. Amazingly, half the time he had to remind himself the elderly fellow was actually there, for the dwarf walked with quiet step and seemed amazingly alert to a world around him that he couldn't actually be seeing. 

Kale had honed senses but Cord's were even better, and more than once he picked up the very scent of a werewolf lurking nearby, pausing at just the right moments to avoid being sensed, the human could only watch in surprise as, by watching the dwarf's movements, he worked out where such a lycanthrope was hiding nearby. Never had he seen someone both so old and blind demonstrate qualities like this. Despite his earlier apprehensions, the dwarf was more of a boon in making it back than he had expected. 

* * *

Burl was sitting quietly, when the first surge of electricity racing through the room. Voices began to raise, people turned toward the door and others began to move toward it. Burl jumped, half expecting that the werewolves had begun their assault on the temple, but there were smiles sweeping across the faces of those closest to the door.

Slowly the door inched open and the welcome face of Kale slid through. He looked as though he had been to a barbecue and not as a guest, his clothes and body singed. Burl began making his way toward him, when the door again popped open and an odd looking stranger entered. Remembering Wyshira’s experience with the wounded villager, Burl stopped, waiting for some kind of explanation, his relief to see his companion overshadowed by the newcomer, as the two were ushered to Latorath and his greeting.

Within the main chamber of the temple, where the peasants clustered fearfully, the militia watched vigilantly and the mercenaries scattered with their own thoughts, Cord and Kale were brought before Latorath, the armoured Inquisitor nodding respectfully to Kale as Wolf languidly pulled himself away from his viewpoint by a window and strolled over. 

Latorath was of course interested in the details of Kale’s venture - how many werewolves had been slain, and who was this dwarf? The monk introduced himself as "… Cord. A teacher, a student, a traveler. I happened upon this village late last night; a kind peasantman, by the name of Fredrik, took me into his home. I accepted his offer, but awoke to an empty night. Obviously, I missed the call to your temple, Inquisitor."  The dwarf himself was curious as to what had befallen the town, and eagerly questioned those around him to garner more knowledge. What Burl had noticed was certainly true; the return of Kale had brought a certain uplifting to those cowering within the temple. Smiles spread across the faces of many, some very faint but even so they were there at the return of the brave (or perhaps stupid? some thought...) young mercenary. A minor victory, but another victory nonetheless. Militiamen, looking at their now burdgeoning stock of silvered weapons, felt they might stand a chance; the mercenary had gone out there and spat in the eye of the lycanthropes, as it were; he had challenged them, taunted them, and lived to tell the tale.

The elderly dwarf was drawing some attention too, many of the peasants watching the conversation attentively to see what was going on. Some had known of the old travellers arrival last night - they muttered quietly to their friends and family - there was that old dwarf, the Grumandic nomad, possessed of wisdom, they said. 

Some mutterings were darker - could they trust him? His arrival had, after all, coincided with that of the werewolves. Yet Evant the Solar Templar, and the Inquisitor too, would surely have noticed any taint upon the fellow the moment he entered the temple, would they not? Surely then, he could not be in league with the lycanthropes? Yet, uncertain of anything any more after recent events, the commoners were wary. 

Latorath nodded respectfully to Kale as the debriefing ended and he prepared to dismiss the two. "Well done, well done indeed. Certainly this should come as a setback for our canine foes out there... and you've brought yourself back to us in one piece. Well, more or less one piece anyway. Hold still." 

The Inquisitor held up the holy symbol, the golden emblem of a blazing sun, that hung round his neck, and chantd quietly in prayer to the Sun Lord, one hand outstretched to a few inches from Kale's chest. Golden energy glimmered at his fingertips and gently wafted out to Kale, where he felt a surge of positive energy that knitted wounds back together and salved much of the pain he felt from the fall in the barn. Whole once again, Kale felt right back in full fighting condition, pulsing with the holy energy of Solanthar.

The Inquisitor’s questions finished at last, the mercenary returned to the others of his band, eagerly trading tales of the decoy run and the expedition to the smithy. There were many hours yet before sundown, and the time when the werewolf attack was estimated to happen, but already the tension was tangible in the air. Kale happily took the silvered arrows that the smithy run had procured for him, bantering with the others to ease some of the tension he felt. One comment he made, about the divine healing he had received, gave him a sudden thought. He looked to Wyshira, worried that he grouped 'god-folk' a little too broadly. "Solanthar and Ishrak... get along, don't they? I mean, you guys don't do more than bicker about the weather, right?"\ Kale asked, looking around to the body of believers around him... thinking it would be great fun if a storm heralded their survival to the next sunrise. Sadly, Wyshira likely wasn't powerful enough yet to make that dream a reality... 

“You really ARE all right, aren't you?" Wyshira peered skeptically at Kale. "I mean, did he do enough to heal you just now?" She indicated with a slight tilt of her head the Inquisitor of Solanthar. "It looked so..... bright; the spell he cast, I mean. Do you want some cool water?" She found herself babbling on for a bit, as she pondered Kale's question about Solanthar and Ishrak. 

She remembered quite clearly the shock she had felt as a little girl when she came to the realization that her goddess wasn't alone in the pantheon. _Other people, in other places, worship other gods? Sacrilege!_ Then as she'd gotten older, she'd found that many of those foreign gods weren't so bad. Some of course were truly at odds with Ishrak, and Wyshira would name their priests as her enemies. But most were innocuous and well-meaning; while she didn't necessarily see them as a force for good, she also had come to admit over time that they had their place in the scheme of things, especially Lliras, the goddess of healing. 

So then, did Ishrak and Solanthar get along? Wyshira wondered what a meeting of the two deities would be like. They seemed to be opposites in many respects. The sun: bright, burning rays; constant; unreachable. The sea: cool, dark waves; capricious; encompassing. 

She wanted to ask Kale, _What was it like, his healing touch?_ But the question was too much like, _Who do you like better, him or me?_ and so she didn't ask. Suddenly her feelings about Solanthar were all mixed up with her feelings of acceptance and competency. She wasn't sure she could separate them properly just now, and so she simply said, "I like the sunshine as much as anyone, and so does Ishrak, I'm sure. Well, maybe not quite as much..." she added with a glance at the pale, scaly skin of her arms peeking out from the sleeves of her robes. 

Perhaps it was time to change the subject. She turned to the necromancer resting beside her. "Burl, tell him about the trip to the smithy." Before Burl could begin the tale, Wyshira jumped in again. "He was great, Kale. He saved me from one of those vile creatures out there in the street. And I think he was ready to fight Wolf all by himself when we saw the flames in the distance and wanted to go out looking for you. Go on Burl, tell him!"

* * *

And so they talked for a while, letting time drift past as they relished safety for what short period they would have it. Talking about his argument with Wolf, Burl spoke frankly; “I didn’t understand the reasoning behind us bringing the weapons back. I thought they were to be used to drive the creatures out of the village, not to be used for defense only. I believed the time was right and Wolf, being more knowledgeable, didn’t. End of subject.”  Kale listened to this with interest. Willingness to follow the group's expertise, this was an important step in building a team. As unlikely as it may seem, the four of them could make an effective mercenary crew. Of course, that meant eventually trusting Burl in the affairs of magic and such... at least they had an experienced leader, anyway. 

Of course, much interest was directed towards Cord, the newcomer, who had positioned to sit himself with the mercenaries. He had offered his aid in fighting the lycanthropes when they came, and they could not help but notice his grace and skill despite the apparent disability of being blind. Some friendly introductions were made, and before long the band were comfortable with the monk’s presence, Wyshira healing him and the others incorporating him into their tactical discussions.

“Grab yourself a silver dagger and cover aflank the spearmen. The beasts are likely to get close, and when it happens we need as much flashing silver as we can muster. If you want to provide close guard for the casters, all the better." Kale concluded. Latorath, the most powerful caster, would take care of himself. The only other casters, then, were Burl and Wyshira, for whom the young mercenary certainly wouldn't mind the extra protection. 

That did leave one other caster, Kale rememebered. Thinking back to Wolf and Evant's escapade, he thought it wierd, as the elder mercenary called upon divine powers. But no surprise, it would seem, as Wolf was always full of the unexpected. 

Suddenly, Kale was left with a desire to reconnect with the man. They had often fought together, and now with so many more companions and allies, things seemed to change so quickly. Yet, Kale future seemed sure to be as rich as Wolf's unknown past- 'the way it used to be' never was. Kale just didn't know anything about himself, about the world, or about his mentor. 

The mercenary's eyes drew over the crowded masses in the temple, yearning a bit for simpler times. Eyes settling on Wolf, things seemed a bit different. Different, and more difficult, perhaps. The gods only knew where paths could lead him, but sitting there, among his companions, recovering from a victorious battle with a vile foe... it felt gooood. 

"I am assuming you are not expecting a siege from these creatures," Cord replied, addressing Kale. "The strategy appears sound, and I have handled a dagger a few times in my life. I believe I can provide some safety for spellcasters, if the werewolves grant me the chance to reveal a trick or two hidden within my sleeves."  Cord reached out and patted a hand near his side, though he was not entirely sure to whom it belonged. The three sitting near him were rather close and only their voices and faintest of mingling scents separated them. In reality, it did not matter. The brief contact revealed his true feelings for the small company, whether a congratulations for the bravery of Burl, gratitude for the healing arts of Wyshira, or agreement and kinship with Kale. 

The time was coming when they would have to fight, but if anything, the mercenaries were eager to see how well they could fight together. 

Perhaps if they had known the full horrors the night had yet to bring, they might have been more apprehensive.


----------



## Carnifex

The day drew to a close, and the sun slipped finally below the horizon. It took with it the final glow of ruddy light, and pure darkness began to loom over the countryside and dominate the landscape. 

* * *

Militia patrolled round the building, lighting torches within the main chamber and in the back rooms to keep a zone of flickering light flooding the area round the temple. Beyond its perimeter, pitch black clouded vision, and nervous men fingered their crossbow triggers uneasily as they stared into the void all around them. 

* * *

Latorath stood by the altar at the far end of the main chamber, looking down over the mass of huddled peasants and fearful militiamen gathered together before him; Evant stood quietly off to one side, apparently studying with great intensity an old stained glass image of Solanthar on one of the temple windows. 

"My people, night has fallen upon us, but Solanthar shall ensure that light rises over the horizon once again and when it does we shall have expunged these atrocities that stalk the streets. We believe that soon they shall attack, using cover of darkness to their advantage, but the torches should negate their nightsight and put us on equal terms."

"We have many silver weapons now; every able-bodied man, grab a spear or dagger; soldiers, do not fear to use as many silvered bolts as you wish, for we have plenty. Spare no effort to slay the vile things out there, in the name of the Sun Lord's terrible wrath - kill them all." 

"Villagers, people of this hamlet, stay back and out of harms reach and we shall ensure that no fell werewolf breaches the perimeter to strike at you. Soldiers, take up your preordained positions, raise the alarm at any sign of the foe and fire at will on them." 

Latorath began to hand out more specific orders; procedures for getting the wounded to the care of the village priest, how militia were to react to attacks, and of course what the mercenaries were to do. "Please, brave warriors, put yourselves wherever you feel your talents are most needed at the time." 

Burl looked over his weapons, knowing that his staff was useless, he grabbed up one of the silvered daggers and six of the specially tipped crossbow bolts. Mentally he went over the spells that he had prepared; several would work best when the beasts first attacked, the remainder could be used at anytime. Kale equipped himself with bow and arrows, positioning to rain missiles upon the enemy when they came, a spear too so that when they closed he might still be able to fend them off.

* * *

Howls began to echo round the deserted village.

First one rose up to the sky above, then another, then yet more, until a chorus of gods-only-knew-how-many were serenading the clouds with their tortured screams. They came from all around, disorientating and disconcerting, as the pack closed in on the beacon of light that was the temple. 

Militiamen gripped their crossbows and spears in tightness born of fear; small children within the mass of villagers seated on the pews began to whimper in terror. Latorath, stoic faced, positioned himself near the main door, while Evant took up position beside him. 

"Here they come," the Solar Templar said quietly. 

All around, the sound of rapidly approaching feet, padding at high speed over dirt, became audible, though as yet the oncoming foe were invisible within the cloak of night. As the noises came closer, Wyshira smiled grimly and began her prayers to Ishrak

Cord had remained calm and attentive as the afternoon waned, and it was not until the inhuman howls pierced his mind that he added his own fears to that already collected within the walls. 
A dagger appeared in his hand as the able-bodied prepared for the onslaught. Rattling spears, stomping feet, and nervous sweat suddenly filled the air. He had been listening to a young girl ask incessant questions of her mother earlier, and now she was lost in the clamor of voices. Cord hoped she would survive the night. 

_Grumand, I pray that I survive this night. Please, give me the strength to face and defeat these abominations._ Cord felt the presence of his god in his prayer as he sighed deeply and stood. 

"But with these masses," he overheard Kale saying to Wyshira, "the blessings of the Storm Lady may well be the best thing you can bring." Cord nodded in agreement. Feeling the presence of a god was one thing; feeling their suffusing power was quite another. The clerics of Grumand at the monastery had once or twice given him a glimpse of the true blessing of Grumand before select training sessions. The effect had not gone unnoticed. He wondered, briefly, whether a blessing by the storm goddess would be in any way similar. Calming his nerves and steadying his hands even as the howling and padding of feet grew louder, Cord smiled and awaited Ishrak's blessing. 

"If you two do not mind," he said after Kale left, "I will do my utmost best to protect you if a werewolf prowls near. If one approaches I may be able to stun it temporarily, giving us the chance to attack without fear of reaction for a brief time." 

Cord breathed deeply, extending an arm to brush against the robes of Wyshira, both for reassurance and to sense her location. It would be a short battle but a long, long night. 
"I am ready," he said.


----------



## Carnifex

Shadows seemed to shift in the darkness, the few feet beyond the radius of light that spilled out of the temple, and the militia crowded round the windows and door with weapons readied as spellcasters began their work. Burl quickly spoke the hex to throw up the faint glimmer of blue that signified a _mage armour_ spell at work, while with the scent of lingering storm, Wyshira called up the blessing of Ishrak to send out a pulse of power that surged into all those around her, buoying them up with divine energy. At the front, near the doors, Latorath wove a complex array of protective prayers around himself and those nearby, gleaming white energy streaming from his hands. 

They waited with baited breath for the foe to show themselves. Wolf was poised in the shadows near the door, a silvered shortspear glinting in the light as he held himself ready for action. Latorath stood ready with a spell held in his very hands; the globe of shimmering white light, a spell contained as he readied himself, illuminated the area around him. Evant stood calmly nearby, gripping his blade tightly in his gauntlets. 

Kale too was near the door, by one of the large windows with a group of militia crossbowmen. A little further back, Burl, Wyshira and Cord were ready with spells, javelins and daggers, prepared to pitch in wherever their power was needed. 

For a few moments, it all seemed to lull into nervous silence, seconds dragging on as the scene seemed frozen in time. The many long, dark shadows in the temple, cast by the fitful torches, gave the impression that the night outside was trying to force its way in. 

Then the werewolves charged from the darkness. 

* * *

"Open fire! Open fire!" 

All hell broke loose. Men were firing bolts into the oncoming, shadowy mass of werewolves - _so many of them, how many?_ - and shouts raised up from around the building. From the rear rooms came yells of "They're coming round the back too, _fire_!" as lycanthropes attacked from all sides. With the zip of bolts arcing into the mass of foe - _still coming, a dark, shadowy mass, dozens, dozens strong of leprous, fetid, scrawny beasts -_the militia tried to hold their morale - _fangs and teeth flashing in the rush of werewolves, not this many, surely not? _

Here, there, lycanthropes dropped in the rush, bolts protruding from eyes or throats, but many more were merely injured, or kept coming. The fact that the defenders were armed with weapons that could harm them didn't seem much of a shock, as if they were too deep within the beast, too rabid and raging, to even care or perhaps even notice. Many more kept coming.

They leapt over the low hedge around the temple under the fusillade of bolts, closing still. Kale had time to fire one, two, three arrows into the rush, finding their mark here and there, but not a single foe dropped to his shots. Still closer, and then they were at the temple - _still more pouring from the shadows, a tidal wave of horror itself, dozens skittering out of the dark _- and leaping through windows, throwing themselves on militiamen in berserk fury, and a mass smashed into the door. 

The wooden door was not designed for resisting assault, and splintered easily under the force of the attack before shattering completely and letting the tidal wave of dark beasts pour in. The main brunt of the attacking force was coming through here, and it recoiled at the force it was met with. 

With arcane gestures and words that illuminated Burl in dark, shadowy power, crackling over his clothes and gathering shadows sinisterly around him, Burl cast his incantation, hands thrusting out towards the door. Nearby militiamen, simple people for the most part awed even by the minor magics of a village priest, watched in awe as the first rank of werewolves through the dorr panicked as magic flowed round them, their minds filled with consuming fear and then turning tail and pushing away through their companions ranks to lope off into the night. More came still, and Latorath unleashed his power, a bolt of pure white light arcing into the mass and cutting through wolf-flesh like a hot knife through butter, filling the air with the reek of burning fur and meat. At point blank range, Kale and the crossbowmen unleashed a storm of bolts and arrows into the now faltering mass, which milled in a mix of terror and panic as its components were cut down like chaff. 

Some werewolves had made it into the temple itself, leaving a trail of dead around the windows as they tore their way in. Most were cut down by the militiamen, kept back with a wall of spears then brutally slain, but some evaded them and danced a waltz of carnage amidst the humans, claws and fangs catching fearful and fleeing militiamen. Two made it to the spellcasters; Wyshira's javelin caught one in the throat in a lucky throw, the other was blocked in its path by Cord. It snarled at the elderly dwarf, thinking this irritating creature and easy kill, but then the monk's hand shot out and hit an artery, cutting off the blood supply to the lycanthropes brain and leaving it shuddering in agony. The dagger made quick work of it after that. 
Wolf and Evant pitched into the mass of werewolves, weapons killing many of the dazed and confused beasts, their impetus lost and their rage drained by the wholesale slaughter of their kin. They broke and fled into the night. 

* * *

Many were dead or dying, the werewolves who had assaulted the windows having taken a terrible toll, but the bulk of the lycanthrope force had come at the main door and their ravages been limited. Militiamen began to look at each other in faint disbelief, some began to smile, the faintest beginnings of a cheer rumbling as they realised the werewolves had been repelled and they were still alive. 

They were silenced by Latorath, the gleaming warrior having taken a few steps over the blood-slicked porch of the temple to peer out into the darkness of the night. 

There was more movement out there. 

* * *

The Inquisitor just had time to whirl round and yell, "The master's here!", a look of horror on his face, before the gloom was illuminated by a crack of thunder and a bolt of coruscating electricity smashed him off his feet, hurling him into the temple to land with a metallic clank in a limp heap. The smell of burning flesh on the air was joined by the stench of ozone. 

One of the militiamen looked out into the darkness. "Oh %&*^," he said in quiet fear. 

_To Be Continued..._


----------



## Carnifex

In the next installment, look out for a Piratecat-inspired tactic! Not that you'll be able to miss it... *evil grin*


----------



## Broccli_Head

I remember this episode! It's fun to read it again. Lots of intense action and great fight scenes. I really enjoy how the players use their characters' abilities effectively and take risks...truly heroic.


----------



## Carnifex

Ack! I have of course managed to get completely distracted and have yet to post up the finale of the battle - but I'll do it soon!

Promise!


----------



## Carnifex

*And here it is, the finale of the long, bitter struggle against the werewolf coven...*

Stalking out of the darkness were more werewolves, but they weren't coming in some disorderly rush, but in calm, calculating approach. Although in wolfman form, many clutched weapons of all types. The one thing they all had in common was that, strapped to their chests, were diminuitive figures that whimpered and wriggled and screamed. 

Human babies. Some of the commoners within began to identify them as the children of now-dead peasants, their voices hushed in horror. 

In the midst of the new wave, a man walked, the man who had struck down Latorath with lightning. Clad in black, standing out as the sole figure not in wolf-form, arcane energy crackled around the figure as he strode confidently along in the midst of his underlings. 

For Cord, the sickening feeling that had pervaded the place had been incredibly string during the first assault of the werewolves, but now it was nearly overwhelming; the earth itself could feel not just arcane energy, but corrupt divine energy, exuding from the man.

The militia held back from opening fire, unwilling to shoot for fear of hitting the babies, uncertain as to what they should do as the band of werewolves strode closer. The mercenaries reacted in a confused manner too. Kale leveled his bow, aiming for the throat of one of the monstrosities, confident his skill with the bow would see him stike true. Burl on the other hand exhorted the militia to fight on using all means at hand. “Those babies are as good as dead either way. If we don’t turn the creatures back, they will kill all of us that are still alive and then how will we save them? Fire now to save those in the back of the temple who are still alive and have a future! Kale, Wyshira, if ever there was a time for the vials of fire, we need to use them!" The necromancer grabbed two of the jars of alchemist's fire, but found his hand stayed by the elderly dwarf by his side. "Do not say such things," Cord said, still facing the direction of the approaching figure but clenching Burl's arm tightly with concealed strength. "And do not take a single step that you are not prepared to withdraw. Children have a knack for surviving, young wizard. Tread lightly when you claim to have no other option but to kill a young child."

Meanwhile Wyshira had run to the crumpled form of Latorath the moment his body had hit the ground, still crackling with electrical energy. She couldn't imagine what had happened; what was the source of such a terrible stroke? But she didn't look to see what was coming; she only hurried over to kneel beside the Inquisitor's crumpled form, hoping - no praying - she would see the rise and fall of his chest, proof that he still lived.

Wyshira found herself at Latorath's side with the few quick strides it took to bring her to the crumpled heap. Kneeling down on the blood-slicked floor of the temple-cum-charnel house, she saw the armoured man still concious, barely, holding on to the real world with barely a thread. Clearly he was in agony, but when she moved to cast magic upon him, he warded off her hand with a gauntlet, then grasping it tightly. 

When he spoke it was weak, but determined. "Save your magic, Ishrakite, to fight the Master. It is out there, now; it is the heart of all this carnage. I can look after myself." 

The band of werewolves continued to approach, these bigger, less scabrous specimens stalking with grace and an evil yet intelligent glint to their eyes. The dark man kept an impassive face as they closed on the temple. 

The men were afraid, uncertain, even despite Kale's words of exhortation. All were thankful when Cord restrained Burl from firebombing the oncoming coven, but many felt the same as the necromancer; they simply could not bring themselves to take the actions that the wizard proposed. Uneasiness reigned supreme, as commoners began to wail and whimper in fear, grown men shuddered at the nightmare before them, and the darkness seemed to grow thicker.

Evant stood by Burl. "The dwarf is right; we cannot just burn the children." Yet in the paladin's usually steadfast and confident voice was the wavering note of doubt, uncertainty, not knowing what to do or how to react to this grotesque situation they were faced with. Nearby, Wolf growled in a manner more akin to his namesake than those abominations out there could ever hope to be, wrenching his shortspear from the ribcage of a fallen wolfman and staring out at the oncoming foe.

And Kale fired, with time for a few shots. The militia dared not; they lacked his skill with the bow, his ability to place a precise shot into even confused melee without fear of striking a friend; if they barraged the beasts with bolts, then surely the babies would die. But Kale was skilled enough he could place his shots accurately. The first shot lanced out, catching a werewolf in the shoulder, silvered head biting deep. It howled in pain but the strike was not enough to drop the fell beast; the greater effect of the shot was to make the entire pack suddenly realise they weren't as safe as they thought they were, and they began to lope forwards at speed, ahead of the man in black. Kale's second shot hit the same werewolf, yet still the thing kept on coming, reaching up with a grimace on its feral features to snap each of the arrow shafts off. 

The man in black, striding slowly along at the back, shook his head as if in mocking sadness. "Fools." His voice was smooth, languid, reverberating with darkness. Pausing for a moment to scan the temple more closely, he saw Kale, the sniper haranguing his troops. 

He raised his hand, a wand glinting there of crystalline blue, and with a muttered word sent another arc of lighting stabbing out at the man.


----------



## Carnifex

The blast slammed towards Kale, angled slightly upwards; but Kale was not encumbered by full plate, and was agile and dextrous enough to hurl himself out of the way. The militiaman behind him was not so lucky and died screaming as his clothes ignited. 

"Attack," the master said in an almost bored tone, and the werewolves charged towards the temple, these one bigger and stronger than the last wave, reaching for the straps that tied the children to them; the babies had protected them from missile fire, and would get them into melee, but once there a squealing infant would merely weigh them down in close quarters fighting. 

_DM Note: One thing I made sure to do at this point in the game, seeing the argument breaking out about how to fight the werewolves - whether it was worth sacrificing the lives of the children in order to defeat the foe - was to say that the words I put in the mouthes of NPC's are not *my* personal opinions in what they should do or plan in any situation, they are just what the NPC thinks. I am impartial. I also reminded them that inter-character conflict is just between the characters and *not* the players. I felt it necessary to do this because of such a tender subject as this situation had brought up - the barbaricism of the werewolves - , and I'm pleased to say that my players proved to be mature and excellent roleplayers indeed._

Cord readied himself for the onslaught, releasing Burl's hand gently. The single word of _Attack_ dripped with tangible malice and he instinctively knew that this second wave would test their reserves. Dropping smoothly into his defensive stance, Cord prepared himself for the first of the werewolves. 

He filtered out the distracting cries of babies as he felt the floor rumble with the creatures' approach. The so-called _Master_ was their true foe, Cord knew, yet he had no chance to fight the man alone. "Aim for the leader," Cord said to Burl, "and I will guard you. Use your vials of fire or your magic, but do not toss either blindly. He must be our target. Together, and with help, we may be able to end this." 

Burl was still angry that Cord had stopped him from throwing the firebombs; they were probably the best weapons available to them, but they could only be used when the wolfmen were outside the temple. Now that chance was rapidly disappearing, and the necromancer instead agreed to focus his attacks on the master.

W_hat does he mean? The Master is the werewolf leader most likely, but what sort of power does the creature wield?_ Thoughts were racing through Wyshira's mind as the Inquisitor pushed her healing hands away, and a new wave of assault prepared to break upon the beleagered Temple. 

"What can I do?" she whispered softly, unaware almost that she spoke aloud. She still felt woefully unprepared to meet such evil. She stood slowly and walked nearer to the door, peering out over the shoulders of the militia men into the darkness outside as she did so. She could not yet glimpse the Master, although she was beginning to feel the unholy dread of his approach. 

The wailing of babies drew her attention to the lead werewolves, and tears started in her eyes as she finally realized what it was that held back the archers from firing; none dared shoot for fear of taking an innocent life, except for Kale whose aim and skill were greater. The first attack had seemed mindless, but this new assault was cold and calculating. Again she wondered about the power of the Master.

While many of those inside were uncertain of what to do, it seemed that Burl was not; he suddenly rushed past the priestess and sent two vials of alchemist's fire hurtling into the midst of the werewolves. Wyshira wished that she could be as certain as he was of what course of action to take. A thought began to take shape in her mind however. 

"Latorath was right." She said the words out loud, but it was not clear to whom she spoke; Burl had returned to stand next to her again, and the blind dwarf Cord was also near. "We have to focus on the Master. Can we reach him? Distract him?" Without waiting for a response from either of her companions, Wyshira began to look for a way to get outside without drawing too much attention. 

Cord nodded. "Yes, I believe we might. I can approach from one side, and possibly you from the other, with Burl relying on his magic. Shall we try?" 

Stepping into the night air, Cord inhaled the faintest scent of dew, almost indiscernible among the overwhelming smell of carnage and death. The man wielding evil like a weapon drew Cord nearer like a lodestone to iron. His senses reeled from the emanating corruption, but he forced himself to continue, dodging the attacking army of werewolves when he could. He approached cautiously, grasping the silver dagger in one hand. 

_Grumand,_ he prayed, _May my perceived weakness grant me the advantage._ Cord was nearly upon him. 

Burl couldn’t believe what he was seeing and hearing. First he had wanted to go out after the werewolves and look for Kale, but was told that it would get them all killed, yet here was Cord planning on charging out into the midst of the creatures to try to attack the master. He just couldn’t understand the difference between what he had suggested and what the others were saying or doing. Shaking it off, Burl, if he was to die here, would do so trying to protect his friends and the assembled villagers, he only hoped that Wyshira wouldn’t follow the dwarf out of the temple.


----------



## Carnifex

The werewolves continued their advance, as behind them the Master slipped the wand into his robes and began to mutter a divine hex, arms gesticulating as dark, deific power gathered around him, tangible in the night air which was saturated with the smell of blood. Wyshria could easily identify the paths of energy which the magic was taking as a spell of _doom_, though powered from some divine source which she had never come across. 

With a final word the Master lowered the hex over Kale, the archer firing so accurately into his troops, and the mercenary felt sick to the pit of his stomach as the _doom_ took effect on him. 

The coven werewolves closed the final space towards the militia and the temple, claws slitting straps that held the babies to them and dropping the infants carelessly to the ground with a series of bumps. They tore over the last few feet, leaping nimbly through windows and doors to engage their foes, and carnage erupted as they attacked with claw and fang. Unlike the rabble of lesser werewolves that had made up the first wave, these beasts were agile, graceful, at one with the insane speed their vile nature had given them and skilled in unarmed combat as they began to scythe through the humans before them. 

Behind the front line of the militia, Latorath propped himself up against the altar, agonisingly slowly as pain lanced through his body. A quick prayer to the sun granted him some respite, healing energy suffusing his body with light and sealing some of the damage done by the lightning bolt, and he stiffly picked himself up off the floor. 

The battle hit a crucial turning point as the militia suffered disastrously at the hands of the lycanthropes. Many still with crossbow in hand, they fired on the werewolves as they closed the last few steps, but as the bolts tore in, the true implications of these coven werewolves sunk in. About half of the bolts were plucked out the air, caught in claw or between palms and diverted harmlessly to one side. The few that found their targets bit into flesh and bone but it was not enough to fell even a single of the beasts; the warriors quickly began to reach for melee weapons. Spears were thrust at the monsters by those that already had them in hand, but again the insane dexterity of the foe came into play as they avoided most of the strikes. Finally, one fell, transfixed by a hunting spear. The blacksmith, hefting the huge silvered axe, threw himself into the melee, but the ponderous man found the werewolves too fast for him to place a strike upon them. 

Kale had dispatched two men to circle out behind the werewolves, their purpose to bring the discarded babies to safety. They hurried round behind the melee to where the werewolves had deposited the infants, quickly gathering up as many as they could. 

Wyshria found that from her position behind the front line, the Master had moved close enough now for her magics to work, and with a chant to Ishrak she managed to conjure up a striking eagle in the air near her target, its feathers all burnished gold and metallic blue as it swooped down towards the man. It swept down towards him, its attack suffused with divine energy as it smote the evil being, claws raking across his flesh as he irritably tried to bat it away. Nearby, Evant pitched into the battle taking place between man and beast, channeling the last of his divine energy into a short beam of fire than caught one of the foe. With a flash of light it ignited and immolated, leaving nothing but a charred heap. 

Burl heaved his firebomb at the master, but it went wide and splashed in furious flame on a patch of ground nearby. Wolf charged a nearby lycanthrope that was in a position to perhaps threaten the spellcasters, but it dodged the stabs he was making with the silvered shortspear with ease. 

Cord slipped past the raging melee with ease, approaching the Master outside the building. The man looked at him with emotionless cold, before modifying his tactics to take account of this other foe coming for him as well as the eagle that the Ishrakite had summoned up. The dwarf thrust out with his dagger but his opponent easily dodged the attack. Meanwhile, Kale found himself just behind the main melee, the chaos threatening to erupt onto him at any moment if the spear-line faltered. It was horrific and confusing, watching men fall like chaff before the furious beasts, and with the weight of the hex lying heavy upon him he found it hard to concentrate and auim. The shot he fired off at one of the lycanthropes missed widely, and all he could feel was the hopelessness pressing down upon him. 

In Kale's mind, it was already over. The wolves had engaged at close range, leaving the manacing dark man to reign over the cold temple. Latorath down, his men struggling to slow their deaths... 

Kale's shoulders slumped, his shot passing far wide of his invincible target. Resting his cheek on the cool plaster of the window arch, he hoped it would all be over soon. 

The desperate men, his meager abilities- it was only a matter of time until destruction. Kale sighed and took in the carnage, an idle look as position was set to be overrun. 

At the corner of his eye, he saw a wolf near the area where two men collected the castoff babies. On instinct, the despondant mercenary drew and shot, not so much to seek to eliminate his enemy, but just to react in a way that was so familiar. _Maybe we'll all die quickly..._ There was no chance for survival, but at least he could fight a bit to pass the time. 

Burl, after heaving his firebomb, moved so that he could help where needed. Through the wide temple doors he could see Cord attacking the Master but he wasn’t having much success, but the large eagle that Wyshira conjured seemed to have some effect. These werewolves seemed much bigger, stronger and more agile than the first wave. The Master must have saved his best for this next attack, the first only serving to test the defenses. 

The strange man, enveloped in a darkness deeper than ordinary shadow, towered over Cord. He had dodged the first attack with ease and most likely thought the old dwarf at his side to be inconsequential. 

_Let him think so for one moment longer,_ Cord thought as he readied another strike. 
A bird had appeared near the man's head, but Cord did not sense an emanating evil. Instead, it was a brilliant pinpoint of pure beauty, nearly overwhelmed by the surrounding malevolence but refusing to surrender. He could not see what others saw, but he heard the beating of wings, the shriek as it dove for the enemy, and above all he sensed the feeling of rightness, a welcome respite from the gnawing evil of the past months. Clenching his fist, Cord timed his attack with the next dive of the raptor.

The master of the dark coven still seemed unworried by the presence of two assailants, calmly watching their approaches and attacks with cold and dispassionate gaze. His attention flicked back to the main melee and then he looked back once again. 

"You are no obstacle. No obstacle at all." 

His flesh twisted and wrenched as he changed shape, taking the form of a hulking, black-furred hybrid. Heavily muscled, sporting long talons on each hand and glossy-coated, the glowing white eyes of the monstrosity focused on the shining form of Evant cleaving his way into the batle, and those claws, surely too cumbersome for spellcasting, came up. Muttered words coagulated in the air around the fiendish talons which clicked and clacked together as arcane energy gathered round them, and then a bolt of washed out color, muted gray, lanced out to touch the templar. With a groan, Evant found his own armour too heavy for him to stand up in, the weight of the world pressing down on him, and he tottered another step before collapsing to the ground.

Taloned arms dropping back down to its side, the werewolf began to move towards the melee itself, brushing the two who would attack it aside with insulting ease.


----------



## Carnifex

The air around the front of the temple was thick with bloody scent, gore dashed over walls and floor as the lycanthropes continued to tear their way through the militia, decimating them further with every moment. Here, claws disembowelled a man; there, a warrior had his throat torn out by vicious jaws. Tossing aside the carcasses of slain men like ragdolls, the beasts continued to advance, shattering the spear-line easily; Kale found himself in danger as one bore down on him, feral eyes glinting intelligently as it raised its claws to attack.

Latorath, now standing once again, held out his holy symbol before him and chanted loudly and with greater vigor, golden energy suffusing the emblem. With a gasp one of the lycanthropes was suddenly locked still, its muscles paralyzed by divine power. Around it the few remaining militiamen savagely struck it down with spears, reducing it to a bloody carcass, as others tried to fend off the ravening monsters around them; finally, another of the beasts fell, already pierced by a half-dozen bolts and now impaled on a spear. 

Wyshira moved to assault the master, advancing from the confusion around the temple to block its path to the melee. The beast loomed over her, but she struck true, the mace smashing in with astounding speed and the silvered head causing the master to roar in pain. The crack that had accompanied the strike made her think that perhaps she had hit bone and shattered it; whatever she had done, though, she had certainly succeeded in getting its attention. Glowing white eyes locked onto the figure before it. Her eagle circled its head, trying to gouge at the werewolf's eyes but with no discernible effect; the master just ignored it. Then from behind, Burl let loose with his own magic, a dark beam of energy pulsing out, but the beast smoothly and gracefully dodged the attack and the magic dissipated away without effect. 

_DM Note:_ A crit for max damage  That *really* hurt.

Within the melee of the temple, Wolf continued to stab at a lycanthrope trying to force its way towards Burl and take the spellcaster out; this time he struck true, the spear burying itself in the beasts side and forcing it to deal with the veteran ranger first. Nearby, Kale found himself forced to resort to his spear to fend off the beast lunging for him, but it avoided his half-hearted stabs and closed in. 

Outside, Cord chased after the master, knowing he would need to resort to the dagger he had been given in order to deal with this threat. Yet it easily slapped away his attempts to stab it, looking at the dwarf as merely a nuisance so far. 

_What was she doing out there?_ Burl had seen the Master’s transformation and had been awestruck, never having seen such a creature. But then Wyshira had charged, giving no thought to her safety. She had done what no one had done so far, drawing blood and seemingly damaging him. He had missed with his incantation, probably the sight of Wyshira had distracted him.

Looking around him, death was overtaking many of the militiamen. Evant was on the ground, Burl having no idea what had struck him down. Wolf was doing his best to keep the werewolves from his position, but he was sure that they would begin to get past him. Latorath, back on his feet was able to hold his own, destroying one of the beasts.

Hoping to give Wyshira some help, he called upon his most powerful remaining magic, directing it at the Master, hoping that it would hit. 

As far as Kale was concerned, there was very little point to resistance. Even though he knew he was under the influence of magic, he couldn't get over his certainty that all was in vain. A huge wolf closed to range, despite the mercenary's effort to keep him at bay. _So if I can't win a fight for survival, I might as well enjoy myself and make it a game,_ Kale thought cynicaly, his reflexes slowed by a marked lack of interest at the outcome. 

As an aside, Kale regarded the scuffle around the Master, Wyshira closing for a devastating blow to the man's side. Fire rose in his heart, though the priestess' brave bid could not quite overcome the power of the hex besetting the young mercenary. 

Dropping his spear, the Kale made for a blade lying next to a fallen militiaman. As he lifted the weapon he saw that the hilt was bloodied and the blade was clean: the man had died with nothing to show for his pain.  Shrugging, Kale simply lifted the blade, balanced with his Brine Blade in his left hand, and confronted the slavering with a hollow disinterest. With a quick strike, he probed the speedy wolf's defences. 

_What am I doing here?_ Wyshira asked herself, as she looked into the glowing eyes of the dark Man-wolf that were now focused upon her. She had felt such hatred of this abomination - which only intensified when, in one heart-stopping moment, it changed its shape to hybrid form - that she had rushed out of the Temple nearly mad to try to do it harm. Even as she ran, she was aware of the carnage behind her, and part of her wept for the lives lost; the injury and death that were beyond her healing. Now that her rage had been vented in a devastating blow, and she had earned the attention of the Master, she felt out of her element, and alone. _Now he'll kill me for certain..._ was her only thought. 
But she wasn't alone. There was Burl with his magic. And the newcomer, Cord, who seemed even more out of place than she did, with his milky, sightless eyes and unarmored body. Bolstered by their presence, Wyshira glared defiantly back into the Master's soulless eyes and struck again.

The master lunged at her, savagely tearing at her with insane ferocity as its teeth found her flesh and rent her badly. A torrent of blood gushed out from the injury, the young priestes staggering after the attack, and the looming werebeast prepared to finish her off. Nearby, the coven werewolves continued to tear through the few remaining militia, scattering more corpses round the front and within the temple. Kale, even in his apathetic state, managed to fend off the beast attacking him, while Wolf easily evaded his opponents lunges. Latorath let the last wisps of the holy magic drift away from him, then strode back towards the melee determinedly, pitching in to aid the militiamen. The hefty bladed gauntlets flickered and flashed silver in the fitful torchlight, and one of the wolfmen fell, disembowelled and then decapitated. The few men still surviving the onslaught took some heart at this, and another of the fell beasts went down under the silvered spears. 

Wyshira, so terribly injured by the master looming over her, tried to strike out again; but the weakness caused by her injury meant the mace was easily batted aside. Freezing magic coalesced around Burl's hands and then he hurled his _ice knife_ at the hulking monstrosity, making it hiss in pain as the misile buried itself into the torso of the werewolf, freezing flesh and bloodaround it; yet still it was not down.

Within the main battle, Wolf roared an angry battle-cry and thrust his spear straight into the neck of the werewolf attempting to approach Burl, spraying both men in a great gout of dark blood and killing the monster instantly. The ranger wrenched the weapon out again and moved closer to Burl, watching to make sure he could intercept any other lycanthropes attempting to attack the spellcaster. Kale quickly reached out, grabbing the weapon on the ground, but the werewolf he faced took advantage and savagely tore at him as he tried to fend it off; his strike with the silvered blade was wild, but a wild swing with the brine blade found its thoat more by chance than anything else, cutting a red line across it and drenching Kale as its lifeblood fountained out over him. The monster sagged and slumped, acid eating into its neck. 

Cord stabbed out, dagger finding the flesh of the master werewolf and biting in. It staggered, severely wounded now and bleeding from many injuries, yet still did not fall, hissing and gurgling darkly. 

The battle certainly seemed to be turning. Only a few werewolves were still standing, but faced not even a dozen militiamen. Blood slicked the floor and walls of the temple, a gruesome mural. The master werewolf was injured badly, seemingly confused now and trying to retreat, while the defenders leader had pitched back into the battle with renewed vigour. The coven could sense it; they were still losing this conflict. Slight fear and panic began to run through their ranks, the coven warriors attempting to disengage with their foes. With a gleam of bright light, the summoned eagle hovering over the master disappeared; at the same time, Kale felt the dark influence of the masters divine prayers lift from over him, the dooming hex dissipating.

The master werewolf snarled and lunged at Cord, who stood behind it and blocked its retreat from the increasingly grave situation. The dwarven monk sensed the mass of the creature strike in and smelt its fetid breath on the air, and managed to dodge at the last moment to avoid the savage jaws that bit at where he had been a moment before. The coven werewolves continued to fight as they attempted to disengage, easily slaughtering most of the handful of militia who still remained. Within the battle however, Latorath easily hewed down another of the injured beasts with his bladed gauntlets. The men themselves, fatigued, injured and demoralised, let the beasts break off, retreating themselves. 

Wyshira's weak strike with her light mace was ignored by her looming opponent, whereas Burl had more success with his _daze_ spell, which staggered a lycanthrope long enough for nearby militiamen to pin it down with spears and stab it brutally to death. Wolf managed to catch one of the last werewolves with his spear, impaling it and killing it quickly. Kale loped out towards the master, lunging with the brine blade, but the beast slapped the strike aside and turned to bare its fangs at the mercenary. With merely two coven warriors still standing the lycanthropes had clearly lost this fight, but surrounded as it was, the master had no avenue of escape.

The master lashed out wildly around it, and Cord sensed an opening in its defences - the silvered dagger plunged in, and sealed its doom. 

Yet the abomination still didn't give in, breaking into a death frenzy of carnage and destruction as bones within shattered and fragmented, flesh twisting and reforming in a foul manner as the mutating monstrosity perished. Jagged teeth caught Cord, tearing a great gouge into him, before the beast finally collapsed, a deformed wolf-man coverde in bubbling lesions and rents where its flesh had split open in the death frenzy.

The last two coven warriors were easily chased down.


----------



## Carnifex

Darkness still hung heavy over the temple and environs. The front of the building, the steps and entrance, were slick with the blood of emn and beasts. The fitful torchlight illuminating the scene gave it a hellish quality. 

Three militiamen had survived. The babies had been recovered, none dead but all with small, fresh scars on their arms. Latorath identified these as evidence that the master had infected the children with lycanthropy. 

With no families left, they had nothing to tie them here still. The Inquisitor decided to take them with him to the Dawn Fortress, to have them cured of their affliction and put into the church orphanage. 

The villagers were safe - not a single wolfman had made it to them, though over two dozen militiamen had died around them to save these peoples lives. The elderly priest moved amidst the dead, muttering prayers. 

* * *

Latorath strode over to the band. Wolf had already joined them by the twisted corpse of the master werewolf, silent and grim; the Inquisitor had taken a moment to check on Evant, the Templar still pinned down by the weight of his own armour. The werewolf's spell had drained him of even the strength required to stand up, but it seemed to be weakening - the knight would live, even though he had been mauled badly while prone. 

As the armoured cleric approached, the half-scream half-howl of a woman rose from within the back quarters of the temple, the werewolf whom they had captured, and who had caused all this, caught up in her madness once again. 

Latorath paused, looking solemnly down at the mangled body that had been the master. 
"I thank Solanthar for his deliverance; and thank you for your bravery this night." He arced his head up to look into the night sky. "That was truly a nightmare."

"We will burn the corpses of the corrupted beasts upon the morning." He paused. 
"I'm afraid I can offer you nothing in way of payment for your courage. Nothing other than my sincere thanks, that is." 

***

The mercenaries did have a few more questions. Wyshria was worried they might be infected with lycanthropy, but the learned Inquisitor reassured her; lycanthropy was only passed on by a dark ritual, the legends that a mere bite transmitted it were not true. They set to patching themselves up with healing magic and bandages; they intended to travel on with the morning light. As it was the least he could do, Latorath gave them papers allowing them to requisition riding horses from the next Adbarian settlement they passed through.

The sun rose over the village, rising up with the wreathes of rancid smoke from piles of burning bodies. From the death-saturated place Wolf's company of brave mercenaries strode forth, their sights set on the distant land of Naseria; they would have to pass over the wildlands to the west of Adbar, then over the Sarokean mountains, before they would reach that civilised nation and the work that they had been offered there. The journey would be a long one, upon which each of the band would have much time to reflect on what they had experienced, and to learn from what had befallen them. Yet eventually they would reach their destination, and once there they would become caught up in events that would change them forever.


----------



## Carnifex

As always, comments and criticisms from anyone are welcomed! Please, say what you think of my story hour  whether that be slagging it off or telling me what I've done right and what I could do with improving on (probably most facets of it  )...


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## Piratecat




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## Broccli_Head

_sigh_....If I hadn't read the events as they had unfolded in the PBEM, you know that I'd be commenting on this story over and over. It's super. Lots of characters...and intriguing story arcs.

Of course, more maps would  help...._hint...hint_ and I need to re-read all the world background from the story site. 

Just wanted to encourage you to keep it up for those who don't read the PBEM!


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## Stinky

*Acro rocks*

I was glad that you included part of Jeremy's post-
""Do not say such things," Cord said, still facing the direction of the approaching figure but clenching Burl's arm tightly with concealed strength. "And do not take a single step that you are not prepared to withdraw. Children have a knack for surviving, young wizard. Tread lightly when you claim to have no other option but to kill a young child."

That was some perfect elder dwarven monk-y grandpa speak.  Good stuff.  I have Kale think and say a lot of things, but there's nothing more poetic than the character's just right thing, said at just the right time.

Oh, and readers: enduring the crazy combats that Carni is throwing at me, it's getting harder and harder for me to find way sto 'break the rules'  Props to the person who comes up with a sneaky tactic that I can use in combat.  We have to stay one step ahead of the executioner!


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## hbarsquared

Thanks there, Stinky.  ;-)

Half the reason I chose a grandpa monk was so that I could have some of that elder, cryptic dialogue.  He hasn't been talking much, lately, but I hope he will again soon.  It's a bit of a challenge, to "say just the right thing, at just the right time."  Darn near impossible, actually, but I try.  

As for Kale's tactics . . .  you seem to always come up with great stuff, I can't see you ever running out.  Hehe.  I figure that eventually, when he's grappled, weaponless, naked, at 1 hit point, alone, and blinded, Kale will spit in the guys face, snag a critical, somehow manage sneak attack, and win the day again!

I love this campaign.


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## Carnifex

Piratecat - I love the picture!  As an aside, I have OSM myself and think it's an excellent adventure; these poor PC's may end up being run through a heavily modified version (so it fits both my campaign and considerably higher-level adventurers) at some point 

I'd also like to say that in the most recent encounter the PC's once again got ambushed in a tavern (it's the 3rd time this has happened for one of the groups  ).


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## Carnifex

Oh, and Jeremy, I've stolen what you said in your last email as a quote for use in my sig


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## Carnifex

I'm currently copy/pasting the game text off the game board and onto a disk so I can write up some more installments for the story hour. Now that the players have moved from the 'epilogue' part of the game and have started the first proper 'Chapter', an adventure called The Arcanist's Tower, I may actually start a new story hour for the game, with a lot more crunchy content of stuff like more spells, beasts and PrC's from the campaign in it. I've yet to decide whether to do that or keep this thread though (if I do start a new one I'll need to archive this thread because it's a useful resource for the players, I bombard them with so much info during the game they need some way of keeping up with it all  ).


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## Carnifex

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> *sigh....
> Of course, more maps would  help....hint...hint and I need to re-read all the world background from the story site.
> *




Well, if anyone would be willing to draw me maps I'd be happy to provide, but anything done by me would be pretty poor quality - I'm not up to much when it comes to map-drawing


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## Carnifex

Well, the campaign has moved on quite significantly now; even as I type, the party is embroiled in a fierce and tough batloe deep beneath the streets of the capital city of Naseria; there's a lot for em to write up and post. However, I've just recently moved into new accomodation and all that story hour to write up is quite an intimidating amount at the moment, so it may be a while before I next a)update this story hour or b) begin a new story hour following on from this one.


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## Carnifex

This is just a post to say that I do indeed still exist, I've just been distracted for a while!

I amy, before too long, be once again bringing installments of Acrozatarim to you


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## Carnifex

A merry Xmas bump!

And a vague promise that I'll actually update the story hour properly at some point... maybe that should be my new years resolution...


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## Mr Fidgit

okay,  i've _finally_ read through the entire thread (i know it's not that long, but for some reason i have a difficult time reading through story hours...)

so, i've liked what i've read and i must say i've been cheering for the PCs (especially against the werewolves with baby shields, you RBDM!  ), and even for Pierre!

is this game still ongoing? and have the PCs stats ever been posted?

if you continue to update this SH, i promise to continue to read it  

happy new year!


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## Stinky

*Go Buckeyes!*

Hi Fidget.  I thought I'd reply in my capacity, since I saw you are from Colombus OH, and I needed to be sure to say GO BUCKEYES!  NATIONAL CHAMPS!  YEAH!

Buckeyes Rock.  Hurricanes blow.

Anyway, I play Kale in the game, and I can assure you that the game is still ongoing, although a bit of footdragging by myself and some others has not helped the game speed along.  I hope things'll speed up after the holidays.

Stats haven't been posted, but I'll say that we made our chars with a point-buy system, and Kale made sure to bite the bullet and get max agility.  Shortsighted, perfaps, because we all got another att point at fourth level, but considering how Kale lives, he might not have survived that long without incredible dexterity.  Everything else is balanced.  Wisdom very average, as I see Kale very practical, not necessarily the deepest or most connecting guy.  But he does need to develop social and personal sense- his CHA is decently high, but every att point I earn is going to CHA.  He started out a gutter mercenary, but the path of power is along simple, easy-on-the-manipulation accrual of contacts and experience that will insure that he knows what he needs to about the world and his enemies.

Of course, given our enigmatic and deeply connected enemies, something tells me he's never going to know quite what he needs to before he ends up in battle with a big baddie who simply needs a brine blade to the gut.

I sense a revitalization of the story in the future... hopefully progress in the game will be quickly reflected here.  It's fun to hear people's comments, and to know that people are interested.  

And yes, I cheer for Pierre, too,


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## Mr Fidgit

*Re: Go Buckeyes!*



			
				Stinky said:
			
		

> *Hi GO BUCKEYES!  NATIONAL CHAMPS!  YEAH!*



thanks! (there were a few of us watching the game and posting. after the win (woot!  ), 3 or 4 threads popped up. it was an OSU National Championship posting frenzy!)


			
				Stinky said:
			
		

> *I sense a revitalization of the story in the future... hopefully progress in the game will be quickly reflected here. It's fun to hear people's comments, and to know that people are interested. *



i hope so too. Carniflex was commenting in a Hivemind thread recently that there weren't alot of people reading this SH, so i promised to stop by. 

i just hope he has seen that at least one more person is reading 
  (because he hasn't commented yet...), and i certainly look forward to more updates


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## Carnifex

I've seen now, Mr Fidget! Thankyou muchly! 

Well, I'll go home and work on an update this evening, I think; I'll post on the Hivemind threads whenever I actually get an update done, I think  But yes, it's still going.

One problem I'm facing in writing it up is that there's a lot of rp'ing stuff which can be quite important but just isn't necessarily as interesting to non-players in the campaign, mized in with the battles and major plot points - I think I also need to summarise stuff better as well


----------



## Carnifex

Well, this is something of a rebirth for my Story Hour! The posts up until now have tracked the events of the various players as they made their way through the 'prologue' of the game, but now, for the first time, they all meet up together as one group, and Chapter 1: The Arcanist's Tower, begins!

To summarise the status of the two parties that the PC's are currently split into at the moment:

*The 'Cavern Company':* Consisting of the aasimar sorceress Melisande, the mysterious cleric/monk Ebri, the magic-wary soldier Sebastion, and two NPC's, both ex-PC's - the eartn genasi psion Sandslipper and the Flame Hawk mage-knight Alaric. This party is heading north through the lands of Naseria, a kingdom ruled by sorcerous noble houses; Sandslipper bears a package that she is to deliver to a nobleman of House Tarravus called Ecurius, and the others accompany her for their own reasons; friendship, duty, or deeper purposes.

*'Wolf's Company':* Consisting of Wolf Kieresane, a veteran NPC mercenary and both a ranger and warrior of some skill, as well as Kale, a wily young mercenary ranger and rogue, Wyshira, a water genasi priestess of the goddess of Storms, Burl, a necromancer quite different from others of his profession, and Cord, an aged, blind dwarven monk and worshipper of the Stonelord Grumand. They seek Truth Seeker Ecurius Tarravus because he has work for them...

*Chapter 1: The Arcanist's Tower* - The Offer Is Made

The warmth of the first days of summer caressed the rich Naserian countryside, lush and verdant vegetation covering the landscape in vibrant green. Blue skies were marred by only the occasional meandering cloud of cotton-like white, the rays of the sun conveying Solanthar's blessing without obstruction.

Deep within the realm of Tarravus, the heartland of Naseria, the well-kept residence of a nobleman looked down over rolling hillside, giving an excellent view of the valley below in which nestled the capital of the nation. The mighty city straddled a winding river, already spilling out of the boundary of the city walls that had so recently been rebuilt to defend the burdgeoning population. Above the roofscape of slates and occasional rising towers, of the larger bulk of nobles houses and the ornate delicacy of observatories eternally examining the skies, the awe-inspiring palace of House Tarravus rose up, its marble-clad stones lavishly decorated, great arches and tall towers lifting it up to dominate the skyline. Across the marvellous city rose another amazing site; the fortress of the Wind Hawks, the Air Tower of Tarravus. The white marble construction rose higher than the palace, much higher, its tip seeming as if it could pierce the sky itself, and a myriad of smaller battlements and towers rose off the thick central trunk. Within this mighty fortress the legion of mage-knights trained and studied, walking its high and airy corridors in the multicoloured light that the great stained glass windows let pour into it. A great swathe of open land further down the valley was given over to the stables and grounds for the knights to cultivate and hone their cavalry skills.

The nobleman's residence up on the crest of the valley's side, looking down over all of this, was a small estate. A cluster of buildings housed the servants and served the farmlands of the estate, while where the view of the city below was best, the home of the noble himself had been built. A large house ending in a squat tower, all of exquisite architecture and elaborated with wondrous azure blue stained glass; this was the home of the Truth Seeker Ecurius Tarravus.

The sorcerer stood in his private study at the top of the tower, looking through the window over the bustling city below. It teemed with life and movement, tiny gleams over the city making it look like a shimmering pool of water as people flowed around it in tiny currents. Summer had come, and on this pleasant day the lives of all the people in the city were in full swing.

He was drawn away from his ponderings by a polite rap on his door. Turning quizically, he called them in; a servant, apologising for disturbing him but there were people approaching, up the drive.

<center>* * *</center>

Wolf's band had left the sundered village the very morning after the vicious werewolf attack; behind them peasants were heaping the dead monstrosities into piles and putting them to the torch. The Inquisitor had replied to Wyshira's inquiries that the mercenaries need not fear infection with lycanthropy; the mere bite of the master werewolf was not enough to transmit it, but rather a debased and fould ritual to some dark god had to be performed on the subject.

They'd left on foot, their horses having been slaughtered in the initial werewolf attack; but Latorath had provided them with a signed letter of authority to requisition horses from the next temple they came across; he professed that since he could offer them no real reward for their part in exterminating the vile coven, he could at least compensate them for the loss of the steeds.

They'd left Adbar itself some few days later, crossing out of the country and into the wilderness of the untamed Drakkath once again. Spring was wearing on, summer approaching, and the weather held out for them as they travelled over the land called the Plain of Sorrows. Wolf warned them all to be eternally vigilant, for this landscape, covered in tangled undergrowth and copses of gnarled trees, was reported to be the home of fragments of the Dread March, dark undead which had refused to die for good after their master had been slain and still roamed the wilderness. They saw none though. Once or twice they came past ruins of buildings, covered in tangled vines and weeds, but that was all.

Cord still felt that faint unease, as if the land itself was displeased, but the almost overwhelming nausea that the coven had infected the village with seemed to have faded; it seemed they were a symptom of something more widespread. All he could do was wonder whether there were more like the dark, corrupted lycanthropes prowling the land, or if it was something else entirely, something even darker. The strange, wild land they travelled now gave him a sense of unease due to entirely different reasons, but still the malaise of the Drakkath seemed present even here, faintly detectable. He could make no sense of it, nor understand it, other than to know that Grumand was ill at ease; how could the land itself be sickening for something? Did other followers of Grumand sense it? Certainly, none of those around him seemed to feel it.

Wyshira had found the link to her goddess even stronger after the battle with the werewolves. Her magics and faith were stronger, the favour of Ishrak more tangible to her, and it seemed that the experience had improved more than just her skills in battle. Was the Storm Lady pleased with her performance against the abominations? She could not tell for sure, but it certainly seemed so. One day, Burl handed to her a small cluster of scrolls, imbued with divine magic; since he could not use them himself, it seemed sense to give them to her.

Burl took advantage of the long days of travel over the Plain to study, to contemplate and theorise. The encounter with the werewolves, the magic he had unleashed then and the death all around, had given him new insights and understanding, and he found his magics strengthening as he gained a better grasp on the arcane. He managed to successfully scribe the spells on the scrolls of the wizard he had slain beneath Iril, adding more to his magical arsenal. Yet he was plagued too, by the same strange dream of standing upon the blasted scorched earthen plain as around him behemoth shapes struggled and blurred figures scurried. The dreams were by no means regular, and seemed to have no pattern, yet they had become more real and tangible since they had begun on their journey over the haunted Plain of Sorrows. One day he finally saw the massive thing looming over him, the shadowy shape, as a thing of fire and shadow and scorched, charred scales, and its red eyes locked onto him mere moments before he shot awoke, cold sweat soaking him. He could not fathom why these happened.

When they eventually crossed the Plain, more of the Drakkath rolled away before them; wilderness thick with woods and valleys. Beyond the green rose the shapes of the Sarokean mountains, gray and monolithic shapes reaching upwards. Burl's dreams faded in intensity, and he did not see the beast of fire and shadow clearly again.

One day as they rode, they encountered a small band of horsemen, some five or six riders of the simple armour and weaponry that indicated militia. They'd watched the travellers carefully, before saying their piece; this land was the edge of the new domain of Mirayek, the lord of which they served; the travellers should pay good heed to his authority or be subject to punishment. Wolf hadn't seemed too worried, explaining afterwards to the others that it was not an irregular occurance for some would-be warlord to carve his own little territory out of the wilderness. What was more unusual was that this must be the lord whom Evant had spoken of; a man who had, apparently, the backing of the church of Kevayek the Bringer of Pestilence.

They'd encountered no problems from Mirayek, or in the lands beyond, as they approached the grand range of mountains called the Sarokeans. With the good weather finding a pass had been easy; Wolf had planned to lead them north to cross west through the well-travelled Emerald Pass but they found a more serviceable path into Naseria before having to travel any further. It was not many days before they had crossed the broad and rugged Sarokeans and entered the lush and civilised lands of Naseria.

* * *

The band of five urged their horses up the tree-lined path towards the residence of Ecurius Tarravus. Wolf had already told them that this man needed mercenaries, and was likely to pay well being a wealthy nobleman with royal connections. His home certainly seemed to reflect this, clearly the abode of a rich man. As they halted on the gravel before the house itself, servants came and greeted them.

"Good day, sirs; what is your business here?" asked a sturdy man in well-cut garb, perhaps a butler or chief servant.

"I am Wolf Kieresane, and these are my fellows; we have been informed that Lord Ecurius seeks men to perform a task for him. I believe he has been awaiting us."

Wolf had explained to Kale that his networl of contacts would have carried word to the man long before the mercenaries themselves arrived.

"Indeed. Please, follow me in; your horses will be stabled and looked after."

"Remember, this man's a Truth Seeker as well as a member of the royal family; the Truth Seekers are a well-respected orgainsation of sorcerers, so on both counts be respectful to him. From all I've heard, he deserves it."

Within the grand building, the band found themselves in a large hall, richly decorated with tapestries and paintings. At the far end a broad staircase rose up, and walking with proud bearing down it was a tall man who wore clothes of white and cream silk and high-quality cloth, golden threads stitching them together. He stepped lightly down onto the floor of the hall, and slowly approached; not with caution but rather with a rather calm disposition that indicated he was in no desire to rush about.

Tall, well-built and handsome, Truth Seeker Lord Ecurius Tarravus was young for a sorcerer of his power, not even past his early thirties and incredibly handsome. Light brown hair was close-cropped over his noble features, and he moved with grace and agility. At the moment, he wore a smile that displayed his pleasure at seeing the newcomers.

"Ah... the mercenaries, at last! Most excellent, I have been awaiting your arrival; I'm sure you'll find me a most generous employer, it's a possibly dangerous but definitely well-paying task... but perhaps more on that in some few moments. You've doubtless travelled hard, it must have been a long way if Roberto was right in telling me you'd have to come all the way from the eastern Drakkath; but his recommendation was enough for me to be willing to put up with the wait, for certain. I've had some rooms prepared for you in the guest wing, so you can go and put your belongings there, then come and join me for lunch. I'm expecting some other guests as well, so it should be a most intriguing meal. Cirius will show you to your rooms..."

The butler nodded. "Please, gentlem... um, noble warriors, follow me."

* * *

The travel north across Naseria had been pleasant for all of the band who had so recently departed from Corvus. Fine weather and views of the countryside raised spirits so soon after the vicious battle with the scorpion-tattooed assassins in the Cowardly Dragon tavern, combined with the fact that the rations which Alaric - now officially granted the title of Flame Hawk Errant - had acquired were far from the iron rations of the common soldier. They ate well as they journeyed.

Ebri had found that her connection with the divine had strengthened, her faith ever greater. Perhaps it had been the meeting with the Old Master, the inspiration of meeting one of the mighty beings and it actually talking to her in person, or perhaps she had pleased her deity through her performance so far and the battles she had fought. Whatever the explanation, she felt stronger and more secure in mind, body and faith, though there were no more night-time visitations. The renewal of faith she felt had been most displayed when she had practised her kata, and found a small amount of what could only be called enlightenment, a greater understanding of the monastic arts her teachers had trained her in.

Melisande found her own powers greater, honed by practice and insight, but above all she had plenty of time to think as they travelled. She had so many questions, and there seemed no-one to answer them all for her... and more strangely, one night early on she had experienced a strange dream in which she had witnessed, as if disembodied, a conclave of shadowlike figures in some dark and hidden place, circling another figure which stood half-illuminated in gray light. Then she had realised that the figure was herself and just before she woke had seen from her own eyes the tide of shadows flood in towards her, the faint light around her being overrun by darkness.

The dream had only come on that one night, and when she had woken she had found Ebri performing some sort of religious dance; the woman claimed she had been unable to sleep but certainly seemed happy and invigorated by something - Mel could have sworn she saw the remnants of a tear shed in happiness in the mysterious priestesses eye. Mel had sunk back into sleep, untroubled this time until dawn came.

Sebastion had found his won sword-arm and reflexes improving; he spent time sparring with undergrowth and training himself to consolidate what his recent battles had taught him. He understood now what his father had meant when the man hda said that real skill could only be taught through real battle; already the warriors fighting abilities were definitely greater.

Sandslipper remained quiet, almost introverted, as if something was troubling her. She spoke rarely to the others, keeping instead to herself when she could.

* * *

Alaric grinned broadly. "And here we are; the residence of Lord Ecurius Tarravus."

They had rode up the path towards the house and its outlying buildings, and now found themselves before the grand central residence, where servants came out to greet them. Alaric quickly told the butler of their purpose, and the man nodded. "My lord Ecurius awaits you, and would invite you all to dine with him for lunch, with his other guests. Rooms have been prepared for you all; you must have had a long journey."

Cirius led them to their rooms to deposit their belongings, then they followed him into the dining hall. Sandslipper seemed to be fidgeting uneasily all the while.

* * *

The long table was well-stocked with food, water and wine, and at the head, in an ornately carved chair of mahogany depicting scenes from the history of the royal House Tarravus, Ecurius sat. He had donned the azure blue robes of the Truth Seekers, and looked regal and commanding.

Wolf, Kale, Wyshira, Burl and Cord had already entered and the sorcerer had bade them sit in a friendly manner, inviting them to eat. It was soon afterwards that Melisande, Ebri, Sandslipper, Sebastion and Alaric had entered too, and saw the handsome noble for the first time.

"Ah! Most excellent, I am glad to see that you have arrived at last. Falkmar told me of your departure from Corvus, so it is good to see you finally here." He smiled, and took a drink of wine from his goblet. "Please, be seated, eat. You must have had a long journey too."

Those of the band from Corvus could not help but look curiously at the strangers who sat on the other side of the table; a grizzled-looking Cryosian man of heavy build, next to him a younger man probably of Corinthian origin, then another Cryosian man, dark haired and dark garbed who had an intangible air around him of something sinister, and finally a woman of strange aquatic colour of skin and hair who somehow brought the sea to the mind of her viewer. The band of mercenaries saw a man of southern blood, maybe Carthagian or Huronese, a bizarrely blue woman and another who looked like a living statue, a third woman of sturdy build and simple garb and a man in the uniform of a noble warrior.

When all had sat, Ecurius spoke again.

"Well, welcome to you all, indeed! I believe," he said, looking at Sandslipper, "that you have something to deliver to me?" She nodded and handed him her package. He slipped it into his robes, for the time being seemingly unconcerned to investigate it.

"Well, this is most fortuitious - please, all, eat! It is most excellent food that my cook has prepared today, I must say - for I find much luck descending upon me today. It seems Naskha smiles upon me! Wolf," he said, addressing the veteran, "the reason why I procured your services was, well, listen and I shall reveal all - ah, could you pass me that wine? Why thankyou, lady, and I must say you have a most impressive shade of skin, I first thought you to be a Cerulean One when I saw you! Ah, but back to my story... there is a tower in the Sarokean mountains, well beyond the border of Naseria and the patrol routes of the Iron Hawks, and I want you to, well, for lack of a better word, loot it."

"I'm not talking about simple plundering here, of course. You see, it seems that many decades ago a rogue wizard from Carthagia left that dark land for some reason or another - I don't know why, I'm afraid, and you couldn't pass that bowl over there, could you, I'm afraid I cannot reach quite that far - and set himself up ina tower deep in the wild mountains. Apparently quite a genius, a clever man when it came to machines, rivalled the gnomes of Kerr in the department of thaumineering. My research has turned up reports that he's now dead, has been for many years, so the tower is just standing there accumulating dust."

"That leaves a lot of valuable knowledge in there too, knowledge I'd love to have access to, especially his thaumineering designs and theories. Those designs could prove to be of real worth if the tales of some of the wizard's inventions are anything to go by, a step forwards in the art of thaumineering. I want you people to acquire these plans from the tower. Now, why I'm hiring you to do this is because the tower is both in a wild and potentially dangerous area - the Sarokeans are hardly safe with all the beasts and peoples that roam them, from giants to goblins - and because the wizard's tower is almost certain to have its own defences, and possibly its own inhabitants. But if you can get me those plans, then you can have anythign else you salvage from the tower - books, wealth, whatever, all I want is his notes on magical artisanship and machinery - as well as the fee of..." he paused, thinking.

"I would say two hundred and fifty pieces of gold would not be an inadequate sum, would you not agree?"

"Now... I have no doubt of the skill of Wolf and his men here," the sorcerer said, turning to the other side of the table and looking at them appraisingly over the food heaped high on the silver plates, "but by all accounts you fellows can hold your own with the best of them as well; I hear you fended off some people who wanted to steal my package from you," he said with a frown. "You seem like the right sort for this job, and certainly a slightly larger band would probably be a safer bet for all of you. I open this offer to you people as well, if you wish; a journey into the Sarokeans in search of treasure and knowledge," he finished with a grin, before addressing the entire gathering again.

"Now of course this is a low-profile little mission you'll be running for me, and I'm looking to hire all you people because I think you lot are probably up to the task. And... I might have more employment for you all, if you do this well."

"If you do agree, there'll be a few days before I can finalise arrangements and you can all depart, so I'm willing to offer you all lodgings here, in my humble abode, and feel free to go and visit the city; it's a truly great place. Plenty for you to see and do there."


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## Sniktch

Looks interesting Carnifex.  I'll need to go back to page 1 now so I have a better understanding of what's going on


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## Mr Fidgit

an update! woo hoo!  

so let me get this right - the werewolves and baby shields was a _prologue_?! sheesh! (  )


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## Carnifex

Mr Fidgit said:
			
		

> *an update! woo hoo!
> 
> so let me get this right - the werewolves and baby shields was a prologue?! sheesh! (  ) *




Yep indeed 

I'm even now trying piece together another update from the batch of posts in reply to Ecurius's offer; mhopefully it'll be up before too long


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## Horacio

Well, you got the story hour addict back to your story, my friend...


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## Carnifex

Horacio said:
			
		

> *Well, you got the story hour addict back to your story, my friend... *






And here's another update for ya 

Ecurius's offer wasn't the only thing on the minds of the assembled adventurers who sat at his table that day; they were also assessing each other. Burl found himself surprised at Melisande's strongly blue-hued skin, which made his companion Wyshira, the water genasi, look more blue-green. But his eyes were locked on Sandslipper in awe, the woman who looked so much like a statue. To his eyes, she seemed perfect, stunningly beautiful. Others were making more practical assessments of their new aquaintances, and introductions were made. Still, a slight distance remained between the two bands, emphasised by the table-width between them. They didn't know each other properly yet, and some, such as Kale, were hardly the instantly trusting type. The young aasimar, on the other hand, was; the point at which Melisande produced Pierre, her two-headed toad familiar, certainly caused a bit of surprise.

Melisande, rather taken with the handsome Lord Ecurius, quickly made it clear that she would be interested in taking part in the venture; though she wasn't willing to go it if none of her friends were going to. Pretty soon it became clear that all those present were also attracted by the offer of coin or knowledge to be gained, and discussion turned to the details, and to idle conversation, and to Kale and Melisande trying to play practical jokes on one another involving _reduce_ spells and suchlike.

After Ecurius finished up his quite appealing offer, Kale washed down the last bit of bread and sauce, and looked briefly to the lord. His eyes only meeting the lord’s long enough to be polite, his eyes were fixed on his plate of honeycake before he spoke. ”You can count me in. Only, I wonder if there’s any strong activity in that region…” he said before taking a bite, thinking specifically about dreadspawn, fleshtearers, undead, and lackeys from Mirayek. Still, the cake tasted quite yummy. And that ‘research’ that indicated the mage was ‘likely dead’… Unlikely Ecurius knew more that he’d already volunteered. Shrugging, he continued. ”Can’t say I’ve looted a mage’s tower before, magic’s not as easy to identify as traps or gold. I don’t suppose you’d have a token we could borrow to help find the items of interest…” he suggested helpfully. But essentially, he did not want Burl and any spellcasters from the other side of the table to be the only ones able to discern trick from treasure. The notes Ecurius desired may not be magical, but any wards guarding them very likely might be. It was something he’d like to look into…

Cord listened intently, pouring himself a second mug of ale as Ecurious spoke. He paused when their host mentioned plundering the tower, but did not respond. He set down the pitcher, his cup only half-fill. He did not touch food or drink until after Ecurious had finished.

One of the women was the first to speak, seemingly eager for such an adventure. Another sighed disconsolately. Cord felt his mouth twitch into a smile beneath his beard. Love, it seemed, in some form or another, had found roots in this particular group.

Cord nodded as Kale began the introductions, chuckled at his own description. "I'm afraid Kale exaggerates my abilities somewhat," he said, taking another long drought from his mug, finishing it off. "But he is right, in this case. Perfumes, no matter how fragrant, do little to conceal the stink beneath."

His sightless eyes fixed on an imaginary point several inches to Ecurius' side, Cord refilled his mug and continued speaking. "Why hire strangers, even with such reputations? No doubt your own people have similar experience, and you have contacts with those with stronger loyalties. Why us? What true dangers lurk in that abandoned tower?"

Cord was not naturally suspicious. In his travels, people often opened up to him, were oftentimes more honest than they normally might be. He had always been cautious, relied on common sense, but never had he doubted the words. Perhaps it was the general sense of unease, gnawing at his heart. Perhaps it was the coincidental arrival of their two groups. Perhaps he was, in fact, getting too old. He lifted the mug to his lips, took another swallow.

"I once lived in these mountains," he said, "'Stone is in our blood,' as the saying goes for us dwarves. If some of you decide to visit this tower, and wish for my company, I will join." He nodded curtly, to no one in particular. The world was a large place to search for the origins of his unease. But, a wizard's tower hidden in the wild mountains was as good of a place to start as any.

Ecurius gave a wry smile at Kale's request for some aid to magical identification. "Well, I'm sure your own spellcasters are plentifully capable enough of such cantrips."

To Cord's questions, the smile became more humoured. "My own people? I'm not quite sure what you mean. I cannot send House Tarravus troops off on a private errand without riling others, and besides, I don't really want this to be a high-profile operation by dozens of foot soldiers. The thing is, when it comes to this kind of task, mercenaries are always the best bet since you people tend to be far tougher and more tenacious than a guardsman. I cannot ask any of my friends in the Wind Hawks, for they have other troubles occupying them at the moment and even if I had the audacity to request their attention for my own matters I would not want to do so. The Iron Hawks, though well positioned to aid me, would be more interested in looting the tower for themselves than for my purposes if I informed them about it. Oh, there are a handful of mercenary bands and adventuring companies but a friend advised me to employ Wolf and his men, and as for the rest of you I simply think you capable enough."

He chuckled as Melisande produced the Manipulated toad, peering at the two-headed creature with curiosity and the slightest hint of the revulsion which most people felt for such a sight. "As to the actual dangers in the tower, I cannot predict what you might face, which is why I'm hiring mercenaries as opposed to heading in there myself." He shrugged. "Which seems, to me, reasonable enough."

When Kale erupted into motion from Melisande casting _reduce_ on his boots in revenge for some teasing, Ecurius looked somewhat bemused, laughing at Melisande's comments about brain ailments. Sandslipper nearly jumped out of her skin at the surprise, but calmed down to answer Burl's eager question. "Well, I'm from Myrmecia, a pathfinder for my tribe. My family was one of the bloodlines blessed by Grumand, which is why I am, well, as I am," she said shyly. "I'm a capable scout and good at surviving in the wilderness, and my blessing has gifted me with other powers too from the Stone Lord."

"I travel because I like to, because I feel a kind of... wanderlust in my veins. Do you understand what I mean? I just want to see new places and people, so I left my tribe," at this point Kale noticed her almost imperceptibly flinching a little - it seemed there was something she wasn't telling them, "and came north. On my way, a friend of Lord Ecurius's" and she shot the sorcerer a questioning glance, "asked me to deliver a package to him, so I did, and here I am now."

"And yes, Lord Ecurius, I think I would like to undertake this journey to the tower, if you have no objections?"

"Certainly not; now, for the rest of you, are you all agreed to come? I will understand if you do not wish too, of course; oh, and Hawk Errant," he said to Alaric, nodding in acknowledgement, "I understand your own duties keep you from joining the expedition. The Wind Hawks will provide you with lodgings and a fresh steed for the journey back south."

"Thank you, my Lord; actually, I was thinking of travelling to Thrazan. After all, I have Errant status now, I might as well make use of it," the mage knight finished with a smile. 

Cord nodded in response to Ecurius' explanation. He leaves the dirty work to the mercenaries, of course. And, Cord was forced to admit, he was considered to be one of these mercenaries. Cord had never charged for anything, often relying either on his own skill or the kindness of others. The concept of payment for fighting, although not foreign to him, did leave an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

"I am agreed to go to this tower, Lord Ecurius," he said. "However, do not worry about my payment. I have no need for coin. Exploration of the demesnes would be adequate compensation." Not to mention finding the root of this corruption.

Cord absently rested a hand on Wyshira's arm and lifted his nearly empty mug in the general direction of Ecurius' voice. "I will be honored to travel with the outgoing party and provide guidance where I may." With a brisk nod, he finished the mug.

Leaning forward slightly as the talk turned to the practicalities of their journey, Sebastion listened in to the - apparently plausible - reasonings of the noble and cleared his throat slightly.

"What's the territory like between here and this tower?" he asked, pushing his plate aside a little. "Are we likely to run into any troubles before we ever get there, or it will it simply be the tower itself to worry us?

At the same time, Burl began questioning about where he might acquire spell components in the city, and adding her own questions to those of her old and new companions, Melisande tucked Pierre back into his pocket and addressed Lord Ecurius. "Personally I'm not so concerned with material supplies as with knowledge. We have a couple of items we gathered on our journeys that we can't use because we don't know what they do. If your Lordship has a moment, I wonder if you could have a look at them? As a Truth Seeker you're more likely to know what to do with them than most."

Listening to Melisande’s question, Burl was a little taken back by her snubbing of his need for spell components.  It must be a great boon to be able to channel magic without using material components , he thought, but then Burl’s ears perked at the mention of a couple of mysterious objects. He decided to wait for Ecurius’ answer before offering his services to discover the unknown qualities of the items.
Ecurius gave Melisande a lop-sided grin. "I wish the rest of us sorcerers could have such a disregard for supplies, but we happen to be unable to subsist on air. And yes, let me have a look at those objects you have there..."

He looked at the rod and the small vial of shadow for a few moments, curiously perusing them for any outwards clues. "Hard to tell anything just by looking at them, let me see." He muttered the words of a detect magic, nodding to himself, then looked up again. "Pass me that plate of oysters, please."

He reached out and took one of the shellfish, then another, prying them open to reveal the mollusc within and, nestling within each, a pearl. The nobleman looked a little embarrassed about such lengths of opulence in front of the mercenaries, but spoke some arcane words under his breath and with two quick spells, one on each item, dropped into a brief reverie.

When he came out, a few moments later, he handed them back to Melisande. "Well, I cast a minor identification spell on each one. The rod... it has a conjuration spell bound up into it, one that summons an elemental creature from the Elemental Plane of Fire upon the word agemon. It waxes and wanes with the cycle of the sun - you can still use it at night, but it'll only work once per day. From the carvings on it, I guess it's some sort of snake that it summons. The vial is filled with some sort of shadowstuff, that can be released when its seal is broken. The shadows within will flood out, but they wont last for long."

"The rod has other powers too, but the spell I cast cannot divine them. I can do that if you want, but that'd require a spell with a fairly costly focus which I don't possess and so I'm afraid I can't do that for free."

He turned to the questions of the others. "Burl - there are plenty of places for acquiring components in the city; it is, after all, ruled by sorcerers, and sorcerers need components. You could try the wizard's guild, I reckon. And yes, I will be procuring some supplies for your journey."

"Sebastion - the countryside between here and the Sarokeans is navigable enough. It's all Naserian land, mostly Tarravus but for the last leg you'll cross Merlihr land; it's a bit more rugged and forested there, but still it should be pretty safe. When you hit the mountains, that's when travel will become more difficult, but I've been assured that the path you'll need to take will be by no means intraversible. I have a cartographer putting together a good map of the area there for you."

Wolf nodded at all the information. "Sounds good to me."

At Cord's declaration that he needed no pay Ecurius looked impressed.

_DM's Note: The game stats of the magic items are:

Fire Serpent Rod: Can summon a Fire Elemental viper 1/day. It has other powers.
Vial of Shadow: When opened, casts Darkness centred on the vial. _


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## Horacio

That's fast service


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## Mathew_Freeman

OK, now I'm in too. I confess I've only read the last two updates, but I'm sure to carry on reading them now!

Nice stuff. I'm looking forward to seeing what happens. Could you do me a favour and mention what sort of levels we're looking at here?


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## Carnifex

Well, right now in game time they've all reached lvl 4. At the point the SH has reached they're a mix between levels 3 and 4. I think Burl was Necro4, Melisande Sor3, Sebastion Ftr3, Wyshira Clr4, Kale Rog3/Rgr1, Ebri Clr1/Mnk3, Cord Mnk3


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## Carnifex

The mountains of the tower were not high, and the late spring offered little chance of snow or freezing temperatures. Activity in the area seemed volatile, but Ecurius foresaw nothing significant. No one could know what the tower could hold, however- Kale wanted a crash course in thaumineering.

"I would like to learn more about the mechanics of thaumineering," Kale said when Ecurius had a moment. "Can you recommend a library or local tinker?" Libraries were hardly public, and tinkers were hardly considered typical sources of reference. Ecurius did not seem pent up on station, however, and Kale wondered what sort of resource he would recommend for the mercenary to learn more. The Truth Seeker did not seem a man built solely on book-knowledge...

Regarding the room, the scene about was quite curious. Alaric was silent, Mel and Pierre were content in their victory, Sandslipper waxed evasive, while Ebri and Sebastion murmured about unknown topics. The focus of power, it seemed, lie with those two, though the entire group seemed to sway on the whim of Her Blueness... Nothing seemed to make sense. Kale became a bit confident of the newcomers capabilities, at the same time wodering all the more about their motives. Not the typical merc band, to say the least.

Burl was impressed with the magic of Ecurious and also his wealth, which was obvious to those who knew the components needed to cast the spell used to identify the properties of the objects. Two questions popped into his mind,  “Ecurious, is there anyone in particular that you would recommend that I see when I go to the wizard’s guild? Also, it is my desire to visit the Forest of Fayen while we are in Naseria. Will we be going anywhere near them on our journey to the tower?"

Wyshira made a mental note to show Lord Ecurius her small, crystal globes later on, when she'd had a chance to retrieve them from her pack in the room she'd been given. How long had she been carrying the mysterious magical spheres around now, without the foggiest notion what they were good for? Almost since the beginning of my journey, she recalled. She hoped that their host would be able to fathom their nature as he had the items Melisande carried.

The description of the Flame Serpent that could be summoned with the sorceress' rod caused Wyshira to shudder. The Plane of Fire... What a terrible creature it would be! She could only take comfort in the fact that, should there ever be a need for it to be used, at least it would be under the control of one of her allies.

Burl was concerned with getting supplies and spell components, and seemed to be interested in visiting the Forest of Fayen. That name sounded vaguely familiar to her, but at the moment, she couldn't think why. Some bit of gossip I must have heard along the way.... she mused, but she wasn't in the mood to rack her brain to recall it properly.

She was in fact, beginning to feel quite sleepy, though it was still early in the afternoon. It must be that soft bed back in my room, calling to me, she thought with a smile, and stifled a yawn. She would have liked to speak more with Melisande, and Sandslipper too. The statue-woman had piqued her curiosity; she felt a sort of kinship with her. Because she is a genasi,Wyshira supposed, even if she is earth-kin and not water-born like me.

She couldn't help but notice that she wasn't the only one interested in the Myrmecian. Burl seemed to be fascinated by Sandslipper, but Wyshira suspected his reasons were not the same as hers. For the briefest moment, she felt a twinge of jealousy at that, but she pushed the feeling away. Why should she care who Burl looked at anyway?

Melisande took back the rod and the potion with gratitude, very pleased to finally have the command word that would turn the kobold shaman's fire-mojo to good use. She had no doubt it would be useful in the upcoming adventure, if what Lord Ecurius said about guardians and such was true--and a Truth-Seeker could probably be trusted a smidgen more than most. "I am in need of supplies myself and I'd love to see Tarravus, but right now I think a bath would be in order. And a nap. Burl, do you think you would mind waiting for me before going shopping for spell components? I promise once I'm washed up I'll make better company."

Ecurius pondered for a moment over Burl's questions. "To be honest, not being a wizard, I don't know all that much about the guild. I come into contact with the more important wizards at court, but I don't think they'd be the kind of people you'd be dealing with over spell components."

"As for Fayen, I'm afraid that realm is in quite the opposite direction! You'll be heading back towards the Sarokeans - east - while the elven realm lies in the forests that cover the north-west of Naseria. I'm sure it'll be possible for you to visit them afterwards though, but I must warn you that they do keep to themselves up there. Oh, and don't make the pretty common mistake of thinking that House Fayen has the same kind of rule over the elves as the other Houses have over the humans of Naseria either."

Kale's question brought an amused look to Ecurius's face. "Thaumineering is not a... simple subject. It's a complex fusion of magic and metal-craft. I have a number of texts myself that you can borrow, if you're really that interested, but I doubt much of it will make all that much sense to you if you're not a student of the arcane."

 Kale resisted rolling his eyes. He was only being polite, after all...

"Mmm, but there's a difference between the master artist and the passing collector." He would rather forgo the 'hows' in favor of the 'whats.' "Once we get to the tower, I'd just rather keep my hands out of the Arcane Vegetable Chopper, is all.

The books may be of some use," Kale concluded, "Provided I had an interpreter along," he said while offering a questioning glance to Burl. "Sometime later on? In the meantime, I don't suppose there are any gnomes or 'worksman in town?"

Appreciating the Seeker's help, the mercenary felt secure that he could glean enough information to feel at least a bit more secure about what the crew was getting into...

Burl turned to address the two blue women. "Wyshira and Melisande, I am going to restock my component pouch while in town. Would you two care to join me? I also need to acquire some food for Spike.”  Turning to Sandslipper,  “It would be an honor to have you join us also.” Burl was disappointed that he wouldn’t be going near the Fayen forests, but Ecurious was right, there would be time later. However, for now, the opportunity to escort the three lovely, but distracting women was very much on his mind.

Catching the look from Kale, Burl nodded his acceptance to look at the manuscripts later. After his brief encounter with Ungor Ferechan, the gnome metallo-thaumaturge and engineer, on the boat he had been intrigued with the combination of the arcane with the mechanical.

The Lord Truth Seeker spoke again. "Now, all, listen. It seems that many of you are eager to go down to the city to replenish your supplies, and I need to visit court. So, if you all want to go and get yourselves ready, refresh yourselves, whatever, and then meet me outside in the courtyard, I'll lead you down to the city and you can go about your seperate ways."

Wyshira frowned when Kale hinted that he had private business to take care of in Tarravus. She almost said, "But you know how I hate it when you go off by yourself!"  Fortunately, she was able to bite off the words before they spilled out of her mouth, and she merely nodded her head in acknowledgment.

It's silly to worry about them when they're out of my sight, she told herself. But so many unexpected things had happened to the crew in places that had seemed safe and secure. The werewolf attack came immediately to mind. And then there were the Toranites back at the Solar Lion in Halstath. You just never knew what could come up suddenly, and there Kale would be without anyone to back him up.

But mercenaries will be mercenaries, as her mother always used to say, not wholly disapprovingly. She said this usually in response to the girls' questions about the man that wandered in and out of their lives now and then, and who, incidentally, was their father. Kale seemed to be just that sort of mercenary: in spite of his easy-going, good-natured disposition, he liked to keep his own counsel, and he especially liked to keep his distance.

Wyshira turned her attention to the necromancer and his invitation to accompany him on his errands in town. "I'd like very much to come with you, Burl, thank you." She smiled at him a little uncertainly. "The wizard's guild will be... interesting, I'm sure. But if we see a Temple of Ishrak, we must stop in.

"I don't think I've paid much attention to the matter before, but what is it exactly that Spike eats?" As she engages Burl in conversation, she looks around for Cord; she made sure to let the dwarf know that they were going into town, and that she would be waiting for him.

* * *

*DM's Note:* Both Wyshira and Kale also approached Ecurius to have the magical items they carried identified:

_Wyshira's crystalline globes: Lesser Eye Charms: Each one contains a detect magic spell within, which is released on the holder when the globe is crushed.
Kale's Items - 
Brine blade: This sword has a minor enchantment to aid its handling and sharpness - it is a short sword +1, with additional abilities (identify can only divine the most minor quality of a magic item).
Lesser Ring of Umbramancy: This ring has the ability to cast darkness once per day upon the command word Shushurek, in addition to whatever properties it seems to possess in drawing the shadows around the wearer (identify did not identify that ability, but obviously you know it possesses it). Ecurius is most intrigued by this item - firstly since it seems to be an example of some form of very old umbramancy, and also because the command word is a name that he has seen pop up in really old texts written in Drakkath before.
Wand of Lightning: The wand that Kale took off the master werewolf is a Wand of lightning, as per a 5th level caster. It still has 17 charges. As an arcane spell wand, only arcane spellcasters (and rogues or bards trying the Use Magic Device skill) can utilise it._


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## Horacio

Three updates a day, I'm being spoiled


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## Carnifex

At the moment I'm just trying to get all the general chatter out of the way - it's important stuff because there's lots of character emotions and development in it, but still, I want to get to the bit where Kale once again gets set alight


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## Mathew_Freeman

Sounds like fun. I look forward to it.

Heck, what with this and P-kitty's update-a-day, we're being spoiled at the moment.

Now if only Sepulchrave would start his new thread!


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## Carnifex

Seeing the other group preparing themselves for a trip to the city, Sebastion felt pretty sure that his own companions would wish to do the same. Ebri might not be the type - though he wouldn't guarantee it - but he'd put even money on Melisande not being able to resist the pull of shopping....

... and somewhere deep down inside where he didn't want to admit it he knew that he felt the urge to make sure the three women with whom he'd travelled stayed safe. It was rash, perhaps, foolish definitely, and ultimately not his problem, but another day or so wouldn't hurt... would it?

_And I could do with a few lance caps... might be able to fashion something usable out of a sapling on the road... _he thought. There'll be plenty of time to spar with Ebri, and I've seen plenty of stables...

Despite having convinced himself to go, he couldn't quite convince himself to enjoy the trip.... 

The party collected outside a while later in the afternoon sun, horses having been saddled up and prepared for the trip down. Idle conversation passed back and forth amidst the various strangers.Cord patted Wyshira's hand lightly. "I think I will accompany some of our new friends into the city," he said softly. "I am curious, especially of the soldier and the quiet one. Shall we meet at your goddesses' temple later in the afternoon?"

Silently approaching Sebastion in the shade of the city gate, he introduced himself once more. "May I accompany you into the city, soldier?" he asked, laying a light hand on the man's arm. Sebastion started slightly at the surprising comment, turning to see the old dwarf that was speaking.

"Uh... certainly. I'm travelling more as guard than shopper, but... please, feel free." He returned to stroking the horse for a few moments more before mounting up with the consumate ease of someone more than simply used to horses. He rode in silence for a short while, feeling more and more uncomfortable with each trotting step, and finally cleared his throat noticably.

"So, uh... Cord, wasn't it? How long have you fellows been on the road?" It wasn't much, but it was a start. Cord heard the strain in his voice, and wondered again. _What is eating at this young one?_

"A week or two, I imagine," he responded pleasantly. "I cannot be entirely sure. I do not notice the passage of the sun, many days. I have only accompanied them recently; the other four have experienced their share of adventures several times over, I believe."

Cord absently brought a hand up to stroke his beard, his sightless eyes peering from within deeply inset wrinkles engraved across his face. "They are like a family. Wolf is like a father to Kale, like a child eager to prove his worth. Burl is the reclusive brother and Wyshira cares for them all like a mother protecting her cubs. They have learned to depend on each other, though they may not believe they do."

_And what would that make me, _he wondered briefly. _The dear grandfather, watching over their family?_

He shook his head, realizing he had once again sunk into a silent reverie. Too often he was becoming lost in his own thoughts. With a force of will, he wrenched his clouding mind away from such thoughts and smiled at Sebastion. "How about your company, Sebastion? What kind of family has adopted you?"

Sebastion found himself surprised at the insightful question, turning his thoughts for a moment to his father.

_How long has it been since I even thought of father?_ he wondered, running a hand slowly along the wooden sheath of the double sword stuck through his pack-strap.

"A family? Not really... although, perhaps a group of distant and estranged cousins would be the closest. They travel together because they happen to be going in the same direction, I think." He observed, not realising he had left himself out of the explanation. "Although I think Ebri might see herself as the older sister type, if you'd have been speaking to here." 

Cord nodded thoughtfully. Yes, a ragtag band of estranged cousins seemed to fit their disposition quite nicely.

The two, following the women closely, but respectfully, wound their way through the bustling streets of Tarravus. The pungent odor of sweat, oil, smoke, and refuse permeated the atmosphere, nearly obscuring his sense of smell and overwhelming all tastes. But he had spent a considerable amount of time in cities, many worse off than this one, and he had learned to adapt. He began to tune out the dull roar of people yelling, running, haggling. His senses refined, filtering out the noise, and after only a few minutes he became more comfortable with his surroundings.

He spoke with Sebastion in pleasant, melodic tones as the young soldier searched for a possible smith to replenish his instruments of war. Cord told him a little of his recent travels, of the large variety of people across the Drakkath and in Naseria that were willing to simply listen and ask questions. He told Sebastion about his life as a student, and about being a student of life. He could not help but grow wistful as he thought about the innumerable people he had met that brought so much meaning and enlightenment into his own long life.

"Every one is a student of some discipline. We must learn all the time, must develop our own talents, lest we die. What do you strive to learn, my friend? Why do you travel, as you have been?"

Looking up at the women riding before him for a moment, recalling the last time he had told this particular piece of information, he watched Melisande giggling like a maiden in the wash-paddock at home, leaning in towards Wyshira with whispered commentary.

Turning back to Cord, he smiled a wry, ironic, slightly sad grin.

"Last time I told someone this, I don't think I managed to convey what I really meant." he said, by way of an introduction. "True, she was a woman, and a witch at that, and not likely to know the ways of men or war, but I'm not sure it wasn't partly in the way I told it, either..."

With that warning given, and slipping down from the saddle to hold the ladies' horses as they almost dashed into some establishment or other, Sebastion turned to the dwarf and told him.

"My father was soldier. Not just a man with a sword, but someone who put his life on the line for something he felt was right: he fought for things he believed in. I can't see that in a nation, at least, not in any of the nations I see at the moment.

I want to fight for something I believe in, something that matters - fighting seems to be the only thing I ever had a talent for, really. So... I train, and I learn... and I travel. The way of mercenary seems to be the only path that fits, but I need to be able to decide when and where I fight, and more importantly for what.

Mercenaries fight for pay, but people tend to look down on them for that. People need money, that's why they work, but they can choose for whom they work, and when. I want to make sure people realise that, I want to make a difference somewhere, to do something worthwhile.... I... I guess that all sounds a little bit arrogant, doesn't it?" he forced a chuckle, flushing slightly with embaressment as he picked an imaginary piece of something from the mane of Wyshira's mare, and patted down its flanks, more for his comfort than for the horse's.

Cord shook his head, an understanding smile on his face. "Not at all, my friend," he said in a deep voice. "All must find their own path in the world, and yours is more noble than most, I believe. To fight for what you believe, to protect what you love: those are hardly selfish desires, Sebastion. My own path does not lie in the direction of violence, but our goals are very much the same. To train, to learn, to travel, you said. I have done likewise for nearly a hundred years."

He paused a moment, his last words echoing in his ears. A hundred years. Has it truly been that long? He had learned much, yet had so far to go. He knew enlightenment was not within his reach, but the venture brought him closer in a way that nothing else could. His time was growing short, he knew, but he longed to stay.

Cord clapped Sebastion on the back, more to shake himself from his own reverie than to get Sebastion's attention. "Do not be embarrassed. Take pride, as you do in your horse. Everyone may freely choose their own destiny. You have the rare gift of recognizing the fact. Make a difference. Do something worthwhile. And fight for what you believe in."

Cord nodded briskly. Wyshira's scent was near, the almost salty tang carried by a stray breeze. He wondered how she and the other woman were getting along.

"Be prepared to answer the question," he continued, easing his horse away from Sebastion, "_What do you believe in_? No debates about upbringing, or ethics, or mercenaries, matters if you cannot answer that question."

Meanwhile, as she rode, Melisande did a thorough search of her pockets. Along with lint, string and mismatched buttons she recovered a good many biological samples from her journey, including some odd seeds and dried flowers, but minus a few insects and worms she was sure had put there. And, fortunately, her pockets also turned up exactly seven gold pieces. Not much for spell components, but at least with Lord Ecurius' sumptuous hospitality she would not have to worry about scrimping.

It looked like Burl was doing a bit of inventorying himself. A pair of beady black eyes and a sharp little whiskered snout wriggled from one of his pockets and squeaked at him for a while; she assumed this must be Spike. _It's a hedgehog,_ she told Pierre, who had been fretting, having had his dose of stress with Meg'anna's fox. He seemed relieved.

In Tarravus she joined Burl and Wyshira, chiding her horse up alongside the priestess's and waiting for Lord Ecurius to leave before leaning close to whisper, "Isn't he a dreamboat?"

Straightening, she gestured to Burl to lead the way. "To the wizards' guild, then. And on the way I'd love to hear what sort of arcana you're in."

Wyshira giggled at Melisande's comment. _Dreamboat_ wasn't actually a word in the young priestess' vocabulary, but Mel's conspiratorial whisper and the admiring glance she shot at Lord Ecurius, made her meaning clear. Truthfully, Wyshira had barely noticed their host's good looks. But she took a moment to appreciate them now, and to appreciate too, the girlish fun of whispering and laughing with a female companion.

"Lord Ecurius," Ebri said, when the others were engaged in their conversations, "I wonder, are you familiar with a man by the name of Karbal? I was told he was recently in the area; a fellow traveler of my order asked me to pass on greetings to him."

Ecurius looked a little surprised at Ebri's mention of the name 'Karbal'. "I certainly do know of Karbal. He's a merchant from Killanon - deals mostly in books, parchment, things like that. Quite a well-connected man, and I've bought a fair share of texts from him in my time. It's actually not unusual to see him in court, I have to say. He lives on the same street as the wizard's guild, if you want to find him. I didn't know he had any conections with the Immarians though."

_DM's Note:_ Ebri was in fact informed that she should contact Karbal on her journey north from Corvus. There are a few incidents I don't think I included in the SH, and one was her night-time meeting with an Old Master, who informed her that Karbal was the Nephian contact within the capital city.

A short while later, after a pleasant trip down the side of the verdant valley past green fields and tall, ancient oaks, they arrived at the gates of the city; a mighty portal through the massive, sand-coloured stone walls, above which the pennants of Tarravus fluttered, their symbol a golden dragon on a pure white background. The gate guards, clad in the high-quality armour and garb of Royal Guard, let the Truth Seeker's party in without troubling them.

"Well, my path takes me to the palace. If you tell me where you wish to go before I depart, I may be able to help point out the way there."

The band put forwards their wishes; the temples of Grumand and Ishrak, the wizad's guild, an armourers; and Ecurius gave them what directions he could. And then the party fragmented to go about their business.

Unlike Corvus city, the centre of the domain of Tarravus was not orderly in its arrangement. It had not suffered from the kinds of devastation that had allowed House Corvus to rebuild their bastion along new, planned lines, instead having grown organically from the original small settlement that had once been here on the banks of the river. Several main arteries of life, wide and well-cobbled roads, wound their way through the place, but off of these, the streets were often winding and the slate-roofed houses packed tightly side by side, looming up over the roads before them. The buildings were generally not as tall or dominating as the stone buildings of Corvus, here and there a tower or noblemans residence rearing up, a white-washed temple or a large stone public building, though the mighty bulk of the palace was visible from nearly everywhere and the Wind Hawks fortress, the Air Tower, reached impossibly high.

The main streets were full, packed with merchants and messengers. Goods came to the west coast through the port of House Thrazan, passed through Tarravus, and then headed east through the mountains into the Drakkath, so the city was full of mercantile business. there were few guards around, for unlike the wide boulevards of Corvus city it would be near impossible to keep watch over the throngs here - though that didn't mean they were entirely absent. An occasional Wind Hawk, resplendent in white and airy blue hues, with light cloaks covered in hawk feathers, prowled through the crowds, keeping their eyes and ears open for trouble.

* * *

Kale found himself in a small square off from the main Merchant's Ward - a cacophony of hammering and the heavy smell of chemicals and soot on the air. The myriad of forges and alchemicreative engineers would doubtless provide someone able to make the armour he wanted to commission.

It hadn't taken long for Kale to find the district he was looking for: it was marked by merchants and peddlers hawking their wares to an incredibly diverse crowd that slowly flowed through the booth and shop maze. Likely intended to literally trap and wander its quarry, the marketplace was an alluring enviroment that tempted its explorers to buy, buy, buy.

Even amidst the everyday commercial fervor, however, there were the dedicated and trueblooded movers. Every few booths, a buyer's discerning eye, the merchant's carefully placed words, subtleties of a seldom-recognized artform revealed themselves: gems amidst the dross.

As a lifestyle, the road-dusted mercenary could never survive as a merchant. But the challenege and the energy of the trade... a small grin escaed his lips as he passed a haggling pair. Merchantry was a life, not a skill, and the two grown men haggled over the price of a small bushel of apples: it was purely for 'the love of the game.'

Resignation and protestations tapered to a close as Kale walked by, commerce traded hands, and two everyday men parted, respectful as soldiers as they disengaged, polite as neighbors as they departed the battlefield. Every man a tiger, the mercenary thought as he regarded the two veterans of the mercantile front.

It was with all respect, then, that he walked unassumingly to a smithshop in the trade district. Purposeful traffic along with scattered browsers mixed underneath the old oaken sign: "Gimfin's Ironworks", it declared in a mix of drawn a wrought black-and-white. Solid, and not too pretentious, a close look revealed the aged sign's vintage, as well as its soft-spoken quality.

Hopeful, Kale entered the shop, pausing a few steps inside and aside to take in the shop's wares. Sheltered from the sun and well-ventilated, ingenious decoration and plush furnishings of the gnomeshop was a stark contrast to the familiar forgefires of the dwarven smiths.

Armor and arms, wheels and chairs, bits and ploughs and lines of unintelligible machines and works dotted the shop, all in a definate but incomprehensible organization. The toolvest-clad proprieter stood yards away, talking cheerfully with a human wizard, the man standing fully three feet taller than the dimunitive maker. Size, of course, made no difference to the gnome, laughing and carrying on with the man for who he was: an enjoyable and regular customer.

Helping himself to a seat and a nearby wrought-iron 'puzzler,' Kale worked patiently at the contraption while the tall spellcaster made his way to the door. "Off you go, then!" said the one who could only be Gimfin. "Bring the kids next time- I've got a new one they have simply got to try" he finished, holding up a strange contraption box while the man smiled and rolled his eyes.

"Ah, then!" the gnome began, his gaze falling on the newcomer in his entry chair. Browsers and the curious filtered in and out from time to time, tolerated as a cultural oddity by the gnome. Why all people did not desire to sit a bit and visit, he could not understand. To each his or her own, perhaps. Still, as far as his own was concerned, he would rather spend his time speaking with the one who knew how to sit and... with a click and "Aha!" solve one of his simpler but intriguing puzzlers.

"Clever," Kale began, returning the iron ring to its nest of entrapping rods and curls. The gnome sat opposite in a matching, but small-scale cushioned chair, and produced a curious and heavy steaming pot from a nearby table. Helping the gnome with the cups, Kale could only wonder what in the world the pot contained, or how it managed to keep its contents hot.

Shortly, a quick taste revealed tea, though the mercenary was careful in his sips to only wet his lips- who knew what colors or effects the brew could conceal. If the market was a battle of wits, then the gnomehouses were a battle of pranks. Often, gnomekin merchant would tone down their passions to accomodate most 'stuffy and boring' tall-ies, but Kale was looking for something special, and he suspected that might make him fair game.

"My name is Kale," he said, replacing his cup. "And it's a long road that has brought me here." Launching into an oblique but selectively detailed account of some misadventures, Gimfin seemed quite interested, though couldn't conceal his disappointment when he saw the tales begin to weave around a certain tattered shirt of armor. Tales and adventures were great for the maker to hear, but what fun was there in repairing an old chain shirt?

"But what fun is there in repairing an old chain shirt?" Kale asked as he looked down on several beast-battered flat spots, three even stab holes, and a tooth-rent tear in his shoulder. "A dedicated dwarfsmith would repair the links, but what I'm looking for is something new. It's been a long time since I've seen something new and exciting," Kale began to change the subject as he made clearer what he was seeking. Conversation turned to new contraptions... a powder-powered 'bang stick' he heard of. Gun-spear without the range, that was something new. He wasn't ready to make a proposal on the shirt, and Gimfin didn't really seem ready yet to accept. Sure, the maker would likely accept a commission for a great shirt of mail, but it wouldn't be terribly fun for the man. Kale wanted the gnome's heart in it. Besides, there are other things I'd like to learn...

They chatted about warfare, the state of the trades, even of strange rumors in Corinthia, but what wese most interesting to the both of them were ironworks and thaumineering. Chatting and experimenting, Kale learned the basics, prodding various curiosities and puzzlers while Gimfin looked on. It was a mix between conversation and outright laughter, the gnome completely engaged shorty after Kale succeeded in splattering both arms blue, and being zapped with a strange storm-charge that stood his hair on end.

Modes and methods, tricks and escapes, it was an exchange where Gimfin would never give up his best, but would encourage the mercenary on with key concepts, in trade for a few clever ideas, or victim-humor in the absense of mechnical wit.

All in all, Kale figured he fared alright. He had managed to secure a commission for a fine shirt of mail: not fancy, not complex, just expertly made, of a special alloy the maker had been working on for quite some time. His battered shirt would go to a recommended dwarven smith, and he could soon return for a newer and better coat, with the promise of a bit more conversation, and anything more he knew about the odd 'bang stick.'

"Gimfin, thank you. Well met, and I hope to see you again soon." Intercepting the gnome's handpat, he opted instead for a quick handshake with the man. An awkward texture in his hand was met with a wry smile from the gnome- some averted prank slipped back into the maker's pocket, rather than on Kale's flank. Blue hands and a ruffled hairstyle, the mercenary-student felt he had done alright.

Exiting the quaint shop, Kale was shocked to see the sun already easing toward the horizon. He had been with the gnome nearly all day! Thinking the snacks and drinks only a token of gnomekin hospitality, he didn't even notice how much time had passed.

Making his way quickly to 'Runestone's,' he hoped there would be enough time for the smith to weld his old links before the day was out. Once inside the forge, Kale bided his time washing his hands and inspecting the rest of his body for undiscovered changes. Times like this, his small mirror always came in handy...

It was quite an enjoyable day, yet for whatever reason he couldn't shake the desire to get back to the estate soon. He'd always enjoyed his market time the most, chatting and bargaining, challenging and exploring the urban landscape. Still, he couldn't deny the draw... an irksome desire to get back to the crew. Impatiently, he schooled himself so sit still and wait for his shirt repairs.

* * *

The Scribe's Ward was a small area of the city over the other side of the river, part of the Old Quarter wherein the mighty Air Tower sprouted upwards. On the cul-de-sac of a street that made up the bulk of this particular Ward stood the wizard's guild, a formidable and imposing building of dark gray stone, its upper reaches wreathed in glowering gargoyle carvings. Around it was a myriad of smaller buildings, alchemists and scribes businesses and book-sellers. Not far down rose the temple of Grumand, built from heavy blocks of stone.

The streets here were less crowded, with few people wandering around, and those mostly messengers delivering and departing the clerks buildings. A handful of city guardsmen in breastplates wandered the pavements idly as the band consisting of Melisande, Wyshira, Burl, Sebastion, Cord and Ebri passed through the low arch that deliniated the Ward. Wolf had disappeared off on his own, as Kale had done.

Melisande nearly fell off her horse gawking. Seven gold pieces wouldn't go far at the booksellers' or the alchemists', but how she longed just to peruse their wares. There was so much to learn.

Then again, the only spell component she needed to restock was a little powdered iron, and that wouldn't cost much.

After the Wizard's Guild, she reminded herself judiciously, even as she was about to leap from the saddle to root through an alchemist's.

As the daunting gray building rose up before them she moved in on Burl again, not to be discouraged by his secrecy. Perhaps he simply had not heard her question. But she was determined to know what sort of spellcaster she had to work with on this upcoming adventure so they could coordinate their efforts and perhaps also their purchases. "I do hope we'll have time to stop in at an alchemist's after the Guild," she began conversationally. "I dabble in a little alchemy myself. What about you, Burl?" 

The disparate band made its way towards the guildhouse, drawing more than a few looks from the few wanderers who strolled around the cul-de-sac - a handful of nobles and clerks, and the armoured guards. It was just glances and mutters amongst themselves, along with a few mild leers from guardsmen eyeing up the exotic-coloured women.

The guildhouse was grander than the one in Corvus, clearly having had more wealth poured into its construction. The arcanists themselves who entered and exited the impressive oak double-doors looked similar though - mostly in the trappings of merchants and clerks, with only a few tell-talke signs that they were spellcasters; and even those could be mistaken, like a spellbook for an accounts ledger. Another reminder of the inferior station of wizard's in Naseria, where sorcerous magic ruled supreme.

As the band came to the doors, an entirely different figure strode out, in a garb that Sebastion immediately recognised.

_Flame Guildsman._

He seemed to project his own personal aura, a fair space around him that the Naserian wizards didn't dare invade. Some of them gave him sullen glances or even outrightly hostile glares, though not a one moved to act against him. Tall, carrying himself with an imperiosu manner, the wizard was clad in the long red and orange robes of the Flame Guild, the organisation of war wizards that provided the magical support for the Huronese and Carthagian armies on a mercenary basis - robes that Sebastion had heard were often reinforced with leather and padding, making them an adequate protection by themselves. Over his chest a gleamingly polished steel breastplate was tightly fitted for the minimum of interference and encumbrance, a flaming brazier etched into it, and belts of components were slung around his waist. Yet the fiery garb was not all that marked out this man from the crowd - his ashen, gray-black skin and fiery red hair that shifted as if alive drew stares, his eyes gleaming like tiny flames. A red slik mask covered the lower half of his face and nose, keeping his visage enigmatic.

Sebastion knew the reasons behind the unfriendly attitudes of the otehr wizards too. Guildsmen serevd in the Carthagian armies as magical fire support, and it was their magics that had brought down Corvus city during the Fang Wars. Exactly what the hell a Flame Guildsman was doing here - and a high-up too, since rumour said the breastplate was a mark of seniority - was a mystery, made even more inscrutable by the inhuman appearance of the spellcaster.

Opinion in the lands he had been brought up in was of course not hostile to the Guildsmen and their organisation, though often people were suspicious of their motives and power. He rarely had chance or reason to see them himself though.

The wizard strode past the band to a small gathering of men at the bottom of the stairs to the guildhouse entrance, armed men who they had previously assumed to just be guards but who seemed to be this man's personal guard. Then they were within the building itself, and the relative cool air compared to the suin-lit warmth outside,

The entrance hall was broad, well-decorated and the home of a number of portaits along the walls, possibly of famous guild members. A broad, polished wooden desk sat just inside the doors, the robed and bespectacled clerk sitting there looking up from a ledger to grin at the odd assortment before him; the wizened man finished his writing then closed the book shut with a snap. "Good day, welcome to the Tarravus guildhall of the wizards of Naseria. What can I help you with?"

* * *

At the back of the group as they had come in, Sebastion noted the southern wizard stop amidst his retainers, pausing as if suddenly struck by a thought. Then he turned on his heel and came striding back up the steps, reentereing the building, eyes locked on the Huronese man.

His voice was strange, reminding Sebastion somehow of a crackling fire. "Are you the younger Cornell?" he said forcefully, an urgency in his voice.

* * *

The knowledge that Kale picked up that day was wide-ranging, and not just from talkative gnomes either. Several main topics ran through the mercantile social circle, topics the man picked up on through half-heard conversations, friendly or worried merchants as they sold him rope or metal claw or hammered new rigns into his chain shirt. One that he had heard for a while now, but which seemed to be growing in urgency, was the impending famine.

It was virtually an accepted fact now that there would be food shortages this year. The winter would be harsh indeed with little grain and other crops to sustain them - it wasn't as if the preceeding years had been bountiful. The countries of the Drakkath had found their crops failing, the yield looking to be low as some strange blight troubled the land. Attacks and raids by nomadic abhumanoid races were increased, probably because they too were finding their stocks of food low. Some said that the only reason Adbar was attacking the hobgoblin nations to their east was to steal their barns full of grain, but even that seemed unlikely to provide a respite for the word was of disturbingly effective resistance forces. No-one had the answers, either, and it was that which really troubled the merchants. Priests could not explain it. The followers of Solanthar were receiving poor favour since some blamed the destructive influences of the Sun Lord for the trouble, his baleful scorching rays killing the crops. The clergy of Grumand spoke of a taint within the earth, but when asked to do something about it they could do nought but throw up their hands and say that Grumand did not know what it was. Ishrakites called down rainbut all it did was erode soil and do more damage. In some places priests or those with powers over nature seemed able to hold off the worst of the malign influence creeping over the Drakkath, but the crops of Killanon, Adbar and Corinthia were going to be severely diminished. The food shortage would have severe repercussions.

It wasn't as if Corinthia hadn't already suffered economical problems this year. The king had been removed in a coup led by House Irilson, and now was ruled by the more 'democratic' merchant council, made up of the heads of each merchant house. The chaos following the change of rule had of course already caused merchants enough problems - the port of Iril was the primary outlet of trade from the entire of the Middle Kingdoms out to the Azure Sea and the lands beyond, and turmoil there was far from appreciated due to the disruption it caused to shipping schedules. Fortunately it seemed the Irilsons had managed to set up the new system with good efficiency to prevent too much trouble, but in the rest of Corinthia things had yet to settle down.

Wild rumours circulated about the fate of the king, but the generally accepted account of events was that the merchant princes had him executed fairly promptly. Apparently the Azure Guard had pretty quickly surrendered (or changed sides, or instigated the whole thing, depending on who you talked to).

_DM's Note:_ The other PC's also heard the same kind of rumours as Kale did as they passed through the city; Wyshira also found out that there as a temple of Ishrak, near the river. After the talk with the gnome, Kale felt fairly confident he could use Disable Device on the kinds of things the inventor showed him.


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## Mr Fidgit

yet _another_ update! w00t!  

(we _are_ getting spoiled  )


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## Maldur

Great stuff, More More!


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## Carnifex

As the others entered the wizards guild, Ebri caught Sebastion and Melisande's attention.
"I will meet you again here in a while, if you wish. The workings of magic do not interest me, but..." she grinned-- "I believe that I and that bookseller have much to discuss..."

She headed toward the shop Ecurius had mentioned with unfeigned enthusiasm. 

* * *

His hopes rose and fell in an awkward dance as Cord overheard the half-conversations of frightened people. Threatening famine, incapable or misunderstood gods, priests that, in an attempt to refresh the land, only worsened the situation. It all sounded familiar, and Cord realized that this pent-up fear was simply the first expression of the corruption he began feeling in the earth months ago. It almost seemed as if another force was actively seeking their destruction, a force to rival the gods. Reaching into his far past, he remembered the legends of the ascendance of mortal gods. Perhaps those they had replaced were not defeated . . .

Cord's thought were interrupted by a gruff voice nearby. He sensed the tension escalate abruptly at the urgent question whispered gratingly into Sebastion's face, interrupting and scattering his thoughts. The question had not been accompanied by a threat, at least, not yet, but Cord remained on his guard, tensing slightly at Wyshira's side. Neither was it his place to interfere, and so Cord waited, judging the situation, judging the newcomer, until the time came for action.

* * *
Striding inside, Burl stood, looking every much the country bumpkin, taking in the richly furnished interior. Had not a clerk, located inside the door, asked about their business, Burl might still be standing there.  “Kind Sir, I am new to this guildhouse and would like to inquire where I might be able to purchase a few spell components. I am in need of a few items to return my stock to capacity.  Before the clerk could answer, Burl felt a commotion brewing as the hairs on his neck rose. He turned in time to see the strange man come charging through the doors. _ My god, please don’t tell me I’ve been recognized again!_  He was looking for some place to run when he heard the man speak,  “Are you the younger Cornell?

Taking a large gasp of air, Burl slowly calmed as he turned to see what was transpiring, now that he was not the object of the man’s intentions.

* * *

Wyshira followed the others into the Wizard's Guild, although the leering faces of the stone gargoyles glaring down from above did little to make her feel welcome. Inside it was almost as gloomy: the air was dim and stuffy - even near the door, or so it seemed to the Storm priestess. Austere figures stared out from their gilt-edged portrait frames at her, and a heavy silence seemed to muffle even the sound of her footsteps as she walked across the intricately patterned parquet floor.

She had just decided to tell Burl that she would wait for him outside, when a tall figure clad in red and orange strode in through the entrance. She realized that she had seen him a moment ago exiting the building, and wondered what had brought him back. She got a better look at him as he stopped near her to speak to Sebastian.

She took in the man's ash-gray skin and strangely shifting red hair, and with a jolt of recognition knew that he was a Fire-kin. She'd never seen his kind before, never even really thought much about their existence; but now she instinctively knew his nature as surely as if she could see his heart burning inside his breast.

She stiffened, all of her senses on edge. She was aware that the air around him felt minutely warmer, drier. Faintly, she could detect the scent of smoke drifting away from him. Even the sound of his voice reminded her of the roar of flames, softly though he spoke. She couldn't take her eyes off him. If she had been forced to leave, she would have had to back out the door; she just couldn't bear the thought of exposing her back to him.

Do I really think he is a threat to me? I just don't know.... There is something wrong about him, that's all. Wyshira didn't realize that her opinion was based on prejudice. She simply felt a strong negative reaction to this Fire Genasi that came from deep within her. She stood calmly without a ripple of movement about her, and watched him warily as he conversed with the Huronese mercenary.

* * *

Beginning to wonder if someone had cast a deafness spell on the unsuspecting Burl, Mel shrugged as he once again put off her attempts to probe into his areas of arcane expertise. Not one to give up though, she was formulating yet another question when they approached the Mages' Guild and he began finally to talk of his own accord.

"...I will need to pick up the rarer items such as the earth from a ghoul’s lair or skeleton bones here."

If he had been avoiding her interrogations out of a sense of privacy, then these were not the sort of spell components he really should have mentioned. Instantly it all became clear. The dark robes, the taciturn demeanor--she should have known. After all, she'd worked with sullen, nihilistic necromancers in the Manipulation labs every day. To be fair she had to admit Burl seemed a little different from the exaggeratedly pale, morbid Carthagians of her past experience--none of them would be caught dead (so to speak) with a hedgehog for a familiar. They all had Manipulated bats or spiders which they toted on their shoulders like a badge of nastiness. Burl looked a smidgen healthier than any of them, and if he had been ignoring her questioning because necromancy embarrassed him, it was another point in his favor. In fact, perhaps he had dropped the hint for her benefit, not wishing to speak the word 'necromancy' aloud among the others. Melisande approved. It remained to be seen how discreet he was with his actual corpse magic, however.

Once within the Mages' Guild, she did not have time to make up her mind what she wanted to do before a vision from her past gave her a sudden and horrible shock.

There was no doubt, it was a high-ranking Flame Guildsman. The red and orange robes, his firey hair and ash-dark complexion burned straight into her and caused her heart to skip a beat. With forced casualness she tore her terrified gaze away and turned to the clerk as if it were nothing.

She wanted to manifest her solidarity with Sebastion somehow in case things went as badly as they had for Sandslipper at the _Cowardly Dragon_, but unless it came down to it she knew she was better off lying low. Not only would a Flame Guildsman happily cash in on a Carthagian deserter, but there was now something in addition to her seven gold pieces burning a hole in her pocket: the Fire Serpent Rod. Something a former owner of the mimir had said floated through her mind unsettlingly.

She stood feeling more desperately blue than ever. To the clerk she attemped a level tone. "Hello. I'd like to purchase some material components. Could you direct me to that department?"

The clerk nodded to Melisande's question, noting her slightly unlevel tone and glancing curiously at for what reason the Flame Guildsman might have reentered the building again. "Certainly madam. I've got a list of substances that the quartermaster stocks here, so just make your requests and I'll see if I can supply them."

Sebastion turned, slowly, fighting for composure as he did so, to face the unorthodox figure.

The flaming appearance was the least thing on his mind, especially when he convinced himself this was just another of those _Ge-nasty_ people,(_DM's Note: He means Genasi, but Sebastion isn't keen on magic and magical people much _) like the water-woman from Cord's group. What preyed on his mind, though, through the slow revolution, was the imlication of younger.

_This man knew my father,_ he realised, rather numbly. _Was he a mercenary serving with this warlock, or were they enemies?_

_If he seeks retribution, then I shall at least have the populace on my side: on the other hand, if he acknowledges me as a friend, I might get the same sort of looks that he's getting..._

Curiousity, in the end, and the relative guarantee of safety, prompted him to tell the truth.

"I am, sir, yes. Sebastion. I assume you knew my father... by what name are you known? He may have spoken of you." It was an effort for his twitching fingers not to slide to the hilt of his sword as he felt a trickle of sweat emerge from his armpit and run slowly down his ribs. 

The red silk mask that covered the lower half of the Guildsman's face meant that it was hard for Sebastion - or indeed any of the others - to gauge the genasi's reaction to the warrior's words. It was strange for the Huronese mercenary, looking into those eyes that glimmered with flickering fire, so unreadable and alien in nature, and that seemed to kindle a memory, a half-though almost surfacing into his conciousness that he couldn't quite catch. Those twinkling eyes, full of fiery energy, swept over the room to take in the others who curiously watched and listened.

"I did know your father, yes. My name is Imellin Daerlen, War Mage of the Flame Guild. I had heard that you might be in this area... well, you are doubtless wondering why I am asking about you, yes?"

Imellin Daerlen was not a name familiar to Sebastion, though the surname was a not uncommon one in Huron.

The man's voice still had that forceful urgency behind it. "A number of things, I have to say." And he stepped closer, to speak more quietly to Sebastion. "Firstly, I would know if you are amenable to aiding me on a certain matter, that may interest you as both a Huronese patriot - if you are anything like your father - and as a mercenary, which I hear is your current vocation." He paused, looking hard at the man. "I wonder how much of your father's valour you have... Secondly, I would put forward a proposal to you over the family estates in Zhatan. Finally, I would point out to you that you carry a Dracoverr sword, so I wouldn't be too obvious about it if you encounter any Dracoverr troopers, since they might take offense at a mere mercenary carrying their equipment."

Sebastion hesitated yet again, staring at the thin strip of exposed face, trying to find some sort of identifiable expression in the curious, flickering eyes.

"Patriotism is too blind for me." he muttered, though he nodded his head at the idea of purely 'mercenary' business. He was always interested, and when this 'sojourn' to the wizard's tower was completed, it would be good to have another commission to move to. Of course, he'd have to judge whether the commission was acceptable, he wasn't just going to be a hired sword for the highest bidder, after all.

"I'd be very interested to hear about employment opportunities, however I am on commission at this particular moment in time. I can't give you an exact estimate of the time, but we've not yet begun. I've received a fee, perhaps if you could give me a brief description, I could better judge which is the cause more worthy?" he offered, lowering his voice.

He wasn't going to ask about the Dracoverr - the word had a strange, almost familiar ring to it - but he wasn't going to admit his ignorance to this stranger who knew a little too much about him to be entirely comfortable with... 

The Flame Guildsman was still back there, speaking in low tones to Sebastion. Mel's nerves shrieked. If only she had thought sooner, she could easily have altered her telltale coloration for a short time until the man went away. It was too late now.

Glancing up she noticed the clerk eyeing her, waiting for her answer. She'd been hoping he would send her out of the vestibule so she could go hide. There was only one simple spell component she really needed, but as long as Sebastion and the Flame Guildsman were conversing she needed an excuse to keep her back turned.

"Oh, may I look at your list? There are almost certainly things on it I didn't know I needed." It wouldn't hurt to pull rank, she decided, smiling confidentially to the clerk and leaning close. "Being a sorceress and an alchemist, I often find myself experimenting you see."

It was true--one never knew what sorts of things could be woven into arcane webs. And after the list, if Sebastion still had not rid himself of the Guildsman, she could ask directions to the library.

Cord listened cautiously to the stranger's discussion with Sebastion. Heat seemed to emanate from every pore of the man, and he could detect the smallest hint of smoke, as if smoldering coals were responsible for the grating voice. He was intrigued. He had heard of these elemental progeny, yet had never met one with an ancestor of fire.

Intent on filtering the afternoon sounds of grumbling merchants and pounding feet, Cord almost looked over Wyshira's sudden stiffening. He wondered, briefly, cocking his head to the side to gauge her reaction, then berated himself for not realizing the dilemma sooner. Wyshira had met, if not face-to-face, her opposite. Shuffling the two feet to her side, Cord laid a reassuring hand on her own, patting it softly. He said no words: he was sure that Wyshira understood his action.

If there was a way to shrink and not be noticed, Burl had not learned that magic, so he could only keep his back from the man speaking to Cornell. As he could not hear the conversation, Burl busied himself with the clerk collecting his components and paying for the items. Fortunately, the clerk had seen it all and was not a bit surprised at his requests. A quick glance at Wyshira told him that she was as worried as he was but then Cord approached her, taking her hand. A quick tingling rose in him at the sight, but he didn’t have time to ponder what it meant. Burl wished only that the masked man would leave.

The ashen-skinned genasi tilted his head to one side, scrutinising the Huronese mercenary carefully. "Suffice to say for the time being, that I am seeking those willing to aid me as agents in uncovering the purpose behind an act of sabotage against the Flame Guild."

Behind them, the clerk was able to acquire for Burl and Melisande a number of the cheap spell components they needed. The Naserian man kept on glancing over at the conversation between the Guildsman and the mercenary though.

"Someone harbours ill intent towards the Guild," the fiery wizard continued, "and my investigations are still ongoing, though thus far they have led me here. Anyway, I should be on my way, but if you should perhaps wish to discuss anything further, feel free to do so. I will either be at the lodgings provided for me here, the _Khaya Dragon_ inn in the River Ward, or performing some diplomatic duties for the Guild in the Tarravus royal court. Good day to you, master Cornell. I hope you at least consider my words, it would be a great benefit to have your aid."

With that, the Guildsman left, rejoining his guards at the bottom of the steps and departing back into town.

Wyshira let out her breath slowly. She hadn't even really been aware that she was holding it until after the Fire-kin left the guildhall. She noticed then too that Cord had taken her hand and was patting it soothingly. She smiled and squeezed his hand in return.

"I'm all right," she said softly. "Thank you Cord."

She wondered briefly if Sebastian would be joining them on the mission to the wizard's tower in the Sarokean mountains, or if he would go off to work for the Fire-kin. She looked at the mercenary to see if he would give any indication of his decision. Then she turned to Burl.

"If you're going to be a while here, I think I'll wait outside in the sunlight." She looked askance at the dimly-lit rooms beyond the clerk's desk before heading back out the door to the street.

Packing away her new spell components in her pockets and belt pouches, Mel waited until Mr. Creepy Flame Guildsman was long gone before approaching Sebastion.

"What was that all about?" she asked, trying to sound neutrally curious. "Is your family associated with the Flame Guild?" In the vast hall she kept her voice a tone below the echo threshold, having noted the all-too-interested glances of the Mages' Guild clerk.

Why did she have such a painful knot in the pit of her gut? All it meant was that Sebastion Cornell, the chauvinistic and distant mercenary whose convenient blade had been at their disposal during their journeys up to now, was going to have choose what sort of company he kept; and with the addition of more mercenaries she thought the present company had a good chance of being preferred. So why this feeling of betrayal, simply because he'd spoken civilly to a potential enemy of hers? If her tone of voice was casual, her intense regard may have belied the importance of the question to her. Her hand strayed entirely unconsciously to the inner pocket where the Fire Serpent Rod rested safely--for the time being. 

Sebastion nodded, once, as the Fire Mage turned and left, and waited, his thoughts racing for a moment. Slowly, he turned, to see the array of different eyes watching him carefully, the suspicion implicit.

Some of them he could understand, the enmity between the locals and the Flame Guild should be palpable, but from those with whom he had travelled?

_It's not as though I've had dealings with them,_ he thought, staring back. _I don't know that they've done anything wrong - I don't know what that war was all about anyway... He knew my father though, well enough to recognise me. And I'm not about to apologise for who my father is!_

Setting his jaw against the implicit criticism he watched them turn away to their various intents, and let his breath out slowly, caught by surprise suddenly when Melisande appeared at his arm with a question.

"My father served in the army - it is not impossible that he served alongside the Flame Guild... he never mentioned it though. He didn't like to talk about those times..." Why did he feel defensive asking about it. "Do you have the Meme... Mimo... that skull thing? I've a few questions I'd like to see if it can help me with?"

He wasn't, however, about to ask them in front of her, or indeed the others. Judging him already, simply because someone had known his father. Times changed - the Flame Guild was held in high esteem in other places, and at least they didn't mess about with that magical nature worrying that his father disapproved of so much... like that two -headed toad for instance.

Perhaps it would be worth finding out a little more about this mission for the Flame Guild. He wanted to do more than just fight, he wanted to fight _for_ something - not just money, or some curious warlock's avarice - not that he was entirely certain he'd been told all there was to know there, either, of course....


----------



## Horacio

Great update, as usual


----------



## Carnifex

When Burl was ready, Wyshira led the way outside, calling to the rest of the party to catch up later. With Cord on one side and Burl on the other, the oddly matched threesome walked quickly to the door, ducking back outside into the fresh air and sunshine, two with distinctly unique versions of relief, and the third hardly noticing the transformation from darkness into light. The quiet, cobblestone street was just as they left it: a few city guardsmen, shining in their breastplates, paced in the cool shade of ornamental trees; fleet-footed messenger boys hurried into and out of the various shops and businesses scattered around the dominant guildhall. Down the street was another imposing stone presence: the Temple of Grummand.

"I don't have the _mimir_; Ebri does. She always manages to sneak off for soup, doesn't she?"  Mel struck up a stride alongside Sebastion as they followed the others out of the Mages' Guild, headed for where she had no idea, but it mattered little now that her meager gold supply had been further reduced.

_Sneak off for soup?_ he mouthed the thought silently behind her back as she moved away, adding it to the list of things he had to quiz the mimir about. _'Dracoverr', 'Imellin Daerlen', 'Sneak off for soup'.... _and _'Cornell'._ He didn't like that he tagged that last one on, and he stared at the fifth raised finger for some time as they walked before Princess Blue piped up once more.

"Listen, Mr Cornell, I don't think it would be a good idea to associate with his sort. The Flame Guild is known to work not only for Huron but also for Carthagia, and I have no idea if there's a bounty on me but I don't want to find out from the likes of him. And also," she added in a half-whisper, blinking as they stepped out into sunlight again, "we are carrying an artifact the Flame Guild would kill for, according to the mimir. I hope you don't intend to fraternize with them any longer." She ended on this slightly snotty note, flipping her deep blue hair and frowning.

Sebastion felt it was more than a little unfair for her to be dictating to him who he should or shouldn't talk to because she was a runaway, but he didn't argue. Other, more fundamental worries were troubling his mind. He simply nodded and followed, fingering the sword in his hands. _The Dracoverr sword... it is my father's sword, nothing more._

He did not, however, the way her pocketing the Fire Serpent Rod had turned into _us_ having an artifact the Flame Guild might want back....

As the band crossed the cobbled street to approach the Temple of the Unyielding Stone, they could not help but notice a 'Wanted' poster that had been crudely pasted up on not just one building, but several; the posters hadn't been there when they'd gone into the Guildhouse. Scrawled on each one was the following:

_WANTED, DEAD OR ALIVE:

'Iron Sky Thunder Hawk'

Gnoll Criminal, Murderer and Robber

For the Murders of a number of travellers on the Heterric Road from Merlihr across the Sarokean mountains to Killanon, and the robbery of their belongings.

The Cambden family offer a reward for his head, attached to his body or not, of 2,000 pieces of gold, and a further 1,000 pieces of gold for the return of the body and heirlooms of Marcus Cambden, Slain by Iron Sky._

Underneath this was an incredibly lifelike image of the head of a gnoll, a distinctive pattern of swirling tattooes around a thunderbolt decorating his face; an old gnoll too, if the gray fur was any mark. The picture had probably been created so accurately through magical means of replication.

_Iron Sky may claim to be the 'Grand Master of the Knights of the Thorn' as a disguise, beseeching hapless travellers to help him before leading them into ambushes. Do not believe this dangerous criminal! His reign of Terror must be brought to an End._

There was no sign of whoever had put up the posters.

Maybe it was just his growing paranoia, but Burl sneaked a quick look around before approaching the Wanted poster. With a short sigh of relief, he found it was for a gnoll and not himself. _With all that has happened to me, I am becoming very paranoid. I realize that in the great scheme of things, I am not that important, but it is my skin and now those around me that is in danger, therefore, I cannot afford to let down my guard. But, as a newly converted mercenary, I do think that we have come to the right area for work._ Burl tapped his finger on the poster, putting to memory the details in case they should confront the object of the poster.

Cord sensed the looming, permanent building of smooth stone, seeking to envelop him in cool, embracing arms. His steps naturally drew him toward the temple, though he may not have realized it consciously. It was not until they neared the steps that he realized he had been steering Wyshira with the lightest of touches with one hand; Burl had followed Wyshira.

Burl spoke as they approached the temple. "Good, I will follow the two of you. It should make an interesting side trip." To himself he added, _And it will get me off the street where I won't be so noticeable._ Turning to Cord, he said, "You know Cord, I never could understand why others looked forward to days like this. When I lived in the forest under the huge oaks, the sun hardly ever broached the ground. Couple that with all the time I spent studying in my mentor's library, I never appreciated a day like this. One day was like every other when you spend it in front of created light." Burl had to admit that it was truly a beautiful day, but then taking a quick look at Wyshira, just maybe it was the company he was keeping.

Cord did not see the quick look, but he heard the sudden, almost imperceptible creak of the neck, the momentarily tightening of Burl's muscles. He brought no attention to the action, though he wondered about it as they ascended the stairs.

Within the temple the air was cool but still. A few small apertures allowed for enough light to enter that torches were not required for illumination, but it lacked the kind of grand stained glass windows of the Cathedrals of the faith of Ishrak. Instead a low ceiling of raw stone hung over the place, the walls decorated with brightly coloured murals painted onto the hewn, unrefined rock that had been stacked up to form the structure.

Wyshira and Burl were shocked to see that, it appeared, the clergy here were growing stalagmites and stalagtites, as bizarre a concept as it seemed. Around the place were scattered pools of water, water apparently pumped up above them and then allowed to drizzle down through the rock. It must have been heavy in minerals for the process was acting in the same manner as that in caverns, creating the conical calceous growths. To Cord this was a familiar practise, though rarer to see in human lands than the dwarven temples due to the time and patience it took to grow a full stalagmite which could then be broken off and consectrated before being used to found a new shrine.

The low chamber hummed with the faint blur of quiet voices talking and the slow drip of moisture from the ceiling. Far at the back two great burnished metal thaumineered pumps hissed and slowly revolved to pumo the water up to the celing spots above the pools. The altar at that end currently hosted a small group of worshippers at service, a cleric garbed in sand-coloured robes anointing them; a handful of men, some being farmers and some of other vocations, along with a couple of dwarves.

The dwarven population in human cities was always low to non-existent, even in the larger settlements like this. Even a thousand years after the wars of the gods, most races were hardly populous, and it was only now that finally the dwarves populations were increasing enough to begin to push back down below the mountains from their undersurface cities, to try and reclaim from the ruins and caverns some of their former glory. With that kind of opportunity available, there was little reason for most dwarves to emigrate to human lands, even with the demand for their craft skills. Most such dwarves were outcasts, wanderers or had their own private reasons for their travels.

As such, outside the Sarokean mountain range dwarves were not common, hence the low number here at worship.

Other clerics of the same garb wandered, attending to their duties or watering the stalagmites with cans of water laden with extra minerals to promote flourishing growth. Most moved with slow, measured fashion, not in any seeming hurry. Moving amongst them, one stood out, a man in heavy gray cloak and sturdy gray clothes of the kind a traveller might make, though obviously a dedicate because of the emblem of Grumand he had tattooed over his face. Passive eyes wandered the temple in faint curiosity, occasionally focusing on a stalagmite as he stopped to give an acolyte a few words of encouragement or advice about how to best grow a stalagmite and achieve a pleasing array of mineral-caused colours over its surface.

It was like stepping onto another plane, Mel thought--from the busy, bright streets of Naseria's capitol into the hushed murmuring of slow water on cool stone, the quiet prayers and infintely patient movements of Grumand's faithful. Of course, she had heard plenty on the subject of Grumand from her teachers of theology in Carthagia, just as she had heard about Immar, Naskha and others. Only now she was discovering them in their own temples, with their truly faithful. There was more to Grumand than lumpy, inert granite after all. For Mel discovering religions was like opening a chest full of gnome-made toys from Kerr, each brilliantly crafted and full of clever, wonderful surprises. Still, her blue heart held a special place for the trickster sorcerer Naskha and His tattooed Cerulean priests.

Soothed by the geological patience of Grumand's temple, she once again found herself trying to make up for being sour by sugaring it over. "Of course, Sebastion, I trust you. I know you wouldn't do anything to put us in danger. It's just that he was making me nervous, the fire guy, and I--I think you should stick with us for now. It would be nice." This time she ended with a sweet, and really actually sincere, smile.

Once within the coolness of the temple, Sebastion's shoulder relaxed a little, and the hunch left his back, even if the craggy eyebrows did still knot close together, almost hiding the deep blue eyes. Even then, within that sanctuary, she wouldn't leave it alone, and he realised he would have to say something to her... "Huron isn't Carthagia. You may have heard things about the Fire Mages, I don't know of, but I haven't. They seem no better nor worse than any other warlocks or witches to me. My father fought alongside them, probably, and I trust his judgement." _Do I? What do I really know about those days? Where did he get this sword? Was he one of these 'Dracoverr'?_ He shook his head slighlty, looked at her and continued.

"You may have gone native now that we're here, but I'm not so sure. I've two job offers here, it seems: pander to some warlock noble's avarice, or look into the treachery threatening to undermine one of the long-term allies of my homeland? I'm not commited to either, yet, but I'd not mind learning a little more. Might be I take up the job hunting down the gnoll posted up on the walls outside when all's said and done. I'll try and do the right thing, and I'm glad you appreciate that, but I'll try and be sure I know what that is first."

He couldn't, however, find anything to counter the assertion that it would be nice if he travelled with them. She was a witch, and a blue one at that, but he would feel strange without them now, they had been travelling together for so long.

Though it probably would have been wiser to let it go, Melisande could not control her irritation, especially since she knew Sebastion's jibe was on the mark--they had not (_she_ had not, in embarrassing fact) investigated Lord Ecurius any further than his handsome smile and lavish table spread before agreeing to the quest, and no one knew exactly what they were serving or whether it was 'right'. On the other hand, fire-spouting war mages who served aggressive military powers such as Carthagia certainly weren't the 'right' people to serve either, to her way of thinking.

And who knew about the gnolls? They had massacred her countrymen before her eyes, and nearly finished her off as well, but if the crucified fleshtearer was what she thought it was, they had a good reason. Perhaps there were good gnolls and bad gnolls, just like people; but wasn't it better to reserve judgment until things were clear?

What was galling was that she had not reserved judgment. She had plunged right in without a second thought, like the nitwit her mother always accused her of being. Yet Melisande trusted Lord Ecurius--he was a Naserian noble, a sorcerer and a Truth-Seeker. Not to mention that smile.

"First of all, he's not a warlock, he's a sorcerer. There's a difference. Second, the Truth-Seekers are not avaricious, they're curious. There's also a difference. Now I'm all for a little healthy skepticism, but certain things are evident from the start. I might as well make it clear to you right now: I don't know much about the Flame Guild, but I do know a bit about Carthagia, and if you choose 'learn a little more' about that man and his quest it's without me."

Sebastion was about to snap back at her as she turned to stalk away, nose in the air like the spoilt princess she obviously thought she was, when common sense stayed his mouth. _I see, he can be 'curious, not avaricious', but I can't. If he's curious, why doesn't he go look? Avarice wants someone to bring it to you...._ He thought, hard, at her departing back, as he looked around the temple. It wouldn't do to shout in here, and anyway he wasn't prepared to argue with her about the nature of warlocks and wizards and sorcerors and what the differences might be. Chances are if he tried to explain light infantry and skirmishers to her she'd be lost, so fair seemed fair.

He'd heard the stories, of course, about the Carthagian warmongers, and the Flame Guild, but then he'd also heard tales about the Huron, and he knew his father would never have been a part of such things... would he? Preconceptions would get him nowhere, he realised - feeling a little guilty about considering whether to include his impressions of his father in that bracket - and if he wanted to know what the Fire Genasi truly wanted he would have to go and hear the man's claims.

Without Melisande, it appeared, he realised, as he trailed his hand over a nearby stalactite gently. He didn't understand why that bothered him.....

Sebastion's silence among the gentle dripping of stalagtites rang loud and clear in Mel's ears. Too late, she realized he probably could not care less whether she intended to accompany him on his mercenary quests, and might even be enjoying the irony of relief at her promised absence.

It was then that something her mother had said--which Mel had ignored at the time--came to mind. The Carthagian minerologist's strong fingers had been firmly braiding her daughter's blue hair, pulling it back from her temples and knotting it for the voyage, while her mouth went on loosing a steady stream of imperatives at the girl, who kept patting her toad nervously.

"...And don't let being a sorceress in Naseria go to your head. The only thing worse than a nitwit is a snotty nitwit. Don't do any kind of magic until you're over the border and even then, keep it discreet. And don't talk to strange men."

It was at least the tenth time she'd said _that_. Mel had a strong recollection of having rolled her eyes, something she only dared when her back was turned to her mother. (She was sure there was a great deal a _Reduce_ spell could do to quell the opportunistic lusts of bandits and brigands; that wasn't what was worrying her.) Amusingly, however, she had obeyed that particular injunction, associating almost exclusively with strange women; the only man among them was much more normal even than herself, and so it hardly seemed fair to call him a 'strange man'.

As for the rest, well, she could only admit she had let herself slip. For a moment she thought she sensed Pierre being smug, and gave him a not ungentle pinch in his pocket. Luckily in the semi-darkness of the Temple of Grumand the deep blue flush in her cheeks would not be too visible.

Once inside, Burl was astonished at the scene. The entire temple gave the impression of a underground cavern. The multicolored stalagmites and stalactites were awe inspiring. Remembering back to the trip on the boat, he assumed that the pumps were a thaumineered item such as the one that had propelled them up river. Slowly moving around the two metal monsters, Burl allowed Spike to slip his small head and front legs out of his home, _ Well Spike, what do you think of this? I am becoming more interested in these contraptions. I only wish we had more time to make detailed drawings and notes. We should probably go find the others. What do you want to bet that Wyshira has found her way into these waters._

While the stuffy, stale air of the wizard's guild had weighed heavily on her, here the sharp scent of earth and stone lifted Wyshira's spirits. This place reminded her of the secret grottos she'd explored at home in the mountains.

And what a discovery! They were using water to nurture and grow beautiful rock formations. The steady drip and trickle that echoed all around her was like music, and she felt herself calmed after the tension of encountering the Fire-kin. She couldn't resist dipping her fingers in a pool of milky, mineral laden water.

She let Cord lead the way, but kept one hand on his elbow in case she needed to guide him around some obstacle. As always, he needed little guidance; he seemed to sense things around him as well as, or better, than she could see them. She bowed respectfully to the brown-robed clerics as she met them, then she noticed the one robed in gray. She guessed he was the high priest, and whispered a description of him to Cord.

As Cord stepped into the temple, he found himself stumbling for the first time in months, possibly years. Wyshira gently held his arm, lifting him to his feet once again. The familiar surroundings, assailing his mind with memories of home and the monastery, had caught him off balance. Cord had not expected to be transported decades back in time to the dwarven caves beneath the Sarokean surface.

The disciple of the sea and the patron of the earth leaned on one another for support as they wandered among pools of gathering water and columns of wrought stalagmites with undisguised awe. He steered her away from the towers of calcified rock as he sensed them drawing nearer; Wyshira guided him around the shallow ponds if he approached to closely. For several moments, the pair allowed themselves to relax in the comfort of stone and water.

The soft, deep murmurings within the temple-cavern echoed off hewn walls. Cord recognized the litanies, taught within the Grummand monastery, and was surprised to hear the voices of dwarves, as well. He had not heard the voice of his kin in years. His latest wanderings had brought him deeper into human lands, and now he found that he had sorely missed the accompaniment of those like-minded. He was about to approach one of the few when Wyshira leaned to one side, and began to describe one that could only be the local priest, administering to the acolytes. He let her descriptions of gray robes and tattoos pass: color and art held little meaning for him. But by connecting his demeanor to the form wandering from one to another within the temple, he agreed with her conclusion. Cord began to approach the man.

_Perhaps such a one with close ties with Grummand might also sense the corruption with the earth. Perhaps he has a better understanding on my own uneasiness._ Still holding onto Wyshira, he turned to face her, nodding in the direction of the priest. "I have a question to ask him," he said softly. "Would you like to join me?"

Cord approached silently and waited for the elder priest to finish his advice before speaking. He dipped his head toward the priest and enacted the traditional gestures of a meeting between two Grummand patrons. It included deliberate, slow movements of the hands and head, bringing forth visions of stalwart mountains and rolling hills. In a moment, the greeting was over.

"I am called Cord," he said, introducing himself. "I have traveled over much of the Drakkath recently, and have felt a growing uneasiness. It has waxed and waned these past months, and I am afraid that it will soon strengthen again. I seem to feel a similar sense when contacting Grummand, though I am not one of his chosen clerics, but a recluse, wandering monk. Perhaps you could enlighten one such as I?"

The gray-robed man turned from the rock formation he was examining to Cord, a curious and kindly expression on his face as he greeted him. "Good day, master Cord. I am Unyielding One Agarth, myself recently arrived at this temple; I have travelled from the caverns of Carthagia, and am on my way to a conclave of my order in the Sarokean mountains." Now that those with sight looked closer, past the facial tattoo, this man _did_ have a Carthagian cast to his face. "We meet to discuss this very problem you speak of."

"You are blind, yes? Yet you move as if you had sight... Perhaps it is because you are of the faithful and with the loss of your sight your other senses have strengthened, and with your dwarven lineage too, perhaps that is why you sense what we do." He sighed. "I wish I could grant you the enlightenment you seek. We believe there to be some source of corruption in the Drakkath, something of a nature we do not know, and the Unyielding Ones hope in our conclave to find some answers. There are many... troubling rumours I have heard. We have started to receive reports from the dwarfs who once again venture into the ruins of their old domains, about great numbers of beasts coagulating beneath the surface of the world like bile in the arteries of the earth. Perhaps it is nothing, but perhaps it is more than nothing... we cannot yet know."

"The beasts are gathering upon the surface, as well, Unyielding One," Cord said, bowing in homage to the cleric. "Just recently, the Solanthar Templars turned away an encroaching werewolf coven in Akbar. The stench of the corruption had nearly overwhelmed my senses, but faded after the menace was defeated. I knew, however, that the single lycanthrope pack could not be responsible for the sense of wrongness permeating the entire Drakkath region. It remained too strong, too enveloping . . ." his voice trailed as he recalled the nauseous feeling of only a few weeks ago, and the smallest hint of it yet remaining.

Clasping one hand tightly, the pressure returning him to the present, Cord returned his attention to the priest. "I once called the Sarokean's my home," he said, almost wistfully, "and I wish to do all that I may to rid the land of this unseen threat. I have experienced the corruption firsthand, in one instance. Perhaps I may be of some help to this conclave."

The priest nodded. "Indeed, no lone werewolf pack would cause such a malaise of the earth as this. As for your offer of help... If you come to the conclave to reiterate that, then perhaps the Unyielding Ones shall take you up on it. The official time of the conclave is in two months, and since it will be taking place in the Cathedral of Stone doubtless many normal clergy of Grumand will attend as well. " He snorted. "No doubt the priests will be using it as an opportunity for the forging of new alliances and other such church politiking. If you do choose to attend, your presence will not be turned away."

Approaching Cord and the 'Unyielding One' Melisande pretended to take an interest in their conversation--anything to soothe the burning impression of Sebastion's mockery behind her back. After a few moments she did a sort of mental double-take and interjected suddenly, "The caverns of Carthagia? I didn't know there were--oh, excuse me, did I interrupt?--I didn't know there were conclaves of Grumand in Carthagia. The clergy of Toran wouldn't hold with it. Not that it upsets me. I'm just intrigued. Who else lives within the mountains that the Carthagians don't know about?"

At Melisandes surprised exclamation, the man's eyes twinkled with slight mischief. "Oh, the Toranites know we are there, but what are they going to do about it? Carthagia is riddled with mines, and the miners prefer to have a Grumandic blessing on the place before they start work to ward of cave-ins and suchlike; and, well, when the Toranites complain about us, we make sure that cave-ins do happen - such is well within our power. For the most part, they leave us well alone."

"And as for what else lies beneath Carthagia, all I can say is - a great deal. Subterranean tribes of creatures that never see the light, and strange ruins which we assume are the remnants of the civilisation that once inhabited Carthagia, though it was gone already when Toran led us there. Discontents and brigands, all sorts of manners of beasts and abberations; some from the Manipulator labs and others created by the chemical waste the labs pump out into the earth."

_...And that's not all,_ Melisande added mentally as the Unyielding One inventoried assorted horrors lying under the mountains of her homeland. _There are also aasimar--_  This thought was cut short by the sudden realization that she did not actually know that that was what her father had been. Maybe she was just a freak after all. The dark color of humiliation left her cheeks, leaving her pale with something worse.

Not particularly wanting anyone to discover that she had been conceived in a Carthagian biohazard waste dump, she just nodded to the priest, swallowed hard, and tried to think about something else.

Abruptly she turned to the other oddly-hued woman in her entourage, perhaps seeking solace in companionship. "What about you, Wyshira? Are you going to the temple of Ishrak after this? I'd love to come along and learn more about it."

Wyshira had been listening to Cord's conversation with Agarth, the Unyeilding One, with half her attention, and watching Burl examine the thaumineered pumps at the back of the chamber with the other half. Her ears perked up when Melisande mentioned the Toranites, but she said nothing.

Then the talkative blue girl asked if she was going to the Temple of Ishrak next. The soft light reflecting off a still pool sent ghostly ripples udulating over the surface of the low ceiling and the faces of the two young women. Wyshira smiled.

"Would you really like to learn more about the Storm Lady? The truth is, I've visited few of her Temples myself. I was raised in a small shrine in the mountains. I served there, with my mother and my sister, until just recently really. In comparison, the Temples I've seen in my travels have been magnificent!"

Wyshira turned and gave the Unyielding One a respectful nod, then waited to see if Cord was ready to go on.

Lost in thought and study of the thaumineered pumps, Burl almost missed seeing the others readying themselves to leave. Taking a quick last look and making sure he hadn’t left anything behind, Burl hurried to join the others as they departed for the Temple of Ishrak.

Cord nodded silently in response, memorizing the details of time and location of the Unyielding Ones' conclave. If his experience with the werewolves _was_ unique, his presence might prove useful at the meeting. If it was not unique, perhaps he could learn more of the "malaise," as the cleric called the cancer Cord sensed deep in the earth.

As the Unyielding One turned to his duty, Cord nodded to Wyshira, motioning to show that he was ready. "This place," he said, breathing deeply as they wound through the stalactites toward the entrance, "is like returning to the womb. It has been too long since I have visited Grumand in his home."

He wondered if Wyshira's reaction to her patron diety would be the same as his own. "Let us visit Ishrak, as well," he said, holding out his arm as they left the temple.

Sebastion began to feel somewhat out of place, stood beside the stalactite wondering why anyone would want to be here. The place was cramped and damp, the constant dripping of water irritated. Stepping closer to the others he sought to drown out the sounds with conversation, arriving in time to hear about the various 'guests' living in - and beneath - Carthagia.

_Are you going to the temple of Ishrak after this? I'd love to come along and learn more about it._ The question wasn't directed at him, but he felt himself tensing at the call, wondering what this 'temple' would be like.

_More temples? How did I get caught up with all these God-botherers? That does it... I'm going to check out this Flame-Guildsman later. At least one of us will have gained something useful from the day..."_

Slipping into place at the rear of the group - where he could see attacks from the front, and was first in line for attacks from the rear - Sebastion followed watchfully as they set off to the next God-botherers complex, an expression of forced patience on his face.


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## Horacio

Wow, another double update... I'm being very spoiled, thanks, Carnifex!


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## Carnifex

Thanks for the complements Horacio  I think I'll wait till tomorrow for some more updates; I've yet to cover just what happened to Ebri, Kale and Wolf, the three who have split off from the main group (and Kale of course has fallen into misadventures  ).


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## Horacio

Carnifex said:
			
		

> *Thanks for the complements Horacio  *




They are well deserved


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## Carnifex

The Unyielding One answered Cord's questions as best he could; to reach the conclave wouldn't take more than a week or two due to well-maintained roads leading there.

The way to the temple was winding, but pleasant. Wyshira caught occasional glimpses of the river in the distance, and quickened her pace; she nearly dragged Cord along in her hurry to see the water and find the Temple of Ishrak.

She chatted with Melisande, telling her a little about her childhood spent assisting her mother in the shrine by the mountain stream. It was apparent to anyone watching her that the priestess became more animated and lively the nearer to the river she got.

"Devotion to Ishrak is in my blood, I guess," she confided as the small, homey-looking temple came into sight. "I didn't even know there were other gods and goddesses in this world until one day, when I was about eight winters old, I met a boy from the village who worshipped Grummand. (His father worked in the mines.) I found out much later that my own father worships Immar." She paused for a moment, suddenly seeming to notice something. "Which reminds me..... What has become of your other companion? Ebri... is that her name? Will she be able to find us again?"

Burl quietly followed the strange group down the meandering street. He was taking in the different sights and sounds of yet another neighborhood. Reflecting, he thought about the many new places he had seen since he left his quiet home in the woods. One thing was giving him some small problems. Never in his life had he heard so much talk about religion, nor had he ever visited so many different places of worship. It seemed everyone had their favorite place to find comfort and each was either more grand than the next, or in some cases more weird. Life was much simpler at home. All he and Raymond had were a small statue set off in a corner where they occasionally would pray. On special days, they would move it out, place it on a flat rock overlooking the stream that ran close by and relax and meditate.

"She always seems to," Mel sniffed, giving a shrug. She wasn't the suspicious sort, but it did seem odd that Ebri Zol always disappeared every time they came to a large settlement. _Probably nursing a bad habit, _she surmised, although in her youth and naïveté she could only imagine what sort of bad habit it might be. Those necromancers she used to work with at the labs would sneak out to sniff solvents every chance they got, but Ebri didn't have the red-eyed, runny-nosed, hazy look of an ether addict. Neither was she quite the sort to frequent houses (whatever those were; her mother had warned her not to lodge in one even in a hailstorm, and to be careful of people who did), or to be prone to gambling. Maybe it was just soup after all. Although they had all stuffed themselves at Lord Ecurius' table...

The band slowly made its way to the temple of Ishrak, through narrow, winding roads between houses that crowded over the street. They found it down by the river in a part of the city away from the bustle of the markets and main streets; the small building was built on the banks of the river that meandered through the capital. Whitewashed and simply constructed, it sat in the middle of a small, lush garden full of little streams and brooks; inside it was more akin to the shrine of Wyshira's homeland than the grand Cathedrals of the faith. A simple altar, some small stained-glass windows, a donation bowl and suchlike, as a couple of initiates performed their duties and a handful of worshippers took part in prayer. 

"I don't want you to be mad at me, Wyshira, but do you know what they call Ishrak in Carthagia? They don't approve of other gods, you know." She leaned close to whisper the unflattering word in the priestess' ear.

"I'm beginning to think there's an awful lot of religious propaganda circulating on Toran's behalf. It's been quite a shock to discover the truth. What a lovely little temple! Is it all right if Pierre takes a dip in the garden pools? And if I follow you inside and eavesdrop?"

The amphibian wasn't waiting for permission, however. He bounded from his snug but dry pocket and blobbed his way to the nearest brook. Vicariously, Melisande felt a cool wash of relief as he plunged into the running waters, and realized she understood maybe a small part of what was making Wyshira so vibrant as she approached the temple of her goddess. She smiled, gesturing for the priestess to lead on. 

At Melisande's whispered word, Wyshira stopped and stood very still, a look of shock crossing over her blue-tinted face. _The more I hear about Carthagia, the less I like what I hear, she thought._

Out loud, she said, "Well, my mother never had much that was nice to say about Toran, if I remember right. And my own dealings with his clerics have been less than pleasant."

Of course, there had just been the one time that she'd encountered any Toranite priests. And this was the second time today that she had been reminded of it. The first time had been earlier in the Temple of Grummand when Melisande - _Melisande *again*_ - had brought up the clergy of Toran.

Maybe she was being reminded for a reason. She really had been letting her guard down today, especially here in the city. She glanced nervously around for a sight of Burl. He had lagged behind a bit what with the way she had hurried ahead toward the river; Sebastian was even further behind though, keeping a sort of rear guard. She almost expected to see a horde of black-mailed and spiked zealots descend on them from out of the shadows.

She wished she knew where Kale was. There was one particular Toranite that had it in for him, she suddenly recalled. _Why did he have to go off on his own?_

She told herself that she was just being jumpy and forced herself to smile at Mel. "Pierre is more than welcome to enjoy himself in the pool. I wish I could join him!"

A crazy idea entered her head just then:_ What if this strange blue girl is some kind of Carthagian spy?_

As soon as she thought it, she realized how ridiculous it was. She truly liked Mel, and had been hoping that the two of them would become fast friends. She smiled again reassuringly, and laughed, ostensibly at the two-headed frog. She hoped that none of what she had just been thinking had shown on her face.

"We can all go inside; I just need to check in, and of course make an offering."

Wyshira felt almost instantly more secure once she was off the street. The soft blue-green light pouring in through the colored glass was calming, as was the quiet murmuring of prayers all around. She went to speak to the initiates about meeting with one of their superiors. It didn't take long to attract the attention of an initiate, a young man in turquoise garb who scrutinised Wyshira carefully, obviously intrigued by the genasi's strange features. He soon came back with the ranking priest of the chapel.

What surprised Wyshira was that the cleric wasn't a human; rather, the delicate features and slightly pointed ears of the middle-aged woman hinted at elven ancestry in her blood. Introducing herself as Mileene Shamelock, the priestess nodded respectfully to the genasi. "Greetings, fellow priestess, and welcome to our humble chapel. What can I aid you with?"

The place was well-ventilated, as was typical of Ishrak's worship centers. Drafts of moisture-laden air laced with the sweet scent of burning incense tickled her nose, reminding Wyshira even more of home. She acknowledged the half-elven priestess' greeting with a slight, graceful bow, and offered one of her own in turn.

"Greetings to you also, Mileene. I am Wyshira of Cryosia. My companions and I have travelled far, and it has been some time since I've been to one of our Lady's temples."

Keeping her tone friendly but formal, she told the priestess about some of the things she had faced on her journey, like sea devils and werewolves. And she passed along what news she'd picked up along the way that might be useful to the temple clergy. She explained that she was staying outside of town at the estate of Ecurius Tarravas, but would soon be leaving for the Sarokean mountains. It was her duty of course to check in whenever she could; there was always the chance that she could perform some small service for the Church, like carrying a message, or just providing information and news.

"I'd also like to purchase some of the Lady's healing waters. There are many dangers on the road and in the mountains, and I like to be prepared."

Mel ended up hanging back at the entrance of the temple of Ishrak after all. She thought it was an amusing anecdote, but the look on Wyshira's face when she'd told the priestess Toran's theologians' point of view on her goddess had sobered Mel somewhat. Maybe it was a bit of a _faux pas_?

Standing back with Burl while he let his own familiar have a romp in the gardens, she watched the little ball of spines trundle off. Surreptitiously, she eyed his face, deciding quickly that he was definitely not like the necromancers she had known. There was even a little ruddy color in his cheeks, unhidden by white makeup, and what's more he lacked the purple circles under his eyes and the body piercings.

"Maybe we should check with Lord Ecurius. If he has a few instruments and ingredients we could use the kitchen, and working together we may be able to get something done before it's time to go.

"The only problem is that I don't have much money. I'll go with you to the alchemist's but I'm afraid I won't be of much help financially.

"Let's stop in quick while Wyshira--uh, worships. There was a place up the road that looked decent."

Tugging on Burl's sleeve she urged him out of the gardens, telling Sebastion, "Just a quick trip to the alchemist's. We'll be right back. Watch Pierre for me?"

Sebastion had been trailing the group, eyes wary, wondering just how many temples there could be in a city like this. Religion had never really paid much of a place in his life - he had been brought up at something of a frontier, bred to look out for himself. Faith was something that needed to be earned, not simply given away blindly, and the waste of time and energy that went into the larger cathedrals and chapels confused him completely.

However, this smaller display of belief was more to his liking - obvious, without being overstated - and he felt a brief smile tug at his lips as they approached. Resolving himself to remaining outside, hoping for a few moments of solitude, he was somewhat disappointed when Burl and Melisande chose to remain as well.

Settling himself against a stone, he revelled for a moment in the abundance of nature; being from a small village he had played most of his childhood in the peace of open spaces, and if this place was closed in, it still carried with it the feel of the rills and tarns of the hills.

When Melisande spoke to him, it caught him by surprise a little, and he looked about in a confused fashion for a moment.

"Pierre?" he asked, rising quickly, switching his sword to the other hand as he pushed away from the rock. "The frog? If you insist on treating me like a hired hand, then I'll least choose the assignments. If you're heading to this shop, I'll come with you. Your frog can fend for himself for a little while..."

He wondered for a moment if his irritation had shown through in his speech. _Bodyguard a frog, indeed._

He hoped so. 

About to head to the rock outcropping that he had planned to stakeout for a bit of a rest, Burl turned to listen to Mel’s proposition. “That’s probably a good suggestion. Even if we don’t have time to make my salve, it takes a couple of days to solidify, at least we will have the ingredients for when we do have the time.” Burl wasn’t surprised when Mel asked Sebastion to keep an eye on her frog, but he was a bit taken back at the look that was flashed by him at the request. He had thought that the soldier was used to acquiescing to her requests and learned a bit about the man at that moment. Trying to keep the peace, he spoke, “Give me a moment to let Wyshira know where we are headed and ask her to keep an Spike and Pierre. We shouldn’t take to long.” To Sebastion he added, “It will be a pleasure to have you along on our side trip.” To himself he added, _I only hope she doesn’t ask him to carry our purchases._

Decidedly, Sebastion Cornell was obstinate about seeing things wrong side up, Melisande thought. Lord Ecurius a warlock? Pierre a frog? What was the matter with this mercenary anyway? Next thing he would start refusing to carry her purchases. "He's a _toad_. And I'm so sorry but I can't pay you for escorting us to the alchemist's. I was only asking a _favor_."

Why did he keep making her act like a petulant little girl? It was mortifying. Maybe if she changed the subject while Burl, who surprised her with his diplomacy, went into the temple.

She got hold of her tone of voice and lowered it to something less strident. "You see, Sebastion," she began confidentially, taking his arm, "an arcanist's familiar is more than just a toad or a hedgehog we keep around for company. Pierre is in my mind. He's part of me. And he's much, much smarter than your average toad, even given two heads. If anything were to happen to Pierre it would be like cutting off one of my limbs."

In her sincere smile there was no suspicion that anyone might wish this on her.

"But you're right. I'm sure he's safe here. Let's go."

Sebastion's jaw clenched as she turned on him, more concerned about her bloody frog than her own empty blue head.

_It's got two flaming heads,_ he thought to himself, as Burl wisely gained a little space from the discussion. _It's not really a frog or a toad. And what's the bloody difference between the two anyway?_

"I don't want paying to escort you. Something happening to Pierre might be like having a limb cut off, I don't know, but going out there, where people don't like Car... people from your country, and certainly are going to pay attention to someone your colour, is asking to have one of your actual limbs cut off. That's why I'm going with you." So saying, he stood fully, gesturing rather sarcastically for her to lead the way. 

Walking over to where Wyshira and the priest were talking, Burl waited for them to acknowledge his presence before telling her where they were headed and asking for her to watch out for the familiars.
As the three left the temple, Burl let Spike know where he was headed and to stick to Wyshira.

Cord was more than slightly unnerved as Wyshira held him fast, winding her way through confining streets to the temple of her faith. Few times in his life he had walked faster than a patient saunter; he could not recall a time he had moved faster than on his way to the temple of Ishrak. He remained silent, intent on his surroundings, and trusting that Wyshira would steer him from any obstacles that might surprise him. Yet his trust in her surprised him, as well. It had been quite some time since he had relied on another for his senses.

Upon reaching the temple, he began to understand the reason for her haste, especially considering her heritage, devotion, and even temperament. The bubbling of creeks and the slow meander of a nearby river, along with splashes on rocks and the smallest hint of trickling water, merged into a musical song that Cord found enchanting.

He introduced himself to the priestess of Ishrak, as well, but decided to explore the temple alone as Wyshira began to speak with her. He returned to a walking pace far more comfortable to his senses and easily avoided the small number of initiates in the small, unconfining shrine. He stepped outside, breathing in the damp smell of flora and soil. He let his bare feet sink into the loam, and even reached down into one of the creeks to allow the cool water rush through his fingers. Kneeling only for a moment, before his back began to protest, he picked up a couple of rounded pebbles from the rocky bottom, relishing the feeling of the stones tumbling in his hand beneath the water. His youth had been spent in underground caves, his adulthood in cramped cities, and although he preferred the comfort of Grumand's temple, the experience of rushing water in the open air was one he dared not miss.

Straightening with a grunt, he overheard pieces of the heated conversation between Melisande and Sebastion as they slowly walked out of range, accompanied by Burl. He suppressed a deep chuckle, following his same route to the temple entrance to find Wyshira.

_DM's Note:_ Wyshira exchanged news with Mileene, without going into too much detail about the other members of the party. She then set about Gathering Information, encouraging the priestess to tell her about Ecurius, Truthseekers in general, Wind Hawks, the Sarokean Mts, or any Flame Guild or Fire genasi activity in the area.

The priestess listened quietly to Wyshira's tales of travel, sad-faced at the news of such dark happenings as the genasi had encountered. When questioned, Mileene answered with careful thought and deliberation.

"I know little of Lord Ecurius; it's a name I hear rarely, he is not someone who becomes heavily involved in the day-to-day affairs of Tarravus. A member of the royal family and a Truthseeker who has estates outside the city, but beyond that I can tell you little."

"As for the Truthseekers in general, again, there is little I can tell you beyond the common knowledge and the rumours surrounding them. They are a society of Naserian sorcerers, incredibly elitist and exclusive in whom they allow into their ranks, who allegedly..." she shrugged bemusedly, "seek truths. They claim to seek to acquire knowledge for its own sake, in the pursuit of an enlightenment of sorts. Things I can tell you for certain is that they are very powerful and very wealthy, and they possess a large number of histories, prophecies, ancient artefacts and suchlike, hidden away safely. Some say they possess the one true history of the world, untainted by the blurring that time has on stories passed on by word of mouth; though I find that unlikely. Others say they seek a particular, undefined 'truth' amidst all the knowledge of the world that will grant them the power of the gods. As I said, hearsay and rumour."

"The Wind Hawks are the Order who have their headquarters - the Air Tower, you can't have missed it - here in the capital. They're like the other Orders - elite troops trained in spellcraft and swordcraft both. The Windhawks hold as their military dogma the importance of mobility; if you've seen the great paddocks down the valley, that's where the horses that supply them with cavalry are kept. Their Grand Master is Wind Lord Severin; he's getting on in years but I still wouldn't recommend crossing swords with him. They've got close ties with House Tarravus, and they are our strongest protectors."

"The Sarokean mountains? They're the range that runs north-south along Naseria's eastern border, seperates us from the Drakkath. You came across them from the Drakkath, so you've seen a bit of the mountains already, but I'll tell you what I can. They're a wide swath of dangerous lands; the dwarves have some presence in the north but even there it's basically wilderness. It trails off to the south at the south-eastern corner of Naseria where the lands of House Merlihr meet the wild Drakkath. You'll find al sorts of beasts there; giants, orcs, gnolls... The Iron Hawks have their fortress in the foothills of the Sarokeans."

"The Sarokeans are a huge place; I can't really tell you much more about them generally, and I don't have a specific enough knowledge to be able to give you finer details. Except, I know there is a large temple to Ishrak - if you head east from Tarravus and slightly south. Clerics from there occasionally pass through here. They say it's in the foothills, not really deep into the mountains. If you're heading back into the Sarokeans and your path takes you in the vicinity, you might want to visit it; apparently they have one of the real teeth of Jormungand there in the reliquary."

"The Flame Guild? I don't know much of them. A band of mercenary wizards from the South, aren't they? As for fire genasi, I've never seen one myself."

"Now, on the matter of potions; I can give you our entire stock of healing curatives for one hundred gold pieces. That's 3 potions full - I don't often make them, we don't have an intensive need for them. I'm sorry I have to ask for a donation at all from a fellow priestess but we're just a small temple and aren't exactly as wealthy as the faith in the east. You talk of grand cathedrals along the coast of Cryosia, but sadly we lack the following here in the west of the Middle Kingdoms to build such edifices."

Sitting and talking quietly with a fellow priestess was a rare pleasure; time seemed to fly by for Wyshira as she and Mileene chatted about this and that.

"The Wind Hawks are rather impressive in their feathered cloaks," the water genasi admitted with a shy smile. "I wondered if the Temple had any dealings with them."

Mileene smiled at Wyshira's comments. "Oh, no, the Wind Hawks are far beyond my station. I may officially hold the post of the highest ranking clergy of Ishrak in the city, but that hardly means much," she gestured around her to take in the small size of the chapel, "and I only get invited to official functions out of politeness rather than any need to consult me. The Wind Hawks may follow the teachings of Air but I fear that sadly, Ishrak's own guidances hold no place in their training. They're military, and closer to Naskha than the Storm Lady. Yet still I am thankful for their presence; I have no fear of the capital ever falling to enemy hands with them here. No finer cavalry force in the world!" the woman added patriotically.

Mileene's mention of the Temple of Ishrak in the Sarokean Mountains elicited an exclamation of awe from Wyshira.

"A tooth of Jormungand! That is something I would very much like to see. But I don't know yet in which direction we'll be travelling."

She was grateful for the healing waters. "Of course I understand that you must charge for them. I was raised in a small temple much like this one, and my mother's potions were a major source of income for us.

"Thank you for everything, Mileene. If there is anything that I can do for you or the Temple, please let me know.

"Now please excuse me while I take a few moments for meditation. Thank you again, and good-bye."

Mileene bade her farewell. "And... if you do find yourself passing through the area I mentioned, well, if you could just pass on my greetings to the high priest there? It would be nice to try and establish stronger ties with that temple, to perhaps increase our influence here by association."

All through their conversation, the music of the water had been calling to her. To Wyshira, the sound was the eternal voice of the goddess murmuring secrets untold. Left alone, she closed her eyes and lost herself in listening.

But duty called to her also. It wasn't long before thoughts of the crew intruded on her meditation. Finally, she bid a silent and reluctant farewell to the little temple and went looking for the others.

* * *

The alchemists was pungent indeed with the smells of chemicals on the air; the shelves stacked as much with tomes and treatises on chemistry as it was on actual products; an array of vials, beakers, glassware and strange liquids.

The alchemist himself was not a pretty sight - surely not beyond thirty but his vocation had aged him. Patches of hair had fallen out, his skin was pale and blotchy, and the tall man had a racking cough. Nonetheless, he tried his best to be cheery and pleasant as the potential customers filed in.

"Welcome to... [cough] Archibald's purveyor of chymicals and chymistry [cough]." He smiled as pleasantly as he could. "What can I help you with? Oh..." he laid eyes on Melisande. "Your Ladyship, how can my establishment be of use to you? Are you perhaps, er, looking for an alchemical substance to return you to normal colour? I'm sure that daedrothwort or shadowbane might be of use?" It seemed that he thought her a sorceress, and one who had been the victim of an unfortunate magical accident at that. 

"Oh, I've already tried both," Melisande confided, not approaching the sickly alchemist more than necessary, but appreciating his concern. "Daedrothwort made my skin turn a sort of lime green for two days."

With a helpless shrug she turned to Burl. "If we don't have time to whip up some balms for this trip, maybe we can afford a few cheap and effective products such as acid." Digging out the meager remainder of her fortune she displayed this apologetically so that Burl would know how much, or how little, they were working with.

Answering her, he said, “We could probably use some, but first, I would like pick up a half dozen jars and the ingredients to brew my salve. Also, I would like to look around a bit and see if there is anything that catches my eye.”  Noticing her meager number of coins, Burl continued,  “I don’t have much money myself, but I will try to share what I have after I make my purchases.”

Moving to the counter, Burl gives the proprietor the list of ingredients that he requires. Just before the man turns to fill his order, Burl has a thought. Lowering his voice so as not to be heard, “By chance, would you be interested in a potion that I came across. It would probably require a very special customer to use it, but it is probably worth a good amount to the right person.” 

_DM's Note_: Burl was carrying a potion of Cause Disease - yes, Cause Disease - he acquired back when he raided a temple of the disease god Kevayek...

The alchemist engaged in earnest but discreet discussion as he gathered various jars and chemicals for Burl's salves,though all it sounded like was a quiet banter. Once he had ascertained just what Burl was selling, he seemed interested enough, though not giving details for what purposes he would wish to buy it; he offered the necromancer two hundred pieces for gold for it, which would be passed discreetly under the counter in a small bag, of course.

Burl entered into a quiet, but animated conversation as he pointed to different items, and dickered over their prices, all the while negotiating for the potion. Burl had hoped to pick up enough to make six jars of his healing salve, but that would be dependent upon the apothecary’s price. While the old man finished gathering the items, Burl slipped the vial from his bag while packing away the items. Pulling his pouch out to pay, he passed the vial and accepted the 200 gold, which he quickly hid on his person.

As he turned to leave, Burl couldn’t believe his good fortune. He had never fully decided what he was going to do with the potion and the opportunity to sell couldn’t be passed.

“Mel, I almost forgot that you wanted to acquire some items. Let’s see what we can do about getting them. You can always pay me back later.” 

Sebastion wasn't entirely surprised, following his comments, that Melisande practically ignored him for the duration of their short journey, though he felt a little disgruntled that the other warlock had seen fit to ignore him.

_Birds of a feather...._ he told himself, as they arrived at the destination. The acrid stench, and the apparent condition of the host, encouraged Sebastion that neither of his charges were in any apparent danger, and he settled comfortably against the wall outside, watching the world wander past, and taking some time to breathe deeply, and not have to worry about who was going to treat him as a servant next. 

* * *

After her discussion with Mileene, and her meditation, Wyshira and Cord made their way the short distance to the alchemists; easily discernible by Sebastion leaning languidly against the wall outside.

* * *

The alchemist wandered amongst the shelves, picking off this jar and that, a pinch of that powder, three vials of this strangely blue-green liquid, coughing and sniffing as he went about it. For the six salves Burl wanted to make, once all the ingredients had been collected to his satisfaction, the man put a price of one hundred gold pieces; cheaper by far than buying the final-made salves from an alchemist with skill enough to make them (which this poor soul did not) but of course with the hassle and chance of having to put the substance together yourself, as Burl had previously found out.

"And for your Ladyship?"

There was another thing Melisande's mother kept warning her about: never accept gifts from strange men. And certainly not, she added to herself, strange necromancers. Yet although she had not eavesdropped on the whispered (and wheezed) negotiations, she couldn't help but notice a goodly quantity of gold changing hands in Burl's direction, and if he was prepared to spend some of it for her (and indirectly for the whole expedition's well-being), then it would be rude, wouldn't it, to refuse.

"Well... I could do with a vial or two of acid and some lamp oil." She looked closely at Burl, wondering whether he was the sort to expect to be paid back with interest. "It's very generous of you. I'll pay you back as soon as Lord Ecurius gives us our--our--did I say Lord Ecurius? Ha ha, I meant Lord--Lord--the other one, who's paying us."

It was a clumsy attempt at discretion, but her heart was in the right place. "Is that all right?"

 “You will probably find acid here, but I haven’t seen any lamp oil.”  answered Burl to Mel’s request.
“I’m sure that I can trust you for the loan. I’ll just wait over by the door until you have made your choice.” Burl walked to the door where he was browsing among some used equipment and a few containers of mundane ingredients when he heard a voice that he wasn’t expecting….Wyshira.

* * *

Before making their way to the alchemist's, Cord paused for a moment to listen to the animal sounds within the garden. Two had been left behind by their respective magic-users and after a moment or two of searching, Wyshira was holding Melisande's toad and Cord had Burl's hedgehog. Within moments of leaving the temple they located the alchemist lab: Wyshira by sight, Cord by scent.

Cord nodded to the form of Sebastion just outside the door before stepping in. The mercenary soldier was, with little doubt, still fuming. Cord allowed him the luxury.

The sudden mixture of pungent odors and acrid tangs within the store completely blocked the majority of his senses. Not blind, but a grayish haze had descended over his mind. It was a difficult lesson to learn, how easily his connection to the world could be obscured. Travelling from farm to homestead, sleeping in the outdoors, and rarely venturing into the cities had left him in control for the majority of the past few decades. Not until recently did he discover the tenuousness of his senses, times where his blindness seemed to be almost . . . a handicap.

Reserving such thoughts to ponder another time, Cord turned to Burl, and relinquishing the eager familiar, its twitching nose searching for its master's scent. "Have no fear, my friend," Cord said, "your animal has been kept safe."

Turning slightly to the other in the room, Melisande, Cord opened his hands and smiled. "Have you two found what you desire?"

_DM's Note:_ There was a bit of complication here because in fact there had been no mention of anyone picking up the familiars  but Cord cunningly did a little backtracking when he posted...

Melisande was able to easily pick up a couple of vials of acid from the alchemist, borrowing some twenty gold pieces from Burl to pay for the transaction; unfortunately Archibald didn't stock any lamp oil, so the sorceress had to go without.

* * *

Outside and in the streets of the capital, the day now growing late and soon to be the time when the small band would have to return to their patron's estates once more, Burl had to stifle a sudden shock.

_Burl._

Tewlcroghen's voice seemed to reverberate within his mind. A surreptitious glance about revealed the others had apparently not heard it though.

_Good, the amulet works; I can communicate to you. I have a simple favour to ask of you.

I am sending to you a bird; a carrier hawk that should soon arrive over the next day or two. All I need you to do is to write down the current average market prices of grain and iron ore in the Tarravus markets and send the list back to me by the hawk. It will help us in predicting economic changes here in Iril._

And that was it. Soon after, the evening growing more full, the band made their way back to the estate of their patron perched high on the side of the verdant valley.

* * *

In the next update I'll set about charting Kale and Ebri's ventures of the day


----------



## Carnifex

Kale wouldn't, as it turned out, manage to make it back to the estate by dinner time. Opting instead to take care of a few pressing items on his agenda, he fitted his newly repaired shirt, with a grunt and wordless nod to the stout sweaty dwarven smith.

The air began to cool about the twilight city, though that wasn't the only part of the atmosphere that seemed to change. All about him, life in the city reacted to the setting sun. Merchant commerce tapered to a close as shops boarded up for the night. Recreating townfolk made for the streets, as well as all the other working... businessmen for whom the night was their office.

Gone with the sun was Kale's open, 'leasurely' demeanor, replaced in its stead with a subdued, unreadable manner. Known from frozen Cryosia to arid Huron, the sign of the streetwise was the only trait revealed by the lone mercenary, or anyone else who thrived after dark.

Resisting the urge to pull up his cloakhood, Kale opted to retain his peripheral vision, taking all his surroundings, a honed instinct. It was little more than absent reflex, his body observing the city while his mind wandered.

_Cord- what a oddball. What'd he say, I was like a son looking for Wolf's approval? Pfshh!_ he scoffed, before stopping short. _Mmm. Damn._ Frustration marked... recognition. _Whatever.
_
Rounding a corner to a darker side of town, he pondered nonetheless about motivations, influences... everyone seemed to have them, to his peril. Yet he never had any of his own, none that he would admit. Undeniably, the young mercenary was at some kind of disadvantage. Or was it that he hadn't fallen into that common, timeless human pitfall?

Up ahead, a carriage stopped and emerged a Naserian Officer, respendant in Royal Colors. His medals glinted in the subdued lamplight- what was he doing in a place like this? At the side of the road, a huge club bouncer locked eyes in recognition, pulling open the large wooden door behind him.

Blue cloak whirling as he turned, the Naserian lifted his veteran hand to recieve a fair clasp: a guiding hand for his fair lady. Exiting with a smile, a beautiful woman in a luxurious active eveningdress. With a smile and light steps, the pair entered the underground restaurant.

_Bloody hell,_ Kale cursed as he tripped over his own feet. _Can't even walk down the street._

The Tarravus boroughs took a little getting used to, but it wasn't long before travel-worn boots found their destination. A few double-tongued exchanges, and Kale entered a shop of a different sort. Walking beyond a solid oak door with its tiny peephole, he sidestepped the huge crossbow contraption to enter a small, dark basement. Dirty steps and low ceiling, the mercenary watched his head, watched his step, watched his back.

Musty air and dusty crates parted before him to reveal a clutch of smoke-ringed men, playing a low-paced and profanity-riddled game of cards.

"Marty, if you pull that shi*t again I swear to god..."

"What? What? You're just upset you're losing your nooky money... again. Heh," the gap-toothed punk smiled. "What, Horish, that's been about three weeks without any ah, ah, ah"

A growling pounce by the one who must have been Horish arced across the table upon the gyrating loud-mouth. Chips and cards flew in all directions, the entire scene threatening to dissolve into total chaos.

*"Mmmpkmm!"* Kale cleared his throat.

At the sound of the newcomer, the knot of punks untied to reveal a quartet of rough, suspicious characters.

"Aren't you a bit far from the town gate? What the hell do you want?"

*"Well, if it was a good laugh, I'd already be headed out the door."*

"Ha!"

"You better shut your mouth, if you want to walk out that door at all!"

"Shut up yourself! You'd be one to talk about bein' quiet..."

*"Thank you, Horish. Now, if we all get untangled, you may bet able to make that 'nooky money' after all."*

And so to a chorus of laughs and growls began a late-night barter for the sort of items not available at the local general store.


----------



## Carnifex

Kale's inquiries were subtly slipped into the game, eventually drawing the responses he wanted from the gathered assemble of four.

"Something that slow's 'em, eh? Dulls their reflexes, something like that?"

"Sittik maybe? That bites into a mans reflexes, makes people all clumsy and suchlike - and it happens I might know where to get a dose or two from, close at hand, if someone were, eh, willing to pay the kind of money, you know..."

Things about the card table were going about the way Kale expected, though the price for the drought he sought was higher than he'd hoped. Trading grunts and ribs, a little gold exchanged hands as the dingy cards did the same.

Negotiations had moved on to Kale asking after corrosive acids, but then things changed.

Down the steps into the small basement, more feet tapped the stacato pattern on the stone to announce a newcomer. Tall and lean, clad in robes suited to a merchant and carrying himself with an air of confidence, the sharp-featured man took in the appearance of Kale in this basement with some shock.

"Who is he," he snapped, "and what is he doing here? And more to the point, do you have what I asked for?" The man stepped closer, peering closer at Kale.

One of the men had shrugged and reached for a package, obviously what the newcomer was demanding, but then the merchant seemed to realise something as he looked closely at Kale and choked in shock, spluttering for a few moments before regaining his composure.

He pushed his heavy cloak away to free up his hands. "The whelp with that Blade, eh? Here to spy on me?"

Fiery arcane magic surged up his arms and lit his hands with incandescence as arcane energies suddenly began to stir the air into swirling breezes. As the merchant's eyes glowed with arcane fury, the other occupants of the basement backed off in alarm, sending chairs clattering across the floor as they stood up quickly in their alarm. "What the - "

Kale rolled his eyes. Inside, he cursed his forgetfulness at not re-covering his swordhilt. While still in Corinthia, he had fashioned a reasonable diguise, but sometime during the crew's lycanthope adventure, the disguise had somehow come loose. No use wondering about it now.

What was a wonder, was how every mage felt that the world revolved around him. That's what the man was, a bloody vain mage, channeling energy and flowing with flame-power. The man's glowing eyes were a disconcerting image that threatened fear's affliction nearly as quickly as Kale could quell the fear's flames in his heart.

He knew. He knew about the blade- and whoever was behind it. Likely, he also knew much more, and he wouldn't be satisfied with any of the mercenary's truthful 'I know nothing' responses.

So instead, in the midst of arcane flames, Kale bid his bluff while all the other gamblers fled the table.

It was quite possible Kale knew only the first thing about the kind of trouble he was dealing with, but as he stood there, hidden and enigmatic, he found the foundation he needed, at the base of his lie. He'd survived the flaming inferno of an infested wolf-house. He'd weathered the siege of an entire werewolf coven, beating at least their Master, and his grievous magic. He'd seen pain, blood, loss, death... and victory. Anxieties and worries skittered about his thoughts, but his eyes and his manner spoke volumes of what he'd truly seen... fought... and survived.

"I don't care about you, or your bloody package... and my Blade is the least of your worries." Amazed at the calm in his voice, experience spoke from deep inside. The mercenary was still young, he'd seen so little of the world. Powers and forces he didn't even know dwelled in places he hadn't even seen. For him, there was a lot of danger in the uncertainty, but the same could be said for a startled mage, in a confined place, facing an unknown, Blade-wielding foe.

At Kale's brave announcement, the man faltered for a moment as if confused by the mercenary's words, before understanding dawned on his face. "You think I'm talking about your sword, don't you, you ignorant little cretin," he sneered, his face harshly illuminated by the arcane energies playing over his arms. "Idiot youth, killing you'll be a kindness if you're as much of a fool as you appear to be."

And the room erupted in flames.

The man's sudden wave of a hand and arcane syllable had been too fast for Kale to use his little smoke-making trick, too fast for the mercenary to even escape the immolating brunt of the fireball that fiercely gnawed with tongues of flame at the occupants of the room. The gamblers scattered, trying to escape from the wreathes of smoke and fire that licked up over the furnishings and their own clothes, while the mage just seemed to stand there and accept the inferno raging over him and burning at his clothes. Within moments the heat had died down again, leaving all the occupants of the room badly scorched.

Kale's flesh felt as if it was still on fire where the magical flames had raged across it, wisps of smoke drifting around him from the barrage of heat, and to make things worse it looked like the spellcaster - who although burned was still quite acceptably capable of battle - was preparing to hurl more in Kale's direction...

For a moment, Kale didn't know where he had gone wrong, but realization crashed in on him in wave after cruel wave.

Fool, it was true, and the firey mage must have delighted in seeing the mercenary's eyes go wide in horror and disbelief. Instinctively throwing up in a hand in futile defence, Kale felt the rush and roar, and incredible pain.

_What madman would call fire on himself?_ Kale begged to know. Off balance, surprised, and devoid of advantage, he wondered numbly how he could have allowed himself to fall into such fate.

Wisps of smoke lifted from flash-burned funiture all about the room. Bystandards were rightfully scared into retreat, while Kale and the fire mage stood directly in their midst. Desperate injured eyes met a gaze crackling with arcane energy.

In a hanging moment, willpower scraped back control of a reluctant body, and Kale bolted for all he was worth. Retreat. Damn. And the only thing he had to say was, *"Shushurek"*

_DM's Note: Shushurek is the command word for Kale's magic ring._

_Shushurek._

The air shimmered with energy, wierd sensations playing over Kale's skin for a moment before... all was dark.

There was an angry cry from his attacker, and through the dark, Kale made a move for the door. One hand tugged a bag of caltrops free which scattered, tinging as they skittered across the floor to cover his escape route.

The merchant was trying to guage his position by hearing, it seemed, deprived as the man was of the targeting facility of sight. A few more muttered words as Kale was almost out of the door and then a hiss of magic just past the mercenary's ear. Whatever the spell had been, Kale had been fortunate.

He emerged from the globe of darkness, bursting forth to lope up the stairs, the passage still heavy with smoke and fumes, and then he was out into the late evening light of the street...

To be faced with two very surprised men, clad in heavy leather armour. They had just been running over from a nearby coach, a functional carriage drawn by two horses, the flash and crackle of the fireball alerting them that something was wrong, and with their blades drawn they were still too shocked at coming literally face-to-face with Kale that they took some few moments to act.

From down the stairs, within the gloom, there was a crunch as someone stepped on caltrops, followed by a howl of pain. The merchant's cry tailed off into curses, and a yell of "Get the bastard! Kaelos, Garus, can you hear me? _Stop him!_"

_These must be the mage's lackeys._

Kale dove forwards past the two men who sought to block his path; already they were struggling to pull blades from sheathes and lash out at the mercenary, but his fleetness of foot and edge in already being in full flight kept them off balance. Even so, one steel sword caught him as he passed, a wild swing that through chance more than skill struck true, digging a red line down his arm though it was not deep. Before they could do any more the shadow-wreathed man was round the corner and merged with darkness.

Kale settled well into the shadows before removing his black ring. Shadows and ancient magic, indeed: the unknown powers had saved him this night. Silent and watching, the young mercenary waited, bow in hand, in overwatch of the mage's carriage. No doubt, the man knew they had reached town before the band themselves had. Burned and vulnerable, Kale wanted to know why.

From his hiding place, burns stinging and with the new pain of the sword strike, Kale could hear what came afterwards. Muttered curses and grunts of pain as the mage struggled up the stairs, his lackeys running to aid him up but being waved off with irritated expletives. "Where is that idiot? Didn't you stop him? Gah, you fools! Now he'll go back and tell the Blade agent what happened here, and before we know it they'll be breathing down the cell's neck again." The merchant hobbled over to his carriage and sourly sat down on the mounting step, the wooden structure creaking as he rested his frame on it.

Kale settled his breathing and took to memorizing the man's face, demeanor, cohorts, carriage. The 'merchant man' had dealings that ran deep, none of them would likely prove very beneficial to a certain freelance mercenary and his tattoo-bearing custodian. It was critical that the mercenary somehow regain the initiative against the trio, although how he could was a mystery entirely.

He burned and hurt all over- and the glancing slice to his shoulder was hurting well enough in its own right. Listening to the men, he undrew his bow long enough to bring a small vial to his lips. The dark quietness of the streets were a cold treason to Kale's time of need. Dusty streets and dark shadows, so often a haven and place of business, were now just an brick-built urban wasteland. _C'mon boys, head home so we can start the hunt..._ he thought, anxious to end his erratic retreat.

"I caught him with me blade, sir, and..."

"So? You still didn't manage to stop him, did you, so what does it matter?"

"What I was trying to say, sir, is that the injury's left a blood trail. We can follow him. Find out where he and the Blade are lairing." Kale nearly coughed on the last of his potion. Healing waters flowed into his body, but for how he felt, he may as well have swallowed bile. The hunt was on, alright, but he was still the prey. Crouching behind a woodshake corner, he suddenly felt way too close to the carriage and the three men.

A low chuckle sounded, the mage catching on. "How very well noted indeed. Yes, an excellent idea, and one I can improve on a little too. What we need is a good tracker." Arcane words flitted through the air, and then with a magical crackle and a faint ashen smell on the air, a spell drew something new onto the street.

_What we need is for you to die,_ the young mercenary thought optimistically as he regained his aim. He was too slow on the uptake, however, and the mage's mysterious words were loosed before a certain silver arrow.

"Is it a good idea to do that on the street, sir?" one of the lackeys asked worriedly.

"The risk is outweighed by the benefits." The spellcaster had made his belief in that maxim clear when he fireballed at point blank range earlier.

The mage spoke again, now in a sinister, sibilant tongue that was answered by a low, growling bark. The sound of paws pattering over cobbles headed towards Kale, following the trail of blood.

"We'll follow it, see where it leads us... wait! It smells him! He's still close!"

In another heartbeat, Kale had his target- what was that? Hound's footfalls, a dog's bark, but no animal to be seen. Another bloody mage trick, Kale thought as his disdain for the art continued to grow. Looking out to the dimlit area, Kale moved his aim from the mage's enticing throat to the strange sounds, where he carefully imagined the approach of an invisible dog. Every step along the larger cobble road was a dreadful toll in Kale's ears.

An arrow launched -

-and the race was on.

The potion had alleviated some of the pain of the burns and at least stopped the blood flow from the blade wound, but the mercenary was finding it altogether too little particularly improve the situation for him. He could feel the flaring pain along his arms as he pulled the bow-strong back, letting an arrow fly towards the location of the invisible creature as best he could pinpoint it; the missile skittered along the cobbles without striking anything.

Pounding his body to obey, Kale made to sprint for the next corner, regretting that his caltrops had already been used, albeit successfully. Instead the resourceful light fighter reached for the tindertwig-smokestick he'd planned to use so recently. The street's expanses called to him as he yearned and pulled for the next intersection.

Keeping in mind the way he had come, a desperate mind clung to what little he knew of the city. Somewhere, there had to be an advantage. But for the moment, he occupied his mind pushing for more speed, and looking for some way onto the rooftops.

The smell of ash and coals grew stronger and before he could make it off the starting block to sprint away the summoned thing was on him; he heard jaws clacking and biting at him as he desperately tried to fend off something he couldn't see. It must have been about the size of a large attack dog but beyond that he couldn't tell any more, as the other three at the scene were able now to make out where the mercenary had hidden himself.

As Kale tried to run from the creature, he felt jaws lock onto his leg and yank hard, trying to pull him down, but he managed to kick free to the sound of angry snarls from his attacker and fled as fast as he could, fumbling for the tindersmoke. The two lackeys were closing fast, the mage hobbling along far behind at a much slower pace, while the invisible beast...

Was still snapping at his heels, growling and barking. Again, he felt jaws on his leg, the monster trying to trip him and bring him down, but again he managed to pull free, his attempts to countertrip sadly not succeeding. He was outpacing the men at least, as he dropped the tindersmoke which began to belt out smog, but the damned invisible beast was keeping up on his trail...

And this time, as he moved to continue fleeing, the beast found purchase and pulled Kale off his feet. Suddenly the fetid breath of the thing was right next to him, blowing over his face, along with a rising growl. He could just about see the two men approaching, through the veil of smoke, sweaty and carefully looking around for him.

Under protest by all sorts of unknown emotions, the desperate mercenary flailed and ran as best he could. Training and tricks didn't prepare him for the invisible beast, and he was at a marked disadvantage while scrabbling for an escape. Dropping smoke and digging his boots into the dark cobbled road, Kale could have expected to escape the armsmen easilly, if not for the growlings and swipes from his unseen foe.

It seemed for ages that Kale was fighting and evading, always on the brink, always one step from disaster. And then, he fell. Unseen jaws finding purchase on his pantleg, there was no way the young mercenary could keep himself up. Pivoting and falling to the alley street, he wondered absently if it was the end.

The pain of impact broke him out of his musings, however. Burnt skin abraded rubbed, the pain at least a partwelcome reminder that he was indeed, still alive. Steps away, two swordsmen sought him out carefully, practiced steps and careful eyes guiding their way to target. And an unworldly stench told Kale that the other grim hunter was very close, indeed.

In an instant, lazy gray smoke exploded to cover the scene, almost like a polite veil to conceal his doom. Cloak bunched on his side, skin charred, pants chewed, mail bloody, eyes desperate- it was a charity to be unseen. There in the cruel face of defeat, the world granted him one honorable concession.

An honorable death? Honorable defeat? Gasping for breath on the cold-cobble street, Kale couldn't say that honor was anything that he pursued. And defeat? That was not even part of the question.

Clumsy enough to be tripped by his foe, the mercenary still found deft hands to sweep up his cloak, pulling his brooch-pin free. Sweeping the fabric up and over the fetid breath of his adversary, he struck out with the stilletto-like pin, stabbing down to hold the blindfold fast. _Turnabout is fair play, eh, you bastard?_

Kale felt jaws puncture the skin of one of his arms and blood flowed freely as he swept the cloak round, wrapping it round the head of his attacker asit let go of his arm again. He tried to pin it on, but the invisible beast was thrashing and trying to break free; he tried another stab, but the pain and fatigue of all the struggles and injuries of this night was really beginning to tell and he just couldn't get the cloak secured. Seeing the men approaching through the smoke now, getting too close for comfort, he was forced to resort to fleeing once again, leaving behind him the bizarre image of a cloak thrashing about in mid-air.

Pretty quickly it had freed itself again, and though he had gotten some small head start Kale knew the chase was on in earnest once more.

Staggering at top speed, dragging his bloody-burned body down the street, the night's chase was certainly taking its toll on the lone mercenary. Clutching his torn arm as he ran, Kale wondered absently why he hadn't chosen to be a merchant, after all.

Breaths came in desperate gulps as he drew his rope and grapnel. _Coulda been in Iril right now, pulling in griploads of gold..._ his mind thought with a cruelly ironic light. Why did he ever choose this way, to be cut down in the street, presumably grilled for all he knew before being quietly eliminated? Bouncing his way around the corner, Kale let fly his grapnel, clawing his way up rope and wall fiercely enough to draw blood from his fingertips.

He counseled his body for calm, for endurance, but it was all in vain. Reaching for the rooftops, his bloody body must have reeked of fear. _C'mon, get it together,_ he thought in a scramble, hoping at least for one last vein of professionalism in face of his enemies.

_Better yet, just get on the damn roof- worry about manners later._

There was a clunk as the grapnel caught a hold on the roof, and with a surge of weary pain Kale clambered up it to the relative safety of the slate rooftop above. At last he could pause for a few moments of rest.

Down below the two guards jogged up, along with a low growling that must have signalled the beast that had been tracking him. They wandered over to where the beast was - they seemed able to see it, as if it was only invisible for Kale - and peered at the spot where he had begun climbing.

"Look here - blood spots. He must have climbed up the wall. By Gilamesh, we're never going to catch him now. There's no way I'm climbing up there and scrambling over rooftops after him. 'Sides, guards might be here soon, or worse."

Kale their words with relief, allowing himself to relax just a bit. Waiting for the men to depart a few feet away, he quickly and quietly made away. His intact shirstsleeve had become an improvised bandage, and with the repair, there was no part of his body that was not bruised battered, burned, or bloodied. What was worse, he had no cloak to hide his sorry state.

The wounded man had very little energy to spare thought for anything but getting himself to safety. However, as he made his paining roundabout way through the streets, he chafed even more that he didn't put a scratch on any of the men who had attacked him that night. Walking smoothly and learning slowly by pains which movements he shouldn't make, the dark deserted streets provided a needed isolation.

As the cool evening wind blew against his charred skin, Kale knew that survival in part had to be success. He pulled away from the encounter armed with descriptions, vague motives, and possibly connections. The thought of this as 'victory,' however, chided him like a cruel joke.

_Kaelos, Garus, I'm coming for you, and your fire slinging master, too,_ the mercenary thought, with a good amount of bile in his attitude. _'By Gilamesh...'_ But such personal attachments to the night's events were unnecessary. At least that was the conclusion he came to, too exhausted to put action to thought in any case. Maybe in the morning he could make some sense out of all this.

In a few blocks, the fire of his anger had already died down. Anything important about the men he'd encountered went far beyond any personal vendettas, and Kale had no energy left for his ego to hold score.

After many roundabouts and sliptails, Kale snuck his way into a certain horsestable, recovering his mount in the market district. It was a gripping pain, settling an old horseblanket on his shoulders to conceal his wounds. The merciful fortune was that quiet movement was practiced instinct to the man, with no extra energy needed for his discretion. In a few moments, his 'flavor of the week' horse was bridled, saddled, and ready. With all he could muster, he spoke an even "Thanks," to the waking stable boy, tossing a couple coppers as spurred his mount free of the stuffy wood building.

The desire burned in his heart, to head straight back to bath and bed, but it would still be a long time before his mount was stabled once again. Braced against the abrasive jarring of his trotting horse, Kale gritted his teeth for what seemed like eternity, looping cutoffs among the dales and hills for miles before turning to meet the Tavarus Estate.

"Please let me know when Wolf or Wyshira return," he said simply to the gate guard, whose expression Kale couldn't describe, even if he wasn't half-gone exhausted.

The battered mercenary had no memory of what happened next.


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## Broccli_Head

oh yes! Kale's first encounter with the Gilgamees. This leads to a lot of stuff later! 

How soon until you catch up ?


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## Horacio

Another batch of wonderful updates!

THANKS!


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## Carnifex

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> *oh yes! Kale's first encounter with the Gilgamees. This leads to a lot of stuff later!
> 
> How soon until you catch up ? *




Well, gotta cover Ebri's foray into the city,  then we're onto the next day and their second foray into the city, with all the mayhem that ended up entailing  Then after that we're nearly caught up!

I'll see if I can get another update done today, covering Ebri, if not two updates with luck


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## Carnifex

*Meanwhile, Ebri had departed the main band outside the wizard's guild to visit the abode of the bookseller Karbal...*

* * *

Ebri pushed through the heavy curtain draped over the entrance to the shop; a claustrophobically cluttered purveyor of books, small and cramped and so full of books that...

She looked down.

Yes, she wasn't imagining things. The floor was covered in books, stacked as if the planks below them were like more shelves, spines facing upwards and making an uneven footing. The whole place was draped in wall hangings and oddities, and lit gently by a few small windows.

_Lovely._ She would not have to feign a willingness to come back here. She breathed in the musty scent of gathered knowledge.

From somewhere in the back of the shop, a man pushed forwards; trimly tidy, slimly built and with a cropped beard and head of dark hair. His dark eyes flickered around, taking in this new arrivals appearance.

"Hello, can I help you with anything? Is there any book in particular you require?"

"Why, yes--" she said pleasantly. "I should like it very much if you had a copy of Feodor's _Useful and rare plants_ --- or failing that, works by any of the _*old masters*_ of botany." She stressed the important words slightly, intensifying her smile as she gazed around the shop, and behind the man. "It seems I was not directed wrongly. I was told to find Karbal, as he was said to be an expert in many of the very things I was interested in. Are you he, sir?"

Karbal watched the woman carefully for a few moments. "I might have just what you need; please come through to the back, where I keep the rarer books."

He led Ebri through, into a room quite devoid of books except for a couple of administrative ledgers. She followed Karbal through the dusty maze of books to the back room, alert but not concerned. It was well to be wary, but the Old Master would not have deceived her, or guided her needlessly here. 

"Yes, I am Karbal, and by your description I was given you are Ebri Zol?" His eyes glimmered silver for a moment. "Yes, you are, good." He smiled. "Don't worry; just a little trick I have been gifted with by the Prophet to help tell friend from foe, true agent from infiltrator. You've passed that test at least; always a god thing, I hate having to get rid of dead bodies, not my kind of thing." He sniffed. "Leave that to those trained as assassins, I say, since I quite prefer to avoid bloodshed. My talents lie in other areas, which is why I am the Collector for this area."

He gestured for Ebri to sit down on one of the wooden chairs that sat around a stout wood table. "Now, from what I was told, doubtless you'll have a lot of questions, and unlike the last one who could aid you that you met, I have the time and inclination to answer them. Oh, never try and pry answers out of them anyway, they'll tell you what they think you should know when they think it a good idea, and not before. Well, let me begin; I know you were despatched with greater haste than usual and without the normal briefings. It was quite a sudden request by the masters, and urgency of needing a guard for the ward meant that there wasn't the time for the usual procedures. It falls on me instead to fill you in on a few matters. I've got some equipment for you too, gifts from the masters that I'm sure you'll find useful."

"Now, how about some introductions, eh? Proper ones. I am Collector Karbal - and if you're wondering what Collector means, well, I gather information from other agents and pas them on to the masters, and they in turn tell me the orders to hand out to the agents. I am also a Shadowspeaker - that is a ranking priest of the Prophet. I operate from here, this building, and the agents all come to me. You're one of some half-dozen in this area at the moment."

"Now, I know you are a priestess, an Initiate of the religion. We maintain a small shrine here in the city, well hidden from prying eyes. It's also good as a sanctuary should you need safety for any reason. Unlike the structures of the monasteries, you'll find our faith's organisation a little more haphazard out here in the real world, simply due to practicalities."

"Well." He sighed tiredly. "How about I field any questions you have first, anything urgent you need and suchlike, then I'll fill in any more details you need to know, yes? This is most irregular, and I'm sorry for that, since most of the time agents are well-briefed before they're set loose. Though maybe the fact you've had a little practical experience now already means you might be a bit wiser than most of those just freshly assigned to the Purpose." 

With Karbal's introduction and opening remarks, she felt a tension leave her that she had not known she carried. She would note it, of course, and meditate on the lack of self-perception later, properly, but the reason for it seemed normal enough. The role she had carried--by duty, which she honored, but not by choice- could fall away safely. The illusion of the world could be abandoned in the presence of those who walked the true path. _We share the commonality of the Purpose._  And while she took pride in her efforts to feign a cheerful, gregariously simple traveller, to acquaint herself with the bewilderingly illogical mythology and customs of Immar, to be released from it was nearly as welcome as the sound of monastery bells would be, and the mist-shrouded view off some mountain cliff. _I am among my own._ She gave a genuine, if restrained, smile, and supplied a few details of her own.  "I am Ebri Zol, yes-- Ebri is how I am called, while Zol is a name my clan gave me as a small child. I keep it for now in honor of their raising me, but of course, I will choose a new name if my masters should ever deem me worthy of such. And as for questions, it is true, I should have many, but I understand so little that it has been difficult to know even how to formulate the questions I might ask..."

_Ebri Zol, Ebri Zol..._ She could not remember a time when she had had one name, as the rest of the clan. She had always been Ebri Zol. Ebri the holy. It was the purest superstition, the result of an accident of infancy, the nonsense of blind faith stimulated by the need for stability in the face of seemingly capricious gods. False idols promised comfort, it was said, but it was sparing. More often they had seemed promote guilt and confusion and blame among those who professed to be guided by them. This she remembered all too well.

_That is the past. What parts of the past inform the present you will meditate on at the proper time, which is not now._

"My most immediate concern, as I'm sure you might guess, is with the safety of my ward, and the nature of the threat against her. And any information you might have that could help me to guard her and predict risks. What is the source of her blue coloring, and its meaning? Why is she _shadow-touched_ -- and more to the point, what does that mean?"

Karbal nodded at Ebri's question. "Wise to begin with such an important matter. I cannot explain all to you, but I can do my best with what I myself know of this..."

"Your ward's unique colouring is due to her heritage - strange blood lies in her veins. She is _aasimar_; that is, she is the result of holy energies on mortality. It comes from her fathers side, but unfortunately we don't know who her father is; it seems her mother, a Carthagian minerologist had the encounter resulting in Melisande while taking part in a deep cavern exploration mission."

"This means we cannot fully know the meaning of her blue colouring, what ramifications it has beyond the purely racial differences it has laid upon her. This is more than a small obstacle because of the answer to your second question, on why she is shadow-touched."

"To explain why she is shadow-touched and what that means is difficult because I myself do not hold all the answers. Doctrine handed down from the masters is... confused on the matter. I have the feeling that they do not all agree amongst themselves over it. Essentially, she is a descendant of one of a number of mortals who have been imbued with a divine spark as part of the Purpose, tools in part of a greater plan. When the Great Prophet locked away the power of the Elder Gods in the great ritual, some of the mortal archmages who aided him wove in faults so that they might try and use the power themselves; the Prophet ended up expending his very essence to keep the ritual stable, and as part of this he imbued a number of mortals nearby with his own life spark before ascending to become a true god - in death he gained divinity, and in the shadow-touched we have the remnants of his mortal self. The problem is that it seems that this mixing with her unknown aasimar heritage could cause unforeseen problems, so she especially of the shadow-touched needs to be watched."

"Now, of foes you need to be vigilant for... There are many enemies we must face in this world. Be wary of the followers of ancient gods, whose schemes and plans hold danger for us all. Of the cults of Gilamesh, the cabal known as the Children of Gilamesh is the most powerful, who plot to return the Dragonlord to his ancient throne. The insidious disease-bringers of Kevayek too, who would see the world fester in pestilence. Many others as well - these are circumstantial foes. Further, be watchful for those who would pursue your ward for more personal reasons - Carthagian hunters, and those who would slay her because she is Carthagian or aasimar."

"But all these foes are unaware of the truth; that she is shadow-touched. They have no understanding of the purpose, not even a comprehension of what the shadow-touched are. Yet there are some who do know of the shadow-touched; worse, who know of us, and the masters, and would eagerly see us all destroyed. They are the True Enemy."

"They hide, concealed from the view of others behind the facades of the societies in which they bury themselves. Manipulating others to achieve their ends, plotting ceaselessly... they are the Dreamweavers, and we have waged a secret war against them for centuries, unseen by the throngs of common people who inhabit these lands."

"The Dreamweavers are so dangerous because those who do their bidding often do not know it; attacks which seem to come from one foe may in fact be a Dreamweavers doing. Worse, they pose a threat to your ward - and you, and everyone - which is not just physical. They can corrupt the mind and the soul itself, and you must be ever vigilant for them."

"Once, they nearly ruled the world, but during the Divine War the masters took the opportunity to smash their influence and scattered them. Now they hide, plotting for revenge and a return to power. Killing a shadow-touched is something theywould delight to do."

"So beware. Guard the mind as well as the physical form, and if you ever discover that you are in danger from a Dreamweaver, be certain to notify a superior about it, so that the masters may hunt it down."

* * *


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## Horacio

Short but very good update!

You're a fast poster, my friend...


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## Maldur

Like Horacio said  

Short but sweet.

I like your world more and more

I would not mind forgoing PS if you wanted to runa nother game here


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## Carnifex

The morning sun found that all of the members of the band Ecurius had gathered had once again returned to their lodgings. Kale, Wolf and Ebri had all arrived after the others, all except Wolf - who had apparently gone for a long walk in the estate gardens - having gone directly to bed. Now, in the airy common room provided in the guests' wing of the manor, they found themselves together being served breakfast by two servants. Ecurius was speaking with some visitors from the city but would be along soon.

Even with his night's sleep, Kale was still aching, much of his skin red and raw and his injuries still causing him pain with every movement. Merciful sleep had come easy to the merc, exhausted shoulders slumping in slumber before his body even hit the soft estate mattress. Sleep was fast and deep, and he felt no pain.

The morning, however, brought its own round of revenge. Rolling to the floor with a prolonged groan, hibernating aches awoke to reclaim their grip on the mercenary’s sanity. With patience and the stubborn doggedness that only footmen knew, Kale schooled himself to not respond to his body's harsh complaints.

Still, undressing was a chore (he had slept in his armor- oh the aches). Peeling ooze-soaked puttees from his face and body, he suffered one rinse of his face before deciding that any other grooming would just have to wait until he had his wounds tended. Absent mail and padding, his shirt was at least marginally serviceable, if not stained by blood on his left shoulder. His host and company would simply have to deal with the mess, he had no will to spare.

_Wyshira can heal me... no doubt she'd pine over some finer point about being careful, while asking if I would like some cool water._. An abraded spirit willed roll his eyes, but his body would not comply. Being 'mothered' just then was his body's desire, if not his heart's. She was an odd one, breathing water and healing folk when she wasn't cracking skulls. _Hmm._

* * *

The morning sun found that all of the members of the band Ecurius had gathered had once again returned to their lodgings. Kale, Wolf and Ebri had all arrived after the others, all except Wolf - who had apparently gone for a long walk in the estate gardens - having gone directly to bed. Now, in the airy common room provided in the guests' wing of the manor, they found themselves together being served breakfast by two servants. Ecurius was speaking with some visitors from the city but would be along soon.

"You look like you had a rough night, Kale," said Wolf, one eyebrow raised quizzically, as he wandered into the room from the corridor leading into the rest of the manor rather than, as everyone else had, emerging from their respective rooms. "Been up to much? How was everyone's day yesterday?"

"Thank you, my day was quite excellent," Ebri said smoothly, the soul of morning politeness. She helped herself to more potatoes, carefully avoiding another look at the greasy sheen of the panoply of fried meat. Instead, she glanced again at Melisande, as she had been at regular intervals all morning, keeping an eye and ear open for any signs of sleeplessness or odd dreams.  "I spent hours in the shop of an unparalleled bookseller. Far more wonderful than any I have come across in my travels." She chewed, and made some appropriate sounds of enthusiasm. "A credit to this city, the merchant Karbal, if I may say. I will certainly add him to my order's 'Register of Exceptional Destinations', as soon as I am able."

Wolf's convenient ackowledgement of the mercenary's condition gave her the excuse she needed to leave the pretense of packing away a 'healthy' meal. She pushed her plate aside and turned her chair to face the injured Kale. "I would be more than pleased to offer you healing assistance, sir. Perhaps you would allow me to tend you while you answer your friend's question? How did you come to be in such a sorry state?"

"No, you don't have to do that," he said, not desiring to make any acceptance of a favor. But of course, he really didn't resist the healing powers as they were tendered.

Looking around the table, Burl noticed Kale, Ebri and Wolf engaged in conversation. Kale it seems had once more found trouble, but once again, he had survived although a bit tussled. “Kale, I thought that trouble had been following me, but from the look of you it must be following you. What trouble did you get into this time? By the way, we haven’t discussed when we are going to be moving on. I would like to work on my salves. This will take today and tomorrow to prepare. I have all the ingredients and my jars. All I need is access to a lab, if Ecurius has one, or at the very least the kitchen. Once I get it cooking, I will need a couple of items more that I forgot and will need to go back into the town. Melisande would like to get some lantern oil also. Is there anything else we could use for the trip?"

_I'm easily bribed,_ Kale thought as he consented to healing, welcoming the restorative powers of the traveler's god. _Does this make me a bit of a god whore? he mused. Hell, no. That's what they're around for, to heal people..._ he rationalized, but knew the was much more to it than that. Elder gods, younger gods, there was so much he didn't understand. What did Ebri say about that bookstore? Karbal. Maybe he'd have some answers. With reluctance, another item was added to the list of questions: who was the damned merchant-mage, and why does he oppose the Blades? And who are the Blades, for that matter?

Musing for the moment came to an end as the mercenary's eye saw something of attention. Light blue robes- _There's Wyshira,_ what a relief. Singed cheeks reacted poorly to his chewing, and Kale looked forward to getting fixed up. Ebri's ministrations helped, but hadn't repaired everything. She offered to help with herbal mixtures and traditional remedy, but Kale resisted. "Thank you, no. Not at the table. Surely I must be breaking countless folks' bloody protocol, getting healed at breakfast. Please, sit, enjoy your meal," he concluded with a wave of his hand, indicating Ebri's decidedly... boring breakfast plate.

Glancing to Wyshira, he wished she would heal him right then, finish him up, but that was a fanciful dream at best. He had no idea why, but his instinct told him that no woman would jump up and heal him just after another priestess had finished. The gods' purpose was more than just to heal people? No doubt the followers' purpose ran deeper than that, as well. The mercenary hoped Wyshira didn't feel like nothing more than a walking healing potion. _She can swim, too,_ he thought cynically for a moment. He felt strangely... guilty for the thought.

A brief awkward moment passed. "Healing for a story, seems a fair trade." Kale recovered smoothly. "Good morning all, I suppose it's story time. There really isn't much to share, I'm afraid," he said, as though almost being murdered in the streets was point of little personal consequence. However, he continued with a tinge of seriousness that belied his light treatment of the topic. "I was out browsing for a few odds and ends when I ran into an 'admirer' of yours," he indicated Wolf, who had first asked what in the world happened to the younger last night. "Well, he must have considered me an even greater threat than the Wolfman here, because just a few choice words later, he laid into me with his fire magic." Sarcasm added color, but the projected truth was that Kale wasn't deemed important enough to live. Not a big enough threat, as it happened, to be accorded proper respect. Fortune, as it happened: that was why he managed to get away. Respect and recognition were things he could do without. Except, perhaps, within his own team. Bragging and banter had its place, but what drove the story was Kale's feeling that his audience needed to know what happened, and also be aware of his abilities.

"What kind of man immolates himself in fire, just to hurt his enemy?" At least five people present knew the answer to that question, but he continued. "He wasn't even protected from his own magic. I slipped him and his goons, and was about to follow them back home, when this mage cast a strange summoning." Kale paused for a moment to grab another pastry. It wouldn't do to trump up or over-dramatize his tale. This sort of stuff was, after all, seeming to become the norm in his life. "Before I know it, I'm off again, this time dodging two goons and a blasted invisible hound that tracked my every move. Finally, I disengaged, and returned to the estate by a route I doubt anyone could track. Course, with that magic, who knows." And THAT was why they need to know what happened.

_Who knows when these yahoos are going to make another try?_

"When on the reception, it is the defender's mission to survive," Kale quoted the bits of military doctrine he remembered from what seemed a lifetime ago. "While the aggressor must conquer to win... I guess, then, that this is the face of victory." Kale didn't seem to like it too much. Finishing his breakfast and his story, he swallowed. "I have a couple leads- I think I can find out who this guy is." Looking to Wolf, he wanted to know what the man wanted to make of this. Kale, he had a few ideas of his own.

Wyshira had taken full advantage of Lord Ecurius's hospitality. She spent extra time in the incredibly luxurious, heated, sunken bath tub before retiring for the night; relished the soft comfort of the plump feather bed and clean linen sheets well past the time she usually rose in the morning; and came downstairs to breakfast with a healthy appetite.

With an energized step and a smile brightening her face, she entered the sunlit common room. Some of the others had gathered there already. She was pleased to see that Kale had evidently made it back in one piece. _Of course... What did you think would happen? He can take care of himself._

That cleric of Immar, Ebri Zol, was talking to him... saying something about healing assistance......

The smile faded from her lips and she stopped in place. Kale looked burned. She knew - she'd seen him look that way before. Where his skin wasn't burned, it was scraped or bruised. _What in the name of the Lady happened last night?_ She took a few steps in the mercenary's direction, then stopped again, waiting to see if he'd accept Ebri's offer.

Wyshira bit her lip, uncertain of what to do. She was never sure with Kale if he wanted or needed her help. She wanted to hurry over to his side; to examine the extent of his wounds and tend them; to chide him for going off on his own. But she didn't move.

He glanced in her direction just then, saw her standing there for the first time. She thought she could see relief in his eyes at the sight of her. He DOES want my help, she thought with a sudden sense of... well, _something._ Fulfillment maybe? Her smile came back, and she continued on into the room and over to the table.

Kale started telling his story while she found a bowl and filled it with water and prepared to cast her spells. He must have been really messed up to still look this bad after Ebri's healing. Why hadn't he come to her last night? He couldn't have slept well.

She resisted the urge to scold him. In fact she said very little while she did her work, except to urge him to drink lots of water during the day today.

What was it with Kale and fire anyway? How many times would the man end up getting burned to a crisp? "Your eyebrows hadn't even grown back in from last time," she commented lightly. "If you'd come with us yesterday, that fire genasi that we met at the mage's guild probabably would have attacked you too!" She had a hard time laughing at her own joke however; the fire-kin had made her nervous, and Kale's experience was just the sort of thing that she feared. She closed her mouth then and let the others talk.

_And if Kale is going to be following up any leads, he's not going alone, she resolved._ She had wanted to observe Burl work on his salves today, but she wasn't going to let Kale get out of her sight.

The face of victory? Ugh.  Mel listened to Kale's very offhandedly-delivered report all while keeping her eyes on the jelly rolls instead of his face, which looked like he had been exposed to a bank of mutation-stones in the lead chambers of a biothaum lab. In a few days he'd be sprouting antennae. She'd been in a fine mood until he walked in. Now she found herself pushing the ham off her plate nauseously.

She knew it was hopeless, but she had washed and brushed her hair and done it up nicely for Lord Ecurius. She'd gone to a lot of trouble and then looked in the mirror only to recall that she was still blue, very much the wrong color for anyone looking to marry up. And she was still in travel-stained old clothes which had seen almost as much action as Kale. She knew of no alchemical stain-remover that could entirely bleach away the dark patches where her own blood had soaked through her dress and robe.

And here she was walking into trouble again. A trip into unknown mountains to a haunted mage's tower? Why?

Hopelessly she gave a mental shrug. Walking into trouble with people who are already being hunted by kamikaze wizards. Well, one thing at a time.

"I can mend some of your loose ends. I mean leather and clothes, not... skin... Ahem. You should probably tell Lord Ecurius he might expect some invisible hounds to come sniffing around. He might be able to divine something for you, too. I do hope he'll come to breakfast soon..."

After tending to some bitten pant legs she poured herself a tall mug of tea, sipping the piping aromatic stimulant appreciatively. "I suppose Burl and I'll be spending the day brewing, unless you need our help hunting down your assailants. Just let us know."

It surprised her how easily she had adopted these new people, but then she'd never had the luxury of being picky about her friends. Kale was potential trouble himself, but he had made her laugh, and she did feel bad seeing the shape he was in this morning. She supposed if they were going to travel together, their problems were now very much shared. She only wished this gruff, taciturn Wolf person would volunteer a little more about what they were up against. From Kale's questioning glance she guessed Wolf hadn't told him, either. Maybe Burl would be more talkative while they worked together.

_Sorry, no caviar this time,_ she apologized to Pierre, letting the toad out to roam the windowsills for spiders. The day before she had been unable to explain to Wyshira--though she had talked for twenty minutes--what it was "like" having a two-headed toad for a familiar. Really, she couldn't think what it would be like not having him around. Though she had let on that he was the source of some of her more level-headed decisions, as well as that the contrast of his two heads (the right being of optimistic disposition, and the left quite the opposite) helped her see two sides of every situation. On the other hand, having two empathic minds bent on unearthing grubs all the time could be distracting. Right now she concentrated on satisfying her own appetite with assorted cheeses. It was going to be a long day in the lab. 

Sebastion had woken early, as the first of the stable-hands came in, and looked around a little blearily as he tried to place himself.

_The hayloft._ he remembered quickly enough, tossing and turning in the large room, unable to settle with the strange echoes that seemed to come back off the distant walls. A late-night walk had brought him here, where he felt comfortable, and he had drifted off to sleep easily enough with the scent and noise of the horses below, and the familiar feel of stiff stalks poking through his clothes. Perhaps stables were the same the world over... he found it a comforting thought.

A quick wash in cold water, brushing his hands through his hair in front of the immense mirror - fully three feet high, and the same across - and he made his way down from breakfast. He ate heartily, listening to others at the table. They weren't quite the guards of his home-town, but somehow the easy back-and-forth banter of Wolf and the other men with him seemed similar, and he felt he could fit in with them in a way he hadn't managed with the assorted women he had been travelling with.

Ebri Zol was her usual enigmatic self, suddenly enthused about - of all things - a bookshop, animated in a way that she hadn't managed to be at all before now. Not in the conflict with the Kobolds, nor during the flight through the tunnels. Not even at the sight of this magnificent mansion house.... strange?

And Melisande... she had obviously taken advantage of the opportunities presented by the house, and looked stunning that morning. Her hair primped and arranged like one of the girls from home at the Spring Festival dance, it seemed to suit her skin colour, strangely, and he watched her face sadden slightly as she picked gently at the spots on her bodice.

"You should try salt and cold water on that, soak it." he suggested, quietly, leaning over to spear another sausage and some more bacon. "It'll lift that right out. It's a shame to let a little blood spoil the effect when you've gone to su...." He drew up short, suddenly, realising what he'd been saying. "Uh, that is. It's a shame to ruin such a pretty dress."

Sitting back, and hastily shoveling food into his mouth before it could run away from him again, he focussed his attention on his plate, and his plans for the day. Burl had expressed an interest in waiting a day to complete some alchemical work, and he didn't suppose there was any hurry to investigate a tower that had been abandoned for so long. He intended a trip to the fire genasi later on, of course, but first....

First, he needed to get his hands on the Mimir again.

"I'm heading back into town later on. I can get oil for you, and if you don't need to talk about what you need I can get your gear for you too? Just make a list... he offered, to Burl, as he settle back to listen to Kale's tale of his adventures the previous evening.

Kale felt the healing magics of the two priestesses flow through him, wounds knitting up and skin sealing; the two prayers so alike in effect yet so different as well. Ebri's a quiet, almost whispered prayer than soothed pain and healed wounds in such an inobtrusive manner as that Kale was surprised when he suddenly noticed the edge had been taken off his aches, while Wyshira's was like a rush of cool water running through his veins.

Wolf had been listening attentively to Kale's recounting, even though he had been gazing out the window all through the story, as if in thought. When the young man had finished his tale the mercenary turned round, expression virtually unreadable. Certainly it didn't betray any worry or alarm.

"Sounds like you tangled with a Daedroth hound. Not many mages know how to summon them; it's Elder magic, hard to master. You're right to be worried about being tracked; they're supposed to be excellent hunters, especially because their prey can't see them."

"You say they knew me? That's a worry; if they thought you were worth attacking, I'm sure they don't mean well for me either. Hmm."

"Well, I see a number of courses of action. Either we ignore this little incident, at least for the time being, and depart as soon as possible for the mountains, or we take the time to hunt down and deal with whatever threat is posed here. Though if their interest is just in me, there's no onus on any of you to worry about this. I'd advise that people travel in groups in the city from now on anyway, just to be on the safe side. What are you lot's opinions then?"

_Elder magic..._ Ebri mused, filing the information away. It wasn't exactly likely that there would be a connection between attacks on the mercenary and a threat to her ward, but neither was it _unlikely._

"For my part, I should just as soon get back to the road." Ebri announced, allowing a small interval of space so that she might not seem unnaturally eager. i]Anything, anything to get away from the city.[/i] With each moment she stayed there, the filth and noise and press of people grew about her. The mental unrest, the threats from all angles to her ward... Although her devotion to Immar was nothing more than a ruse, and was the idle superstition of the weak-minded in need of certainties in life, Ebri could almost see the appeal of cult of travelling. _The open road._ It wasn't mountains, but it far surpassed the city. "But you are correct, sir-- we should none of us travel alone, whether we are within walls or no. Even I would not, given what we have just heard, and my god protects me." She smiled and stood, repacking her first aid supplies, since Kale had no use for them. "And we may as well be expeditious, since Lord Ecurius has employed us. Also, we will find out easily enough the motives and identity behind this attack. If it is anything more than random urban violence, the perpetrators will follow us if we leave."

Brurl, while eating, watched and listened to the others. His chances of buying a couple of days to make his salve and more importantly to gather the information for Tewlcroghen were slipping away. Swallowing a piece of crisp bacon, he added his thoughts, “Look, I won’t hold us up if the decision is to move on to the tower. I can easily put off making my salve, but I do need some things from town. Spike has a digestion problem and I need to pick up something for him, plus I found that I missed a spell component. I need one more trip into the town before I can leave. I do think it would be better for me to make the salve, but it can wait. By the way, we should probably pick up some extra forage for the horses if the trip to the tower is a long way. We could combine my excursion with that chore. Any volunteers to help me?"

Devastating self-consciousness threatened to crush Melisande to a blue pulp. Her face went blazing indigo when she realized it was evident to everyone (and Sebastion in particular) that she had done herself up. If anyone figured out it was for Lord Ecurius she thought she'd melt into a sticky blue puddle. She felt ridiculous, pathetic and--and even a little guilty, strangely, for even having thought Lord Ecurius might notice her.

"A little blood," she managed to giggle, squirming in excruciating embarrassment.

Apparently unaffected by the barbecued Kale, Sebastion leaned past her to stab more sausage. A sweet, warmish, earthy scent was wafting off him. It reminded her of... autumn fields? Farmers at market? Fresh mouse cages? Straw. Suddenly Mel was regretting having committed her day to stinky alchemy with Burl. How nice it would be to go see the horses of Lord Ecurius' stables and walk in his gardens, and smell more smells like that one. Sebastion must have spent an early morning in the stables. She, on the other hand, had spent an early morning primping for a desperately silly reason.

Fortunately, Wolf drew attention away from her hairdo. He did not seem to know what the attack was about either, which consternated everyone, but he had at least one good recommendation.

"No sneaking off for soup this time, eh?" she grinned at Ebri Zol after the priestess agreed to take Wolf's advice.

More seriously, she continued, "Mister Wolf, this is not the first time Elder magic has popped up in our travels. If you know anything else about this, you should tell us now, because if your enemies are pulling out that kind of arcana against your apprentice I think we're all concerned. In fact, Ebri, if you're going back to that bookseller's today, would you see if he has anything on Elder gods and their magic? And on this cult of the Prophet that's been scrying on me, and the Nephians and all that?"

Kale perked up at the mention of the Elder Gods, standing up in interest and with a familiar bearing, before mentally reminding himself that he was without mail and blade. The familiar weight of his shirt was absent, the light touch of his scabbard eluded his senses. His body retuned to his surroundings. He also noted a wonderful, soothing comfort. Suddenly something occurred to him, he clasped Wyshira's arm in silent thanks for the relief he'd been seeking for quite some time.

Wolf continued to lay it out. _The Elders. Sick of hearing about them. Hashruuk and his dreadspawn, Kevayek's new country, Gilamesh and his dragons, Wolf had mentioned Shauku's icy wrath..._ Kale's mind jumped between memories. Cryosians on the attack; an odd, filthy ship on the docks at Iril; dreadspawn and the new 'gourmet orcs'; strange sounds during the night, _huntfindseekheretherego;_ a new country of the disease god; and dragons, dragons behind every fable and fairy tale. Irilsons, Ascarians, Carthagians, 'Kavarail Kavas'... everyone had some draconic claim to fame.

Yet, most of the lands' current events had benign explanations. Standing there in the Tarravus' dining room, Kale had no idea what to make of all that he'd seen. _Maybe Ecurius or this Karbal could help me out..._ No doubt everyone Kale thought about desired power- but only the most dedicated and insane would draw upon the elder gods. From what little he understood, the only thing he could know for sure was that the Elder forces lived for power. How could anyone make more sense from those horrible natures? Those who followed insanity could only do it for one reason: power. _Unlimited power... all it'll cost you is your humanity_. This 'merchant-mage' had to be stopped.

The young mercenary pondered his position, and Ebri was the first to speak up. _What an odd woman. Is it book smarts or naivete? You'd think an Immarian would be more streetwise. Maybe she's just minimizing the situation. She was a bit... coy?_

"Random urban violence?" Kale asked incredulously. "Yeah, I'm sure it's just ol' Gilamesh starting an inner-city turf war. Nothing to worry about."

"Look, these guys may recognize Wolf, but as long as we work together, they're a threat to all of us. With poor enough luck, before long they'll be a threat you, no matter who you work for.

"I'm not interested in the politics or the power plays," Which wasn't entirely true. He'd have to learn all about those things, if he wanted to live a long life. "But this bastard tried to kill me, and I'm not going to give him a second chance. Right now we have the initiative," he said, indicating Wolf and himself. "I'm all for finding this guy and taking the fight to him while we have best advantage. The tower and its goodies can wait.

"Look, you all have been very kind to help me out, so let me stress that this isn't something anyone'd expect you to do. Wolf, we need to deal with this threat now, if we can. Ladies and gents, your help would be appreciated... but I'm not gonna blow sunshine up your ass. It took all I had just to get away from this guy. He's powerful, and he'll likely be on guard. But now is the time to learn and to move, I don't want to wait around until he decides to make his next step."

Cord sat at the breakfast table silently, tasting the food as well as the emotions permeating the table. The last walk in the dwindling light of the previous evening had been a pleasant one, and his night had been as surprisingly restful as when he first arrived. Under normal circumstances he enjoyed the outdoors, but as of late his contact with the earth seemed to make the writhing pain beneath his body all the more real. Not until arriving at the home of Lord Ecurius was his sleep unapproached by such haunting dreams.

Cord listened to Kale's narrative, noted Wyshira's action to Ebri's tending of wounds and Kale's reaction, in turn. He smelled the faintest scents of perfumes Melisande must have found and sensed her stiff posture; he sensed Sebastion's own change in posture, as well. The table was rife with eagerness, hesitancy, confusion, confidence, noise, and silence. He smiled as he brought a mug to his lips. He could spot himself in the mixture, of course, and chuckled internally as he pinpointed the rest.

He had little preference concerning the direction of the party. He saw no need to accompany Kale and Wolf in search of their unknown enemy, and confessed he was eager to explore this tower that might prove to be one source of the earth's corruption, but another day of rest appealed to his aging body. Another walk in the town, another day to learn from and teach his newfound companions, another night to sleep on a comfortable mattress. His senses thrived under such circumstances, and he knew that a single day would not cause Grumand to become overwhelmed. There was time.

He swallowed another mouthful and kept his attention of those at the breakfast table.

Wolf smiled wryly at Melisande's question and her calling him 'Mister Wolf'. "Well, Miss Melisande, Elder magic is simply magic that draws its power from the Elder gods. A daedroth hound is a creature of legend and it matches up to what attacked Kale; a mage well versed in Elder lore could probably manage such a thing."

"Anyway, since several of us need to go into the city for one thing or another, I propose that we travel down as a group, just to make sure. How does that sound to people? Kale, obviously you and I need to travel down to try and make some headway on finding out just what is going one; Burl, you said you needed to get some more supplies? Anyone else coming?"

Melisande piped up. "Well, if Burl and I aren't going to be brewing anything today, then I guess I'll come along. Maybe I'll check out that bookseller's myself. I just hope Lord Ecurius won't be vexed at us for delaying our departure. I think we ought to tell him what's going on. He might be able to explain a few things, maybe even track these people down."

Of course, he might also decide the group was too great a liability to worth employing, too. It was a risk, but Mel had utmost confidence in Lord Ecurius' good nature. She finished her tea and had another spoonful of condensed milk--she would need the energy. Where was the sorcerer anyway? She could hardly keep her eyes from straying to the doorway every few seconds in anticipation. 

"Indeed," Ebri replied, not blinking, "I should relish the chance to visit the shop of Karbal one more time. I will ask him those things, of course, if you wish, but as we have said, we should not travel alone. Perhaps you would like to accompany me?" she asked the blue woman. "Who knows but he has rare magical texts among his stacks?" This was advantageous for Ebri; she had every intention of sticking to her ward like glue all day. It was paramount that no harm came to Melisande.

"Really, he's that good? Oh, I'm sure I could spend hours there..."

But a memory of having dragged her friends through a library once not that long ago killed some of Melisande's enthusiasm. Meg'anna and Sebastion had looked bored. On the other hand, even the ambitious mercenary had found a book or two to browse that day, and it probably didn't hurt him to spend some time on intellectual pursuits if he wished to be respected as a famous warlord.

"But I do think we should all stick together today, even if it's just to buy straw..." (that pleasant scent must have been going to her head; she couldn't stop thinking of straw--had he been rolling in it?) "... hay... whatever for the horses. No subdelegations sneaking off." She looked Kale's direction, sensing they had another amateur of surreptitious soup in their midst. 

Another day traipsing around in the city wasn't really what Wyshira wanted to do, and she couldn't quite hide her disappointment.

And the idea of Burl going off in one direction, while Wolf and Kale went off in another left her feeling anxious and split down the middle. _Which way will Cord want to go? _she wondered.

She brightened at Mel's suggestion that they all stick together today, but she really didn't think that Wolf would go for it.

"I'll go too," she said finally. "Just let me go change my clothes first." She had decided that this time she would not necessarily be representing the Storm Lady in town, and would prefer to be dressed appropriately, in case she had to flee with Kale over the rooftops.

Burl absolutely needed to get into town one last time. “I totally agree that we need to stay together. It seems as though whenever we split, something happens. This elder magic wielding mage does not sound like someone I want to meet on my own. I need to make two stops in town and then I’m free unless we need to pick up supplies for the trip. When are we planning on moving out? Does anyone have any idea of how long we will be away from civilization? Are there other towns close to where we are headed? Can we get a map of the area in town?” Burl was really only interested in his agenda and all the questions hopefully throw the others off of it. Taking a big slice of bread and rolling a couple of thick slices of bacon in it, “ I don’t know about rest of you, but I’m going to miss this hospitality when we do leave.”

Sebastion listened to the plans for the day, and finally brought himself to speak.

"I'm not so sure we should all stick together, at that. Anyone hunting down this mage and his associates will not want to be in a large group, but they do need to be hunted down, one way or the other.

This tower will be dangerous: if it weren't, Ecurius wouldn't be sending us, he'd go himself. It wouldn't do to be caught between that danger, and whatever danger Kale's _friend_ chooses to send after us." Placing his knife and fork down, carefully, delicately, choosing his words carefully, he continued after a moment.

"If you ladies would speak with this bookseller, then you should go. No offence intended, but it would be difficult for you, I think, to appear nondescript, and that may be required.

I'll accompany Kale and Wolf, if you'll have me, and we'll see if we can't shake this tail before we leave?"

With his plan on the table, he turned to Ebri with a quiet mutter.

"Ebri, do you still have the Mimir? Could I have it, after breakfast?"

He still had questions, enquiries... and he still had a visit to the Flame Guildsman to make.

"Of course you may, Sebastion," Ebri replied, "Anyone of us may use it. But I thought you did not care for such tools of witchery?"

"I will give it to you after breakfast."

Kale looked on as the conversation continued. Sebastion seemed pragmatic enough, but the young mercenary still arched an eyebrow at his comment. Unsure whether or not any resentment lay there, what with Kale seeming to trail problems in like dust from the playground, it seemed a little discomfort had to be expected.

And what was this mimir business he and Ebri went on about? Looking about the large dining room in the rising light, he regarded the disparate crew. Something, someone seemed amiss.

Missing, rather. "Hmm, I suppose someone ought to let Sandslipper know, too. Is she going to be coming down to the meal?" he asked to the room, unsure who might know her whereabouts. She seemed so on edge the previous night... considering how dangerous things always got around this crew, Kale hoped she was alright.

"Any case, we should be alright with the timing, Ecurius mentioned it would take a few days to get the particulars together, including a detailed map of the area,” he finished in answer to Burl’s question. "I should hope we’d see Ecurius again before we take off for the day. These meals, I certainly can’t complain,” he said and paused as he seemed to remember something. Sitting smoothly back into his chair, he relaxed as the remainder of the arrangements were completed, taking the opportunity to double down on sweetrolls and fresh jam.

Listening to the direction the conversation was headed, Burl decided to add another thought to the mix, “As one who is being sought also, I really don’t like the idea of splitting up. As we have found in the past, there are situations where each of us on our own would not have survived, but as a team we won out. I think that since we have to separate groups joining forces, we should start learning to work as a combined team, not seven or eight individuals. As long as I can finish my shopping before we leave, I would rather look for Kale’s antagonist first. The benefits of staying together are much more than if we split.”

"Well, if we must split up, let's at least make sure each group knows exactly where the other is, and stay split up for the shortest time possible. To be honest I really agree with Burl we should stick together, but Sebastion's right, it might be hard to catch this mage if we travel in a flock." She chose to ignore the comment about her and Ebri Zol being conspicuous, because it brought back that burning in her cheeks.

She was still licking condensed milk off of her spoon and trying to stop feeling so distracted by Sebastion's smell. The thought of rolling in straw was leading her mind in surprising directions.

Pierre must have been surprised too, because he tumbled off the windowsill with a splat. Sheepishly he hopped under the table, hoping no one noticed.

Wolf listened carefully to what was being said. "Much of what you all say has good reasoning behind it, I have to say," he said with an appreciative smile. "I am still caught in two minds on whether we should split up though. It is true that, as a divided force, we are weaker - and as Burl wisely says, we need to learn to work together. Yet, as Sebastion says, together we may stand out a little too much - we may be too large a group to go unnoticed or the unusual complexions of Wyshira and Melisande might draw too much attention."

"I think, for the time being, it would be good for us to split up; myself, Kale, Sebastion and anyone else who wishes to come, while Melisande, Wyshira and whoever else has things to attend to in the markets and purveyors goes in another group. Now, what we three will do is merely try, for the time being, to gather information on our enemy; if we find out what we need to know, or if any sign of trouble flares up, we get back to the rest of you as soon as possible to reorganise and prepare ourselves as a group. That way we get the practical tasks for the journey ahead done, as well as hopefully making headway on this fire-slinging wizard."

Kale's search, although no doubt useful if they did not want to be plagued by vengeful mages attacking on their heels, held little appeal for Cord. He wished the small company luck, of course, and raised a silent prayer to Grumand to absorb their footfalls in stealth and be free of obstacles in flight. His own focus lay in a different direction, and so he decided to accompany the less aggressive group for the second day into the city.

Wyshira hurried to change out of her robes and into a tunic and trousers. She wrapped a lightweight cloak around herself, readied her weapons, scrolls, and potions, then returned to the guest's common room. She was just in time to hear Wolf's decision on the party split.

_Essentially what he's saying is that my strangeness outweighs my usefulness...._ she thought wryly. _Well, I have no desire to visit this bookseller. I suppose I'll get the chance to explore the grounds here a little today._

Wolf had given his opinion. Burl wasn’t upset in the least not going with Kale and the others. He had work to do in the markets and really needed to get it done. Burl went back to his room, gathered his equipment and went to meet Wyshira and Mel for the trip to the markets. Hopefully he could get the needed information and head back. Maybe there would be enough time to get the salve started, even if he had to work late into the night.

Wyshira arrived, practical in dress. Kale was interested to see her experience grow; not that it was anything remarkable to dress a bit blandly, but it was just a bit of a change, she was receptive to try what it takes. Why it would seem such an accomplishment, Kale couldn't say... perhaps there were conceptions lurking about deep in his head. Holy girl from her tiny mountain village... but didn't she take a big piece out of that gruesome wolf-Master?

* * *

Sword in hand, pack-straps already tightened, Sebastion was ready to depart within few minutes of breakfast finishing, and he made his way with the Mimir to the solitude of the hayloft where he'd slept last evening.

Climbing the ladder, seating himself comfortably in the straw, he placed the silver skull, on the floor before him, taking a moment to look at the crease in the surface, wondering how it had gotten there. Having finished his deliberations, though, he sat back and thought for a moment, reflecting on his questions.

"Mimir. Tell me of the following: Dracoverr and Dracoverr swords. Imellin Daerlen, a Fire Mage. A Huronese soldier called Alban Cornell. Lord Ecurius Taverrus. The Truth Seekers. The Elder Gods. Haashruuk. Kavayek. Gilamesh. Shauku. Immar. Grumand. Ishrak. Toran. Karbal, a bookseller." Leaning forward, concentrating on the answers, Sebastion found his hearbeat rising slightly and sweat beading his brow as he worried about what the skull might reveal about his father, and his father's past, and about the people who had seemed to gather around him.

"And the phrase 'Sneak off for soup'." he added, with a slight grin, at the end.

As Sebastion laid the mimir down on the straw-strewn wooden floor of the hayloft, the air around him heavy with the smell of horses and hay, the construct's eyes glimmered for a moment and then it hovered up to float a few feet in the air, its silvery surface reflecting the light from outside. It was still sunny and slits of light reached into the loft from the gaps between wooden slats; but clouds were gathering on the horizon and the wind getting up - it looked like they'd get a storm before too long.

The mimir listened to the warrior's request, then bobbed, it's features as ever set in that rictus grin. "My, you're an inquisitive one today, aren't you? Well, let me process those requests..."

It paused for a moment, then began chattering away.

* * *

"Dracoverr and Dracoverr swords: I have the following information..."

A terrified voice, deep and growly; it sounded like the guttural voices of the ogres Sebastion had fought against with the Blood Raven mercenaries. It was also, unfortunately, in a language he couldn't decipher, but it was urgent, afraid and was cut off with a roar of pain before the recording halted.

A human voice this time, creaky and low."My, this skull-thing is quite a find! Anyway, this is what I want to record; while looking out of my window today and watching the troops marshalling outside the Tower of Zhatan, I was surprised to see two dozen Dracoverr there, resplendent in their green and red armours. Dracoverr! Their presence can mean only one thing; the Lord Commander of Huron himself sees the mission that the Tower Commander is deploying as of vital importance - I mean, for Lord Belgaroth to send two dozen of his personal house cavalry! It makes me feel a little more safe about the whole thing; I might be an experienced mage but I have to admit I'm afraid of what we're going to have to do."

"Once I've finished collecting together my luggage for the trip I'm to go down and speak with the Dracoverr captain, it seems. 'Zhalfiras,' said the Commander to me, 'Zhalfiras, you need to go and talk to the fellow leading the Lord Commander's knights, he's a Dracoverr called Alban Cornell.' A Cornell! I wonder if he's related to Captain Cornell of the Zhatan guards?"

Lord Commander Belgaroth; that was the ruler of Huron. Of course, the recording didn't reveal whether it was the current Lord Voregras Belgaroth or his predecessor. And the Tower of Zhatan was the westernmost bastion of the nation, a mighty fortress on the Cliffs of Zhatan that marked the boundary of Urazel's favoured people.

A human voice, strong anf confident, his style of speaking suggesting he was recording onto the mimir something from writing. "New Entry: The Dracoverr. The Dracoverr are the elite guards of the Lord Commander of Huron. Highly skilled heavy cavalry, they are noted for wearing a unique style of heavy armour that is excellently designed to achieve maximum mobility and minimum encumbrance of the wearer. Rather than lances, the Dracoverr are noted for usually using more exotic weaponry. Established when the first of the Belgaroth dynasty was placed upon the throne of Huron, they have remained an established regiment ever since. The Dracoverr highway, reaching from Zhatan in the west to the port of Dar 'Urazel in the east, is named in their honour."

* * *

"Immelin Daerlen: I have no direct matches in recordings to this name, but I do have some relating just to Daerlen."

A human male voice, speaking quietly but calmly. "They say the suit of armour that the Dracoverr commander wears is called 'Daerlen's Gift'. Apparently it was crafted many decades ago by a powerful wizard called Daerlen as a gift after the then-commander Carnifex Haerven saved him from a raid by fire giants from the wastes."

* * *

"Alban Cornell: I have the following information..."

It first repeated the earlier recording it had brought up due to Sebastion's question about the Dracoverr, then began to speak in the same voice again. "We're currently just sitting around feeling useless. With most of my spellbook in tatters my capacity to help out Alban Cornell, who is now in charge of this expedition as the ranking officer present, has been severely diminished, and it's incredibly frustrating. It also means we're far more vulnerable to any more attacks by magic-using enemies. Alban has sent out scouts, so we just have to wait. I'm still in shock at seeing a Black Knight peeled open like a... like a... I don't know like what. I thought their dragon armour was nigh-impregnable and well worth the fuel we had to cart along with us, but I'm no longer so sure..."

* * *

"Lord Ecurius Tarravus: I have the following information..."

A deep male human voice. "It seems that there is some sort of communication being passed back and forth between the noble called Ecurius Tarravus and someone in Zhatan. What's interesting is that this is going on covertly. I will notify the Bloodkin as soon as possible."

* * *

"The Truth Seekers: I have the following information..."

A crotchety, wheezy voice. "I have discovered that the Truth Seekers are gathering up any old artifacts or - better yet - prophecies of the old times that they can. They pay good money, but I wonder what they've achieved with all this knowledge they're accumulating."

* * *

"The Elder Gods: I have the following information..."

An excited, wild male voice. "The Elder gods? Defeated! Defeated at last, and now before us spreads an age of peace and wonder! Oh, how my soul sings to know that mighty Shauku is fallen, that even now the warrior-knights of Urazel pursue Gilamesh and that dark, dark Hashrukk is shattered and banished! My soldiers are pursuing Hashrukkites to the west, while I have sent parties into the mountains in the east to try and hunt down any of the foul Men of Shadow who have remained upon the surface! Treacherous Men of Shadow - know that the Men of Fire shall hurl you into the abysses below the earth to skulk there like you should! Wait, my Liege Himself comes, Urazel the Mighty! I hear his footsteps echo down the corridor outside and the joyous cries of my guards at seeing his visage! I shall go now, to report to my Liege, to tell him that our warriors fight on valiantly in His Cause..."

With that the mimir began to chatter at least a dozen other recordings, but none of any interest to Sebastion.

* * *

The mimir spouted out a reel of recordings at Sebastion's requests for information on various gods. Much was of no importance to him but a few caught his attention.

"The Daemonflesh is not dead; merely banished, beyond this world and his power fractured. Part of his physicality has been fractured as well as his divinity; it seems that within the Pits of Hashrukk, south-west of the Myrmecian desert, a fragment of his noisome bulk lies in the deepest part and festers there in its unholy aura."

"Gilamesh be praised! I am pleased to report that all goes well, Bloodkin."

"The tales tell that Shauku had three mighty servant upon the material plane at that time, for even banished and so weakened he was still powerful. These three were the Ice Demons, and they led the Ice Horde into battle against the peoples of the tundra; and the Cryosians fought them off and parleyed with them and some of their wizards even aided them. With magic and sorcery the leaders if the Ice Horde tried to bind Fenris with divine chains, but three great heroes of the Ascarian tribes met the Ice Demons in battle and slew them. At the Forge of Fenris were the chains cast off and destroyed, and the Fire Wolf once again brought his powers to bear and the people of the Tundra defeated the Ice Horde, though at great cost. And the scars of the land where Fenris gouged great rifts as he was chained can still be seen there, that the people might remember. And the people of the Ice Horde were scattered and they too suffered, and many cursed Shauku and deserted his worship; but many too remained amongst his followers, and threaten the lands still. For they say that Shauku bears eternal enmity for Fenris, for the Fire Wolf was the one that subdued Shauku in the last and greatest battle of the Divine War that his ally Naskha might finally banish the Frozen God."

"Strange, I saw a priest of Ishrak here today. It seems an odd occurance, all things considered."

"I am intrigued. The powers of the Manipulators are significant and their skill at fleshtwisting great, but even so the fleshtearers are impressive. I know that the Church of Toran has a hand in their creation; but in what way? I will see if I can find out..."

* * *

"Karbal: I have no information on that name..."

"Sneak off for soup: I have the following information..."

The voice was a woman's, imperious and strangely charming. "Nas, this is Eltanar. Don't think about trying to 'sneak off for soup' in this place, alright? This is a sodding city in Hell, remember that, and though I know you might think that makes it an excellent place for causing mischief in the shady parts of town I don't really want to end up in a baatezu jail because an associate of mine has been messing with the wrong devils. Understand me? I'm off to try and see if I can get an audience with Palanar; screw what Krynnish thinks about his son, I reckon I might be able to get some information out of the fellow."

* * *

Their plans finally laid, the party headed out to ride into the capital. They had been unable to find Sandslipper, an unsettling matter, but as they prepared to leave Ecurius arrived out of the grand front doors of the manor to speak with them.

"Ah, good morning to you all, I am glad to see you are all up and ready so early. I hope all is going well with making arrangements for your journey; I'm afraid I have some minor bad news though. Early this morning my servant Mark escorted Sandslipper, your Myrmecian companion, down to the temple of Naskha in the city. She comes from such dry and warm southern climes that I'm afraid our damp northern lands don't seem to agree with her much, and she's fallen ill. Not serious, mind you, but since her fever hadn't abated this morning I've sent her off to see what the priests can do for her. Anyway, have yourselves a good day!" The sorcerer sent them off with a pleasant smile.

Wolf's 'decision' split them, but it was news of Sandlipper's illness that united them, at least those that had travelled all this way with her, and Sebastion found himself walking near Melisande and Ebri as they departed.

"Do you think we might be able to get anything to aid Sandslipper whilst we're out?" he wondered. 

This time, there were bits of straw actually clinging to Sebastion's pant legs when he rejoined the group for their departure. Mel smiled, but let the mystery remain, declining to ask even as he joined her and Ebri. She didn't mind if he decided to ride with the outcasts at least as far as the city. He must be getting used to the company of brainless chickens.

She, too, was worried about Sandslipper. "If we have time, I'd very much like to stop by the temple of Naskha and see her. Although I'm sure she's in good hands, she might have a request, you're right.

"She has been a little strange since the attack in Corvus city, don't you think? She was very friendly up until then. I wonder what kind of sickness she's come down with. I'm afraid those scorpion-people did something bad to her brain."

Of all the group, the one called Ebri proved to be the most enigmatic to Cord. He had spent little time with her, save for lunch the previous afternoon and the quick morning breakfast, and Cord found himself intrigued by her silence. As the company made its way into the city, he found himself at her side, with Melisande on the other. He remained silent, content to allow the morning sun to warm his face, and studied her movements, scents, and voice with genuine curiosity.


----------



## Carnifex

Maldur said:
			
		

> *
> I like your world more and more
> 
> I would not mind forgoing PS if you wanted to runa nother game here  *




Thanks! And thanks just for reading it in the first place 

That's an interesting idea, actually. This campaign does have PS-like elements, and the PC's are likely to at some point visit certain outer planes and come into contact with powerful outsider beings, but the primary focus will remain in the campaign world.

It'd be interesting to run a second game in the same world simultaneously 

Something to ponder


----------



## Sniktch

Your setting rocks, Carnifex, and the storyline is pretty cool, too.  Have you any thoughts about publishing your campaign setting at some point?  I'd be interested in it


----------



## Carnifex

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *Your setting rocks, Carnifex, and the storyline is pretty cool, too.  Have you any thoughts about publishing your campaign setting at some point?  I'd be interested in it  *




An interesting idea  the main problem would be that the setting has a fair bit of metaplot, which often isn't good for published settings. Certainly, by the end of the current game it'll have changed a lot through the events that are being unleashed upon the world 

And thanks for the complement  Another update up in a moment


----------



## Carnifex

With the clatter of hooves on cobbles the mismatched band once again entered the city gates; Sebastion, Kale and Wolf far enough ahead to make them seem a seperate group entirely to the later band with the blue-skinned women. Wolf's trail led the three men deep into the city sback-streets, while the others made their way to the more central parts of the settlement.

Their patron's reaction to Kale's little announcement about daedroth hounds and possible enemies had been a calm one, instilling some confidence in the mercenaries that he could handle such problems intruding on his home. He hadn't actually even said anything, merely giving the young man a quizzical look before returning into his abode.

* * *

Burl's needs were dealt with fairly quickly; it didn't take long to find iron ore or grain merchants, or to surreptitiously note down their prices for later conveyance to Tewlcroghen. With that done, Cord, Burl, Ebri, Wyshira and Melisande carried on to the home of Karbal the bookseller.

Stepping into the shop they found, as Ebri had, a place where every available surface - even the floor - had been used as a bookshelf, spines of tomes making up the ground beneath their feet. The lean man himself greeted them with a pleasant smile, nodding to Ebri. "Ah, the priestess returns, and with friends! What can I help you with, ladies and gentlemen? What book would take your attention, or what knowledge draw your mind?"

* * *

The process of tracking their quarry began with vagueness, nets cast wide to try and drag in the smallest pieces of information. Questioning merchants brought in little by the way of clues for the three hunters, not providing any positive identification, but then a name slipped out.

Cancer. That was, apparently, the man's first name, but the merchant who knew it couldn't remember his sirname, or even if he had one. The fellow just knew of this Cancer, rather than directly knowing him. The carriage and description that Kale gave had jogged his memory far enough for that. How did he know of Cancer? Oh, he'd met him before; Cancer had bought iron manacles from him, one of the range of iron goods this purveyor sold.

It was just a name, but it was good enough.

"I think I may be able to guess what our friend Cancer is up to," said Wolf quietly as the three strode out of the ironmongers shop and into the light outside. The clouds were gathering fast overhead now, the sun's light darkening and the wind whipping up in the herald of what would probably be a brief but intense summer storm. "Quite often when I've come across cults of Gilamesh hidden in cities like this they've been involved in illegal slavery. It's not as if slavery is outlawed in most places, it's just heavily regulated; I mean, here in Naseria, there are indentured slaves who are criminals who have to pay off their crimes by work, but the Gilameshi*tes practice slavery of a lower level; badly treated and for the worst uses. I think we should probably follow that line of inquiry for now..."

* * *

And so they carried on with their search, a few questions here and there with the rougher elements of the city; fences and barmen and hired thugs and beggars, and they made more headway. Cancer was not a big man in city affairs either above or below board, but he was known. Some recognised the name by linking it with what they knew of a little organisation that dealt in illegal goods and illegal slavery, while others nodded at the name and muttered of a chapel to Gilamesh below the city, deep below, a small one but there nonetheless. Getting more knowledge was difficult but with the combined efforts of all three men they were making progress.

* * *

Thunder rolled, lightning stabbing down from the sky somewhere in the distance to brightly illuminate the room for a moment as rain poured down outside, drops pattering heavily on the small windows. The tavern didn't even have a name, a tiny place where the smoke curled heavy on the air and the murmur of hushed conversation from the patrons sussurated in the ears. It was dark, damp and out of the way, somewhere in the accurately named Rat's Quarter; a dip in the ground by the river full of dilapidated buildings propped up by rotting wooden supports.

The storm had broken not long before the three hurried inside. Sebastion and Kale found themselves looking at the clientele of the tavern, the fitful light from a few lanterns in corners casting long shadows over figures hunched over tables. Occasionally a laugh or angry growl pierced the veil of murmurs, and the clattering of dice rattled in the corner where gamblers gamed.

Wolf approached the barman, a man with a faceful of scars and only one good eye, his row of rotting teeth missing a good few altogether. Attempts to get any information out of a barman usually meant you had to buy some drinks first; they had to be careful not to end up inebriated during their search for Cancer. The veteran merc ordered three beers; the band of hunters found the drink to taste about as bad as they expected for somewhere like this. Exactly which brewery produced a brew this bad was unknown.

Buying drinks had opened up the barman's mind to allow a little chatting with these customers; he nodded at the name of Cancer, as they had known he would, having been directed here by someone else. "Myrley knows more about that," the beggar had said, and he had told the truth. Myrley the barman did know more.

Cancer, he said, was the head of a band of Gilamesh*tes; he knew because the high-ups of several less salubrious organisations frequented this place and he heard things. Ran the occasional slave auction, dealt in illegal goods; his men fenced a few things but mostly bought stuff up, like magic. They didn't use it though, but the word was they passed it on to someone else, probably Cancer's superior in the cult. If the three men were interested in dealing with the Gilamesh*tes, for goods or slaves, they had two choices really. One was to go down deep under the city - for under the surface was a myriad maze of old cellars and buildings and sewers that were more inhabited than might be thought by one who lived on the surface - and go direct to their slave pens and the chapel to the dragon god. The other was to find one of their people and ask for an audience with Cancer. To get down below the city wouldn't be hard; beneath the Rat's Quarter (or Rat's Nest as most called it) there were a few entrances to the lower places. Finding the exact location of the chapel might be a bit tougher though, but if they asked the right person - someone like Rat Trin (but he was an odd one, not even human, Myrley had never trusted him and never would, even though he might be the best at wandering the under-city) - they might get there without too much trouble.

As for Cancer, he was an odd one. Most reckoned he was mad, plain old barmy, crazy as a coot, but there was no denying he was an adept wizard. When he had need to deal with foes he tended to summon up horrible things, all tentacles and writhing flesh and suchlike (though Myrley had only heard of this and never seen one himself) that were enough to make a man's mind doubt what he had seen. Cancer might not be all there but he was a cunning sonofab1tch, for sure; he was usually seen around over these last few months with a big man, well-built, who had the look of a southerner and had tattoos all over him, and who had broken the necks of two of Lagger Jarris's muggers when they attacked him in an alley one night, and Jarris said his boys hadn't stood a chance against the man.

Kale's attention was drawn away from the stream of knowledge absent-mindedly tumbling out of the mouth of the barkeep by the sound of someone coughing and spluttering, Sebastion's gaze following moments afterwards to the man who had just had a shock while drinking his beer.

Kale recognised him, the heavily-built man sitting at one of the tables, not too far off; he hadn't seen him before because the fellow's face had been away from him but he must have just looked round now, and he certainly recognised Kale.

It was one of the two lackeys who had been with the mage, and he gasped into his beer "It's him, it's f*cking him!"

And suddenly there was a blur of action in a few seconds. Sebastion, Kale and Wolf (who was only know looking round) weren't quick enough off the mark, caught by surprise, as the man stood up with beer spattered down his front and reached down to his side to draw a hefty steel longsword with a hiss of metal. The two others who had been sitting with him stood too.

One, a man dressed in inconspicous leathers, his head bald and his features aquine, held up one hand before him as the other made eldritch gestures. Dangling from his outstretched hand a tiny medallion hung, glinting in the lantern-light, a flame within a circle. Then the spell was complete and his hands changed entirely; transforming into vicious claws, the skin crackling into a rough, scaled red, heat and flames shimmering off the large claws and shedding their own ruddy light around the man, who grinned unpleasantly. And the final man, thin, lean, cloaked, a rapier visible in a sheath by his side, instead went for another weapon in his armoury.

A pistol. He drew it with one quick and easy motion fron his belt, pointing the crude firearm at the trio and pulling the trigger. The crack rivalled the thunderstorm outside in its intensity, a gout of smoke billowing from the weapon as the ball spat out at the men. It just missed Sebastion's head, tearing a sizeable chunk out of a wooden beam and spraying splinters of soft wood over the bar. The barkeep whimpered and ducked down to the safety behind the obstacle.

Grimmacing from surprize and realization, Kale's hand went to his blade. It's you!  And his eyes dialated as the three men stood. In moments, his ears rang in protest. Kicking away his barstool, the young mercenary stood, but not long enough for another single drop upon that cold cloak-shed puddle.

Soaking wet, charged in action, a vile eldrich-aura marked his target. Kale's eyes gaurded the pistolier, ready that he would try to flank. It was time for a little different type of information-gathering: who will stand, and who will fall?

The storm continued outside, and any shetler that could be found in that dingy, rundown bar was lost as weapons bared, steel and teeth.

It was a testament to Sebastion's father's training that the glimmer of movement from the corner of his eye had him rocking backwards, moving his head aside from the strange contraption that destroyed the shelf behind him. No arrow had flown by, no crossbow arms were visible on the weapon, and yet the hole in the woodwork payed mute testament to the power of the weapon, and Sebastion automatically considered magic.

That opinion was backed up by the muttering from his companion, who's hand took on a daemonic cast, sputtering flame and scarlet scales. Sebastion, though, had spent years under the tutelage of a professional -_ A Dracoverr_ - and wasn't about to let the surprise catch him. His opponent had failed to take advantage of it, and that would cost him. Neither the longsword nor the flaming claws, for all their apparent power, were a threat from there: only that strange magic rod.

Bent backward slightly from where he'd dodged, Sebastion reached over his shoulder for an axe and sent it spinning through the air at the thin man, as he slipped the sheaths from his sword and closed the distance, ready to fight, hoping the others would back him up.

The rest of the dingy, dark bar was silent, hushed patrons watching the sudden and brutal fight. This was no melee in which fancy swordplay had a place; it was about bringing swift and brutal death to your opponent.

Simultaneously Sebastion's arm came round, faster than a striking snake, to hurl a gleaming throwing axe at the same time as the pistolier fired again with a gout of smoke and crack of thunder; his weapon a twin-barrel, the two thin barrels and triggers close together. Sebastion felt the force of the bullet as the metal slug clipped his shoulder, sending him reeling from the shock but in fact causing merely a light flesh wound. The hurled axe caved the man's chest in and dropped him dead on the spot.

The clawed man leapt for Kale, but the rogue dodged gracefully back from the burning talons and avoided the swipes easily. Striking back, Kale tried to hurl the lye he had acquired earlier into the eyes of the cleric but didn't manage it; a strike with the brine blade found its mark though, scoring a wound on the man and causing him to yell in pain as the corrosive acid ate ravenously into him, leaving a great livid gouge across his chest; the afflicted man's breath came in ragged gasps and his eyes unfocused with pain. Then Wolf drew his bastard sword with one easy movement and lunged at the foe, cutting him down with a single swipe that sent a wave of blood glimmering in the light for a moment before it splashed to mingle with the dirty, straw-covered floor; the spellcaster fell dead, the blade having cleaved through his face.

It left only the swordsman, the man Kale had met earlier, who had seen his two allies reduced to rapidly cooling corpses in seconds and now took flight out of the tavern as fast as he could. He quickly disappeared through the door and into the maze of alleys beyond.

"Wait, don't let 'em..." Kale shouted, as he reached an arm out, trying with willpower alone to keep the sword-lackey from escaping the bar. Clunking through the way, the lucky hireling marked another defeat for the mercenary band. "Dammit, DAMMIT!" Kale swore, upset to have lost the initiative once again.

Looming around the tattered bar, however, not all was lost. In one piece at least, Sebastion examined his first firearm, while Kale covered the room. The leatherclad pistolier lay at Kale's feet, still warm and oozing blood from an.... axe planted directly in his face!

"Seems chopping wood your whole life has _benefits_" Kale kidded the Huronese swordsman, knowing then that he'd clearly underestimated the man.

"Leave, now," the barman said fearfully from his hiding place behind the counter, "I don't want trouble here."

Wolf looked as if he was about to race after the fleeing man but paused and instead stooped to check the corpses that had so recently been living men. "Best check these bodies first; might have some useful information on them."

He nodded respectfully to the other two as he knelt. "You two fought well, it's good to know I'm alongside skilled warriors. Now, what do you reckon we should do now? I'd say we head back to the others, tell 'em what we know, before any more trouble befalls us in this place, like that fellow coming back with friends."

_DM's Note: I have some additional rules for various firearms; from variant make's like dual-barrelled ones, the magical silenced pistol from Sandslipper's sojourn in Zhatan, and suchlike. I wanted to make them significantly more dangerous than a crossbow or bow, so many firearms can cause their targets to become shaken or staggered if they inflict a hit.

On the bodies are the cleric's holy symbol (of Gilamesh), an unmarked potion, the pistol plus powder and bullets for ten shots, and 27 gp. Oh, and a rapier and a dagger._

There were, Sebastion had heard, mercenary companies who deemed that the goods of the fallen belonged the warrior who had slain him on the field - an auxiliary income for a job that often didn't pay as well as it had promised; for some reason nobility often underestimated the financial costs of going to war, and the first bill to be cut short was the mercenary fee. Other companies held that the goods went to any of their number that the fallen had managed to injure...

Either way, Sebastion filled the gap, and as he fingered the wound in his arm gently he was reaching out to investigate the weapon that had caused the wound. It seemed magical, though it was like no magic he'd heard tell of before, and he wondered for a moment if it wasn't something dwarven - tales abounded of the strange and wondrous magical machines that they toiled away at in their tunnels. It was warm, still, in places, though he grasped the handle easily enough as he retrieved his bloodied axe and cleaned the blade casually on the fallen man's shirt.

Replacing the weapon in its place across his back, he wrapped the other weapon in a cloth torn from the bloodied shirt - a relatively clean piece from the sleeve - and placed it in his pack for later investigation as he rummaged through the rest of the man's pockets for clues.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" he asked Wolf, casually, from the floor, privately swelling slightly at the compliment. His first battle out of his home had been a less than salutory affair, and though he was still alive he'd faired only marginally better since. This had been a resounding, reaffirming victory, and though he knew better than to think himself invincible, he did get a satisfactory sense of a professional job well done.

Hoisting out the small cartridges that smelled like the discharged weapon, he quickly shoved them with the wrapped parcel in his pack, and shouldered it, grasping the sheathes to his sword and replacing them. The coin and mundane blades he left, not wishing to plunder the fallen, any more than the intriguing armless bow.

Wolf smiled at Sebastion's seeming amazement with the pistol. "Haven't you ever seen a pistol before? Most are made in Adbar but the very best come from Huron, because of your peoples thaumineers. I've seen an enchanted firearm blow clean through the chest of a hill giant before, a weapon custom-made for a Killanon nobleman by the Thaumineer-General of Jan Dak Belgaroth himself! Here, let me take a look," he said, taking the pistol from Sebastion's grasp. "Solid weapon, well-constructed out of oak and steel - you could club someone with it as easy as shoot them. Dual-barrelled, so you don't have to sit around for ages reloading the bloody thing, and with the two triggers staggered so you don't accidently fire both at once. It looks like good make, I'm guessing Adbarian, but if we look on the bottom of the metal casing there should be a marking of who made it. There aren't many who can make pistols, see, it takes a master weaponsmith to do it. Eh, that's odd." He pointed at the small circle with 'G F' within it.

"Gravis Ferechan, that is. A gnome outcast. The gnomes of Kerr kicked him out of that city and he ended up, last I knew, in Huron. Now there's a nasty little thing with no morals - his family's ashamed of him, all the Ferechan's you meet'll deny he even exists. But if criminals here have it, and lackeys of our Gilamesh*te friend, then it means he probably sells firearms to anyone no questions asked. I'm confused as to how someone here has got hold of one."

"Anyway," he said, handing the gun back, "If you want to keep it you can, I haven't been trained to use one myself and they need to be kept in good condition if you want it to work properly. Keep the powder and bullets - they're what make it fire - and don't get the powder wet, or it'll be useless. Wet pistol's won't fire."

"And this is the wadding, and ramrod," the young mercenary Kale continued Wolf's description of the weapon. "I can show you how to load it later, but shooting it well's a real feat."  He supplied to Sebastion as they prepared to leave. Kale imagined the schemings going on behind the face of the curious swordsman. Oh, the martial possibilities firearms. "Usually, they're more trouble than they're worth, course, you learn all sorts of useless stuff at the acad-" Kale stopped short, realizing they had places to be.

Sebastion took the package back and placed it in his pack carefully, with a slightly introspective thought.

_So that's a *'pistol'* No wonder Sherrif Brak never liked the idea of someone bringing one into the town..._ he took another look at the shelf as he rose, marvelling at the damage it had done.

"The authorities will likely be here soon: do we wait for them, do we follow the escapee, or do we search elsewhere?" he asked, with a shrug. 

Wolf laughed out loud at Sebastion's words as he led the trio out of the hushed tavern. "The authorities, here? This is the Rat's Nest, the city guards probably only patrol the main routes through and let the criminals get on with things in the back alleys and dark places." He grinned. "Wind Hawks might walk here with no fear but I doubt the guards will even investigate that little incident at all - just some lowlifes in a scrap. No, we don't need bother with guards, but we should keep an eye out anyway. Others here, the high-up criminals, might want to see who's disturbing the status quo on their turf; from what we've learned today Cancer doesn't seem to have any firm allies nor enemies, so I'm guessing the lcaol scum'll watch what happens but not interfere with out business. I hope that'll mean we get a good crack at Cancer without being hampered by others."

"Following the man who ran'll be difficult, especially if Cancer's band lair under the city. No, I say we go back and tell the others now what's happened in case the fellow returns with reinforcements, and then, if we go after Cancer, we seek out that tracker Myrley mentioned - Rat Trin - and then proceed from there."

Moving out silently, Kale's exit was marked only by the dull thud-roll of a few gold onto the filthy bartop. Merely a bit of ceremony, the gold wasn't enough to pay for much, even if Kale thought the barkeep would fiw the blastmarks or bleach the bloodstains to begin with. _Yet, after someone tries to kill you, it doesn't do to forget one's manners._

And as they struck out into the filthy mud streets, Kale wondered where in the world he had acquired this calm, when his last tavern experiences ended much differently. Something was changing inside him, and it seemed the best he could hope for was to keep from getting jaded about the whole experience. It wasn't hard, though, to strike down the streets with a subdued purpose. Mild-mannered, absent swagger, but with a bearing that marked experience- _I wonder if I look like Wolf at all?_


----------



## Carnifex

Oh dear, the language filter picks up on the middle of Gilamees


----------



## Carnifex

As a side note, the spell the cleric of Gilamesh cast is a campaign-unique spell; I'll post it's rules up on this SH when I get the spell list off my laptop and onto a disk.


----------



## Horacio

Another day full of updates!

This is too good to be true...


----------



## Broccli_Head

*Simultaneously Sebastion's arm came round, faster than a striking snake, to hurl a gleaming throwing axe at the same time as the pistolier fired again with a gout of smoke and crack of thunder; his weapon a twin-barrel, the two thin barrels and triggers close together. Sebastion felt the force of the bullet as the metal slug clipped his shoulder, sending him reeling from the shock but in fact causing merely a light flesh wound. The hurled axe caved the man's chest in and dropped him dead on the spot.*


I remember that fight in the bar well. Above was one of my favorite sequences. 

Seb and Kale Rock!


----------



## Mr Fidgit

isn't it silly that you have to type: Gilamesh*tes  

how about Gilamesh-ites?

[edit - yep, that works  ]


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## Mathew_Freeman

Broccli_Head - sometimes I feel like I'm following you around the boards. You seem to read all the same SH's as I do...

You, sir, have excellent taste!


----------



## Broccli_Head

Tallarn said:
			
		

> *Broccli_Head - sometimes I feel like I'm following you around the boards. You seem to read all the same SH's as I do...
> 
> You, sir, have excellent taste! *




Thank you....

I guess I also have time sometimes to peruse the boards.  I like innovative ideas and new worlds. Hence, Carni's SH is definitely a draw. I get the play-by-play since it's a PBeM and it is really fantastic. 

I keep jones'in' Carnifex for maps. I want to see were everything is. 

Cheers,

BH

"da original veggie!"


----------



## Carnifex

*An Addendum to Ebri's Previous Visit to the Booksellers:*

"There is the matter of the companions we are to travel with." she had said, as she and Karbal proceeded mentally down the long laundry list of questions and answers. "Especially the newer ones: Burl Overton, Wyshira, an astonishing fellow by the name of Kale Amegrion, a mercenary, Wolf, and a blind dwarven monk-- obviously a monk, called Cord." She followed with a brief description of each, and what little she'd heard of their backgrounds. "Several of them disquiet me intensely, Burl in particular. Though, as you know, it is unwise to rely too heavily upon personal feeling in these matters, feeling may be a beginning guide. I have had time to gauge the others of my band; I am reasonably certain of their motives and ways, but it would be well to 'check them out' as well. If you have or could compile any information on these people, I should be most grateful. Forewarned is forearmed, and I would not like to travel with an unknown viper in the nest if it may be avoided. I will return tomorrow, if you think it meet, for a further report."

As Ebri had risen to leave the home of Karbal that previous day, once she had voiced her concerns over her travelling companions, the man who was both Collector and Shadowspeaker had held out a hand to delay her for a few moments more. "Before you leave to return to your ward, I have some equipment here for you that we feel you will find most useful in your task. The first is this," and he reached over to a nearby chest of drawers, pulling one compartment open and producing a gleaming weapon. Silvery and reflecting the light in a refracting, pleasing manner, yet otherwise wholely unadorned, she could see it was one of the multitude of weapons the monastery had trained her in the use of; it was a kama. He passed it over to her; it felt wonderfully light in her hands.

"This kama has been laden with some simple enchantments. It will never tarnish, except when you are close to a dreamweaver when it will turn pitch black; and the battle charms placed upon it should help you to fight physical threats as well. And these," and he took from the same drawer what looked like three small globes of darkness, each four inches across, "are shadowskins. Press one against your flesh and will it to enclose you, and it will wreath you in a skin of shadow. It wont hamper your senses at all, nor hinder your movement, but will protect you from blades and fire and help you move more stealthily; it slowly evaporates off though." The shadowskins felt cool to the touch, but tangible despite their wraith-like appearance, slightly spongy almost.

"Now go, with the blessing of the Prophet."

_DM's Note: The kama is a kama +1. Each shadowskin grants the following bonuses while active: Damage reduction 5/+1, Fire Resistance 10, +4 circumstance bonuses to Move Silently and Hide checks. It slowly evaporates off over the course of a few hours, faster if subjected to damage (especially fire damage). Each shadowskin has only one use._

*Back to Current Events in Karbal's Bookshop:*

While the others shopped, Wyshira noticed the wind begin to pick up. It started with a slight stirring of the air which the priestess felt on her face when she turned in the direction of the river. The sky was a haze of darkness in the distance; the tall stone spires of the Wind Hawks' Air Tower stood out dazzling white against it.

By the time they reached the bookseller's the wind was blowing in gusts, swirling dust and debris about the party's feet. The rumble of thunder could be heard growing nearer.

Wyshira remained near the door while Burl went off to browse Karbal's inventory. She watched out the window as the first heavy drops of rain spattered on the dry cobblestones. Townsfolk ran for cover, and soon the streets were nearly empty.

The rain came on; she could see it moving down the street towards her like a sheet of water being drawn along by the hand of the goddess. Thunder boomed, rattling the glass panes in the shop windows. Wyshira's pulse quickened.

For the most part, Cord found books to be thoroughly unimpressive. In his long life, he had never found a need to sift through the works of geniuses and fools. His goal could not be reached by delving into the works of the past, but in the experiences of the present. The thirst for knowledge he understood, but Cord sought a different sort of knowledge; books were useless in his quest.

He recognized them, however. The slightly acidic smell of ink, the thick air heavy with the slow decay of paper and glue. Vellum, cloth, and hemp mixed in the bookstore's air with a unique scent all it's own, and instantly recognizable.

Cord remained silent as the others drew Karbal's attention. He waited, listening to their movements and concerns, and tried to gauge the relationship between Ebri and the bookseller. He had gleaned some information during the course of the morning on the way here, but only from its lack. She was reserved, her movements and senses heightened and practiced, in a way not dissimilar from his own. He wondered at the familiarity. Then there was this Karbal. He began to realize, despite his confidence in judging their character, how little he knew of the people around him.

As the questions began to die down, he stepped between the bodies of the larger humans and made himself known. He bowed his head slightly to Karbal. "Tell me, if you will, Master Bookkeeper," he said, "and pardon a question that may seem quite out of the ordinary. There is a growing evil in the land, I can feel it deep in my aging bones. My lord Grumand has sensed it, as well. Have you heard of this malady, or know of its source?"

Cord held little hope for a real answer. He knew, too, that his question must seem odd to all but possibly Wyshira. But for the time being, his focus was on discovering the origins of the corruption he sensed. Let the others think him a batty old dwarf; if he was in the company of a learned man, he might as well try to find some answers. Cord doubted, however, that he would know any more than the Grumand priest.

During the ride down to the city, Melisande agonized over a number of different possible tactics to take with the bookseller. She had no money, and needed to be able to consult some of his books without buying them, and furthermore needed a good excuse to be delving into such odd and sensitive subjects as the ones she meant to research.

Arriving at Karbal's she could only stop a moment and gape at the books. There were more than she'd ever seen packed into such a small space. It felt sacreligious walking on them, but she could find no other option.

Before she could work up her courage to produce the lie she'd settled on at the last minute, the blind dwarf Cord stepped up to ask Karbal a strange enough question that it might just divert the bookseller's attention away from her.

Karbal looked quizzically at Cord, appraising the elderly, blind dwarf as he considered the monk's question. "A growing evil, you say? Then let me counter that with this point - there has always been evil in the land, you just need to know where to search to find it. An increasing of it one year, a diminishing the next - swells and dips but how significant are they really? All I have heard of this year is that there looks to be a poor harvest, so most likely we might see famine encroaching on some lands - but how much does that qualify as an evil as opposed to part of the cycle of nature?"

Cord was insulted at Karbal's suggestion he did not understand the nature of evil, though stifled the protest his dwarven blood had awakened. Death was not evil, neither were bad harvests, plague, or war. It is the combination of malicious intent and action that gives rise to true evil: not accidents or indifferent nature. Cord did not sense a waning in sentiment or the simple onset of famine. He felt the murder of nature itself, and the corruption of the earth left him without understanding or direction. Unfortunately, this Karbal had neither.

As soon as Cord and Karbal finished, Melisande stepped up to introduce herself, extending a hand.

"Hello, Mister Karbal. What a pleasure. I think if anyone in the world has what I'm looking for it might well be you." She made an appreciative gesture at the engulfing mass of books. "My name's Anya. I'm an historian. I--work for an historian, actually. I've been sent round to find out if you have any good books on a certain number of subjects--the Nephians, the Great Prophet, the Elder Gods, that sort of esoteric stuff--and if I find anything of interest to my employer I'm to ask you to set the books aside so she can send down the money for them. Would you mind much if I browse?"

It came tumbling out in a breathless spiel. It seemed like a good ruse, but she had no idea how convincing she'd been, and her nervous fidgeting wasn't going to help. She stopped picking at the rabbit fur of her overcloak and smoothed it down self-consciously.

Had he been human or elf, Cord would have raised an eyebrow. If his ancestry included some orcish breed, he would have released a loud, uncontrolled grunt. But, being a dwarf, he simply allowed himself a quiet _hrumph_ and settled himself against a window. Melisande was a horrible liar. However, he did applaud her efforts and wondered, briefly, not whether Karbal would see through her ruse, but if the bookseller would humor the poor girl.

Wyshira had remained strangely silent. Though, in retrospect, Cord realized that perhaps her behavior was not all that strange; the rising wind and increasing rain of an approaching storm more than accounted for it. For a moment, he envied her. Cord could not remember the last time his breath quickened, or the last time he felt a consuming passion, as she seemed to react at the mere sight of flowing water. Was it his age? Or could it be something else? Perhaps the ever-elusive wisdom he sought required the sacrifice of emotion?

He shook his head, attempting to dispel such thoughts without success. No. He refused to believe it. But doubt continued to gnaw at his mind. For too long he had spoken only with students who looked up to his wisdom. In Wyshira, Kale, and even Melisande he found a passion that propelled them forward. Cord wondered when his died, or even if it ever existed.

Silently, he retreated from the group, retreated from Wyshira, and stewed in his own thoughts.

Nodding to Melisande, Karbal smiled pleasantly. "Good day, miss Anya. Go ahead and browse all you want, and take the time you want; the books are not going anywhere fast. I'll warn you now though that there isn't much knowledge on either the Nephians nor the deity usually referred to as the Great Prophet - whose true name, by the way, is Shushurek," he said. Ebri was the only one in the room who noticed a glance he threw at her, one that seemed to convey _pay attention._ "It's made up of old drakkath words merged together. You see, the word Drakkath itself means shadow, but the language has lots of different words to mean shadow, and shushu is another." Ebri and Melisande, but versed in drakkath, knew of the multiple words for shadow, all with their own subtle meanings, but neither had ever come across that word before. "Rek is a word for lord or ruler, indicating a ruler of a spiritual sort. Hence shushurek, shadow lord. OF course, many of the very old words of drakkath have fallen out of use so a lot of people never pick up on the meanings of some old place names and suchlike. Rumour has it that the seniors of the Nephians in their little mountain communities only teach such meanings to students they feel ready for such knowledge. Doubtless I can expect an assassin to turn up any day now to strike me down for having discovered such old secrets from my books," he said with a joking smile.

Mel couldn't help but whip around, expecting a cloaked Nephian to hurtle in from the street and stab them both. Because the moment he mentioned mountain communities she noticed that this man knew even more than Ebri Zol about the Nephians, and she was instantly feeling overly curious. She noticed Ebri looking afflicted but whipped back around before she could comment, suddenly aware that Karbal might be a Nephian. But then he wouldn't have... Well, no assassins appeared at any rate, and Karbal declined to kill her on the spot.

"My goodness, my employer will want to purchase _you_. Not very many people know ancient Drakkath so well. If you'll direct me, I'd love to read what you have on this... Shushurek..."

The name itself sounded ancient, esoteric, powerful. It was almost frightening to pronounce.

"And if there is any collateral information you think would be useful please let me know. I'd really like more information on the Elder Gods. In fact--was Shushurek one of them?"

Some historian. It sounded like a stupid question. But frankly, good objective theology was hard to come by in Carthagia, and she didn't know the first thing.

Ebri's eyebrows raised, and she feigned an expression of shock and glee as the Collector trotted out the supposed name of the Prophet. She hurried over to the pair. "You know of the Nephians?" she gushed. "Oh, come, if you know this much you must know more, sir. Do tell! They're so mysterious! They make for such good tales. What could assassins want with the likes of us?"

_DM's Note: Once again, Ebri shows her capacity for bluffing and acting  _

Karbal laughed at Melisande's comment. "I am afraid, young lady, that I am not for sale. The reason why most people know little on such exotic subjects is that they do not have an entire collection of books such as this to browse through all day. The life of a bookseller is not an exciting one, beyond the occasional visit to acquire a new tome for the shelves."

"The Elders? Sadly little of what I would term _reliable_ knowledge has survived the last thousand years since their downfall. The centuries after the divine war, though it ended in victory for the Youngers and their followers, were not some bountiful, well-earned golden age. They were, by the accounts I have gleaned, dire times of starvation and disease. Amongst the mortals there were no winners. All had lost so much that they had to struggle just to live and try to rebuild their lives from the wreckage of the glorious civilisations that had once existed around them, not crushed and scattered, the lands torn by magic. Even now, this millenia later, we still have not recaptured the glories of the time before the war. I have read of the glories of Xar'Natath, the keystone of the empire of the ancient Myrmecians before they sided with Hashrukk and the Youngers reduced their graceful desert temples and boulevards to rubble, and I have read of the bountiful lands that once stretched from Naseria to Corinthia where now rather than farmsteads so much is instead untamed wilderness, today's nations lowly trying to push back their boundaries and become more than their fragile selves, and they have taken hundreds of years just to get this far. In these kinds of conditions, very little of the old knowledge can survive fully intact; the Elders largely remain mysteries outside of the most common knowledge and the uncertified rumours. The most we know of are those that have survived in one form or another; the Dragon Lord Gilamesh, the Daemonflesh Hashrukk; Shauku, whose hordes rampaged over Ascaria some few centuries ago and who, apparently, actually managed to chain Fenris into a vulnerable, physical form for a while until his avatars were slain by mighty Ascarian warriors. Indeed, the Scars of Fenris are something I would hope to visit in my life; they're said to be massive gorges torn out of the earth by the Fire Wolf in his fury. There are other Elders who have survived, and others who we know of; Nephias who legend says wove a web that protects life, the Lady of Time who mourns in her isolated prison, and others."

"Shushurek was not, from what I know, an Elder. He was a mortal once, and the myths say he was one of the Men of Shadow, that much-maligned race that the others branded traitors and chased beneath the earth. Who knows if they still exist - or if they ever existed at all outside of the fanciful imaginations of men? He rose to godhood with the sponsorship of a deity that already existed - so therefore we must assume an Elder god, though no records tell of which. His worship is more widespread than some would think though. He is the patron of prophets and diviners; many such people discover him in their researches and ask for his blessings, never telling another soul that they secretly worship this shadowy god. You may wonder how I know that - well, sometimes the personal diaries and writings of such people come my way and I have read of it more than once happening. And of course there is the Nephians, who sages speculate worship Shushurek; I heard that when a Nephian assassin failed in an attempt to take the life of a Flame Hawk commander they found the holy symbol of Shushurek on the body."

At Ebri's eager question the shopkeeper smiled even more broadly. "Well, no-one knows _what_ the Nephians really want, but by most accounts they are little more than hired assassins. They are said to train for years in their monasteries then each commits but one assassination in their lifetime, and if they fail they must kill themselves out of shame. Of course, that's from _Tabar's Tales of Myth and Legend_, and I'd only believe him as far as I could throw a crate of iron ingots. They have certainly committed assassinations before, but I think a lot of murders get attributed to them out of fanciful imaginations rather than any actual evidence of their involvement. To be honest though I delve little into the world of assassins and other such lowlifes, since getting entangled with such people can do much more harm than good.."


----------



## Maldur

Carnifex said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Thanks! And thanks just for reading it in the first place
> 
> That's an interesting idea, actually. This campaign does have PS-like elements, and the PC's are likely to at some point visit certain outer planes and come into contact with powerful outsider beings, but the primary focus will remain in the campaign world.
> 
> It'd be interesting to run a second game in the same world simultaneously
> 
> Something to ponder  *




I hate to do this but:  weeeeeeee!!!


----------



## Carnifex

Next update from me will be Monday; I won't have net access on Sunday, but hopefully after that I'll have the nice ADSL again


----------



## Horacio

Carnifex said:
			
		

> *Next update from me will be Monday; I won't have net access on Sunday, but hopefully after that I'll have the nice ADSL again  *




What? We will have to wait until Monday? 

That's going to be hard...


----------



## Carnifex

Wolf, Sebastion and Kale trudged through the rain, the swirling storm pouring down but they managed to get as much shelter as possible as they made their way out of the Rats Quarter without incident. Pushing the door to Karbal's open, they filed in to greet the other members of their band. 

Relieved to see that Kale and Wolf had returned, and still feeling the exhilaration of the storm raging unabated outside, Wyshira was uncharacteristically effusive. Stepping up next to Kale, she exaggerated scrutinizing him from head to toe. "Goodness, I'm surprised. You don't even look singed! Sebastian, I have to hand it to you - it's no small feat keeping our Kale out of trouble!"

Wolf shook some of the water off, Karbal looking mournfully at the books underneath his wet feet. "The wizard's called Cancer," he told the others, "he's a slaver and a fence in the criminal underworld here. His base of operations is down beneath the city in some old chapel to Gilamesh - he's the head of a cult of the dragon-worshippers - and we ran into some more of his lackeys. Made short work of them but one escaped so I reckon they're on to us pretty good now, though the storm's going to have hampered any efforts they're making against us. If we want to move against them I recommend we do so while nature's still benefitting us; we can find this tracker we were wold about, a fellow called Rat Trin who lives under the Rats Quarter, and attack the slavers before they can move to attack _us_ again." He outlined what they had learned of the man called Cancer Tierholme.

"Of course you lot don't need to come, but I reckon I at least should scout the place out and take a look; if there're slaves down there, well, I've made it a point during my life to try and fight the Gilamees and their slavery wherever I've found it during my life, and let me tell you that's a lot of places." 

Giving his full attention, Burl listened in silence to his companion's tale. At the conclusion, Burl knew that he had no choice other than to go with his friends to find the one called Cancer. "Wolf, Where you and Kale go, I go. I owe you too much not to help. Not only is he a threat to us, but I do not condone anyone who sells others into bondage." 

Kale made a not-so-suble double take. The young mercenary was nothing short of astonished. Quickly, he schooled his features, but regarded what the man had said. Loyalty, even as deep as Burl professed, was easilly gained and lost. Besides, it was out of a sentiment of this-for-that, a proper mercenary attitude, but naturally not one to be mistaken for some sort of high-faluting virtue. Kale hated high-faluting virtue. But as Burl detailed his disdain for slavery, Kale knew he was as bound to certain dispositions as the mage was to his own. The necromancer really did have scruples... but as he looked at the mage, he wondered exactly where they lie.

There was a clattering from Ebri's bags as the mimir suddenly floated into the air, the silvery skull's jaw clacking as its eyes lit with blue fire. "I'd recommend you don't leave the cultists behind." 
Everyone stared at it in surprise, some moreso than others for none of Wolf's company had seen the thing before. Somehow the mimir managed to give off an aura of sheepishness.
"Well, you see, I did _tell_ you all I can cast auguries and I thought, well, I'd just _ask_ and find out whether it'd be good to head off to this sorcerers tower and leave these cultists behind, and the answer was 'woe'. Which, um, means that it'd be a bad idea. So. Um. It's just that after being cooped up with kobolds for a bit who thought I was some sort of spirit and couldn't understand a word I was saying it's nice to be travelling again, so I thought I'd just cast an augury and help you lot out... Um. I'll just shut up now," it said embarrassedly. 
"What," said Wolf in a low, level tone, "in the Nine Hells is that?" 
"Well, actually, it's interesting you should say 'Nine Hells', I have a number of recordings on me that..." Then the mimir suddenly lapsed back into embarrassed silence under the mercenary's piercing gaze. 

"It is a recording device." Ebri said firmly, smoothly, before any of the others could speak. She smiled apologetically, and stuffed it deep into the folds of her wrap. "It also has some secondary magical properties, such as this occasional automatic augury you have just witnessed. A useful thing, upon occasion, although it has, unfortunately, been imbued with a personality. It is quite handy for recording one's travelogue, however. While I would not trust my life with it, it being simply a mechanical bauble, it may be wise to consider its suggestion." She sought the eyes of Mel and Sebastion. _We do not know these people well. Say no more. _

Life was full of surprises, Kale thought, as Ebri tucked the 'mimir' away. A font of information, volunteering information about their current plight... And the woman tucked it away like an annoying nuisance. The traveling cleric with a penchant for bookstores, holder of some silver skull- they could all use it- group spoils? Yet why put it away? 
_Of course, she doesn't trust us..._ Kale wondered why he still was sometimes miffed at other's distrust of him, when he certainly didn't supply any information about himself. Letting her off the hook for the moment, the mercenary focused on gathering a plan to put an end to Cancer.

"Very informative," Cord said gruffly, after his heart recovered. He had heard the shuffling and movement from Ebri's direction, but the sudden words of a strange voice from a point some two feet to her side arrested Cord's senses. It had been quite a while since someone had scared him ? the many children among the villages he visited would always try to startle him, without success. But the disembodied voice took him completely off guard. 
Cord did not particularly trust the mimir. It had no smell, no taste. Its movement was almost imperceptible, varying the subtle air currents only slightly when it first rose from the bags. It had no breath, no blood pumping through its limbs, no muscles flexing. After continuing to speak, after Ebri's quick and pat, the mimir remained disconcerting. 
Yet, it seemed he had little choice. Whether pronounced by a floating voice or Wolf himself, the words made sense. He cared little for the dark politics and underground of this particular town, but if its inhabitants followed their tracks, and indeed bring woe to them all, Cord agreed there was no other real choice available. 
He cocked his head, listening to the increasingly pounding rain outside the bookstore. The incessant downpour would effectively obscure most of his senses. He hoped an encounter would not occur this evening. Or, at the very least, within a dry, warm, sheltered building. 
"I will follow where you wish to place me," he said in his quiet, rumbling voice. He turned slowly to face Wyshira's direction. "Though I may need familiar with the storm to guide me." 

Burl pondered the incredible talking skull. _Spike, What an amazing world away from our home with Raymond. In such a short time that we have been on the road, we have made many new friends and barely escaped with our lives several times. We have learned of the science of metallo-thaumaturgy and many wondrous items such as this talking, floating, seemingly intelligent skull. We will need to check out this more closely if Ebri allows us to. I must admit though that our new found friends must not trust us yet if they have not allowed us to see this unique item before. I guess only time working with them will bring a shared trust. _
“Sebastion. From what Kale says, I want to thank you for keeping an eye on them. How do the three of you suggest we proceed?” 

"Well, we ALL sat there like dopes while the hireling slipped out, so you can be sure this Dragon-worshipper will know we are coming. Cancer heard me mention something during our first meeting. Here in the books, you guys probably learned more than I know... dropping the name of some ancient power is hardly what he expected from me... but if we play our cards right, we can use 'Shushrek' as its own disguise. If we learn who this guy was, we may be able to make Cancer think we're something fancy." 
Oblivious the information the 'blue crew' had learned, the mercenary thought of the name as just another front or disguise to distract his enemy. Looking into confused faces, he was completely at a loss, to describe what his companions might be thinking. 
"What?" He shifted his balance on heavy boots, a careful grace that was a ridiculous irony, considering his weighty armor and demeanor. Thinking all the time he had stepped on the wrong book, or caused a social feaux-pas, he was frustrated yet again that a swift blade solved no social problems. _Well, it solves all the _decent _social problems,_ he thought as he longed to be back in the Rat's Nest.

Wyshira had been as surprised as anyone when the metalic, talking skull floated out of Ebri Zol's bag with it's advice for the crew. "Does that thing perform auguries? Amazing!" But why shove it back in the bag so quickly? She arched one pale brow skeptically at the Immarian's description of the device as a tool for recording a travelogue. Ebri was obviously trying to convince them that it was unimportant, but why?
Well of course Kale and Wolf would be going after Cancer; it made perfect sense. She was surprised to hear Burl volunteer to go with them, but glad she wouldn't have to worry about him while she was gone. She gave him a warm, encouraging smile. And Cord would come too; she hadn't doubted that he would. She took his arm, ready to act as guide once again. 
The weather would be their cover, Wolf hinted. A good omen; the Storm Lady smiled upon their endeavor. 
Wonderful! Let's get started."

Mel was so engrossed in Karbal that Wolf startled her coming into the shop. He, Sebastion and Kale were dripping on the books. "Oh, is it raining...?" she murmured in surprise, gazing with disapproval at the puddles gathering on some embossed leather book covers. Then again, Kale was doing an interesting and totally inefficient dance step in an attempt to save them. She looked on in delight while Wolf told his story and the mimir butted in with some advice. The thing really _was_ developing a personality. She was almost beginning to like it. 
"Oh, do tell about the Nine He--" Mel broke off, realizing this was not the main subject of discussion. 
She wondered why Ebri Zol gave her such a pointed look after tucking the helpful mimir away. What could it have meant? Did she not trust their new friends? How could she! And Sebastion who just saved their skins. For no reason at all she felt proud of this. 
One by one, people started volunteering to go after Kale's aggressors and finish off this business before leaving town. She didn't have to debate it long. "In Carthagia they teach us quite a bit about the economic advantages of slavery, but I always did think it was unkind. But that's not the main reason I want to go with you. We've been talking to Mister Karbal here about the Elder Gods and Shushurek and I must say it's an odd coincidence you bring that up, Kale. It's a splendid idea to pose as adepts of the Great Prophet. I even happen to have a signet medallion!" 
She could think of a hundred reasons why she wanted in--curiosity, loyalty, prudence ("WOE" did not sound good issuing from that silver skull's frozen grin), and not least of all moral indignation. Once again she could only stop to wonder at the fire in her heart at the thought of combatting followers of evil Gilamesh. 
And then, there were a hundred reasons why it scared the blue socks off her. _Please, gods, don't them gut me again. Anything but that. _Unconsciously her hand went to her twice-violated thorax. 

_DM's Note: She's referring to the fact that Melisande's been cut up quite badly twice, once by a gnoll ranger and once by a katana-wielding Scorpion Temple assassin._

"I think we should _all_ go," she said, giving Ebri her own pointed look. "It'll be good practice for the mountains when we'll all have to depend on each other. Besides, it'll be fun that way."

" I will certainly go," Ebri replied, not having to struggle for a reason. "Even if I did not personally find slavery a hateful practice, my faith requires that I fight against it wherever it is found. For Immar is the god of the free and open road, and our right to walk upon it as we will . Slavery is the antithesis of that principle." 
She found herself mildy surprised at how naturally those words had come out, and that she almost agreed with them. _Even supestitious nonsense may have a grain of truth._ Certainly in the search to understand the Purpose, anyone might attempt to gain wisdom. There was no denying that, especially at the lower levels, it was available to those seekers who were sincere and worthy regardless of class or social position. She, Ebri, had been the daughter of a clan of itinerant farmers. _Although you were something more than just a farmer, there-- Set apart even then for the task--_ And although all were not destined for enlightenment and the higher orders of understanding, there was no one who did not have the right to aspire to such. 
"Fun? Perhaps it will be fun, especially for those who see us pass on the road and see a troop of ridiculous mummers. Pose as _Nephians?_" The priestess of Immar giggled. The servant of the Great Prophet only barely held off despair. _When I am given the care of students, I will never advocate the cheerful cleric guise. Instead I will extol in glowing terms the virtues of the pretense of utter vapidity. One's perception as a threat is virtually null; on the contrary, everyone wants to help and protect such a one..._ "What, should we drape ourselves in dull black and skulk about with knives? Who would believe that we are secret assassins? We'd fool no one. And if we should encounter a real live Nephian, I am sure they would be highly amused at our parody." 

"Wait. Hold on a minute. What are you two plotting? Are you saying that we should pretend to be followers of this Shushurek?" Wyshira looked back and forth between the pair, confused. "Kale, I wouldn't have guessed that you even knew who Shushurek was... I just heard the name for the first time a little while ago when Karbal here explained that it is the secret name of the Great Prophet." 
_Where had this inexplicable knowledge of Kale's come from?_ the priestess wondered. _Could it have something to do with that ring of his?_ She recalled how the shadows had seemed to cling to him mysteriously when he put the onyx ring on his finger. 
Shadows. Men of Shadow. Shushurek. 
Wyshira suddenly wished she'd been paying more attention to the conversations taking place right here in the bookseller's shop.

"Listen; lets talk more about this 'Shushurek' thing while we're on our way to the Rat's Nest rather than dithering around in here. Just follow me, Kale and Sebastion, we'll lead you there; and wrap up because it's bucketing down out there." Wolf had apparently accepted - for the time being - Ebri's explanation about the mimir, but still seemed unsettled, both by the party members confusingly discussing Shushurek and the unnerving similarity between Wyshira's eyes and the flash of lightning just now. He shivered and pulled his longcloak tight round his shoulders, before stepping back out into the rain.

"'The first chain forged, the first shackle placed, the first freedom curtailed injures us all irrevocably.' Marcus of Gorant." Sebastion quoted, one of his father's favourite sayings, and with that he stepped back out into the rain, to allow them to exit when ready.


----------



## Carnifex

They hurried down deserted streets as the dark clouds overhead roiled and vented their rain down, lightning lashing down irregularly; often striking the heights of the Air Tower and crackling with eldritch energy down to the ground below. It wasn't long before they were back in the dilapidated Rat's Quarter, huddling under building eaves to get what shelter they could. 

As they approached the center of the Quarter it was hard not to notice the slope down into the dent in the landscape; houses jutted out from the slope on wooden supports, till finally the bottom of the Rat's Nest was covered in what looked like a flat area of housing but in fact conealed that it went further down underneath. Wandering down an alley that led under the wooden 'deck' here, they found themselves in an underworld. 

All around them struts of decaying wood held up the houses and streets above; here the clearance was low, but as they continued down the 'ceiling' rose higher above them. The rain could be heard pattering above on the houses but though here and there it streamed down and streams of dirty water bore channels towards the epicentre of the Nest, in this sheltered place it was much dryer. It was like a forest of beams with constructions as the canopy above. 

Filth and debris was scattered everywhere here, rats squeaking and feral animals prowling the shadows as they hunted those rats. Here and there small lights twinkled in the gloom, squatters and the homeless making their abodes in dark corners of the Nest. It smelled pretty bad from the accumulated muck. 

People watched them warily; mostly ragged clothed. Looking around, the party could see, in the slopes of the dip leading down, many musty passages leading into the earth, and half of a room where once there had been a cellar and part had now collapsed to reveal the rest of it to the Nest. What the capital was built on, over the centuries of its existence, was former versions of itself; fires, war and suchlike meant rebuilding over the old ruins. These ancient cellars and tunnels could stretch for miles. 

Air heavy with water and and ozone. The constant roar of pouring rain, punctuated by cracks of lightning and rumbles of thunder. Cord, nervous and holding Wyshira's arm tightly, was effectively blind. In a small village, or even in the open air, the storm would not have unnerved him to nearly the same extent. Among the jumbled mass of buildings and chaotic streets and alleyways, he had no method of determining his location or using his senses. 

His confidence grew better once they reached the bowels of the city, though the stench did not. The intermittent moans from suspicious beggars reminded him clearly of his own days in years past. During the few times that Wolf asked for a pause to decide the appropriate direction, Cord foud his way next to the nearest men scraping by in the alleys. 

"Hello, friend," he would say, resting his hand upon those of a beggar. He had an intuition with such men, having spent several decades in self-loathing as one. He spoke in quiet tones, giving them what strength that he could, uplifting them if he may. 

"What do you know of the slave traders, down here?" he might ask of one. "What does '_Shushurek_' mean to you?" he would ask another. He probed, and sought any information on the men pursuing Kale and their possible motives, as well as anything relating to the abandoned wizard's tower. 

There was little the homeless community would not know. Effectively invisible, they hear and see all that pass before them, without being noticed or bothered. He did doubt any would know if the specifics that he requested, but the sheer number he contacted on their way through the Nest might make annswer somewhat more likely. 

When the party finally reached Rat Trim's underground shop, he was prepared.

_Dm's Note: Bet this is the first time you'ev ever seen the skill Profession (Blind Beggar) being used  _

Cord's inquiries brought few answers; it wasn't that those he spoke with were unwilling to talk or holding back information, he could sense, but rather it seemed that perhaps the answers he sought simply couldn't be found in the society of these people, in a way his kin, that had grown up at the lowest levels of this ancient, grand city. He could sense too the sheeer age of the foundations and stone around him, still somehpw tangible within them the feeling that must have been bestowed when Naskha himself had stood on the banks of the river and declared, over one thousand years ago, that it would be from here his followers would forge a new nation from the wreckage of the divine war. 

Inquiries about slavers were the most fruitful; several could tell him that there was a slavery operation reputed to be hidden underneath the city; several also claimed to have known someone who had been taken by the slavers but the wise monk was doubtful about the veracity of such claims, most likely tales concocted by imaginative minds to explain disappearances. Others spoke of the Gilamee cult that traded in living beings, again underneath the city. Some connected the two together. One spoke of something that caught his attention - the grubby, ragged-clothed beggarman knew that the slavers took down large supplies of meat purchased up in the city, much more than would be needed to just feed the slavers and slaves themselves wouldn't be given such expensive food. 

Shushurek meant nothing to these down-and-outs. Some would squint when he said the name and mutter that it sounded like the monster from some old wives tales, a thing of shadows that ate people, but that was about it; some old tale perhaps warped by time but perhaps with no relation to reality at all. As for the tower he spoke of, this too brought no useful responses from the beggars.

* * *

A few coins handed to a beggar had granted them the knowledge of where to find the one named by Myrley as 'Rat Trin'. They'd headed off down one tunnel, dimly lit by an occasional fire around which people clustered or cracks in the ceiling that let in shafts of stormy gray light as well as constant trickles of water. The inhabitants of this undercity watched them often hostilely but did not dare attack such a well-armed band. They gradually made their way deeper into the earth until any light from the sky above stopped entirely and the place became nearly pitch black. Then they came to a cave. 

The passage opened into what seemed like a small settlement in a natural sandstone cave. Stalagmites and stalagtites jutted up and down throughout it, and small shacks, often with an open front and wares on show, were littered throughout it. The air was heavy with the smell of spices and cloying scents, some of which made the mind reel and the eye think it caught glimpses of strange images on the edges of its vision. People wandered the cave; some dressed in the garb of thugs or toughs clustered around their boss, some in more normal mercantile clothes. The hawkers eagerly extolled the virtues of their illegal or stolen goods to their customers
. 
But the place the band wanted was over in the opposite wall of the cave, where what looked like half a house jutted out. Made of old and rotten timbers it was decorated with a dozen fetishes, little bizarre charms for warding off evil and spirits made of feathers and bones. And a small sign stuck next to the door read: 

_Goe Awaye _

"Friendly fellow then," Wolf grimaced, and then knocked on the rickety door. 

The message on the sign was echoed by a hoarse, high-pitched voice from within the building. "Go away." 

The mercenary shrugged and pushed the door open. 

* * *
Within was a surprisingly richly decorated little abode. Wall hangings were draped down from the walls and the rafters in the dark and gloomy roof above. What could only be silk was laid out over cushions piled in one corner, and a strongbox was nestled next to them. Much of the rest of the place was littered with rubbish and debris. The air was thick with incense, curling fronds of it obscuring vision and filling the nose with thick scents, the source a brazier in one corner that crackled with blue, green and red flames as it devoured the block of incense within it. Of Rat Trin, there was no sight. 

"Can't you read the bloody sign or hear my bloody voice, trespasser? Get the hell out my house!" The voice came from above them. 

For those with normal sight, peering up into the gloom, they could see nothing. Those with darkvision found that the incense on the air allowed them only see a vague, humanoid shape, sitting on one of the rafters and looking down at them. There was something not quite right about the shape. 

"We've heard you're a good tracker, and we need someone to lead us to the Gilamesh*te chapel under the city." 

Outraged silence. 

"We'll pay." 

Rat Trin dropped out of the rafters, catfalling lightly and gracefully standing up again. 

Wolf gave a snort of surprise. "So you're Rat Trin... I can see why they call you that." 

* * *

The only one of the party who had seen a verman before was Melisande. She remembered when she had been studying under the tutelage of Professor Akarsis, her mentor, with the other students; and she had been assigned one day to act as a personal assisstant with his business. 

"Now, Melisande, the merchant is a good friend of mine so make sure you're on hand if he wants a drink, something to eat, whatever," the Professor had instructed her. He was tall, frightening, what many of the apprentices wanted to be like themselves. Dressed in the long black military coat, golden buttons gleaming down the front as the chirurgical engine on his back lent the four long, spidery mechanical arms that reared over his shoulders a life of their own, the gray-haired man looked sternly down at his charge. "Once he's gone I want you to check thaum-tank 3 for the readouts since one of the staff said it was giving him problems earlier. Then go and take a look at the fang dragon in Chamber 1, write up a short report on what you think is wrong with it and we'll see how much you've learned in visual recognition." 

The bioseer and teacher had entertained a most unusual guest that day; the merchant was a verman. He, like Rat Trin, had been a wiry, black-furred humanoid, a ratman. The merchant had worn simple gray garb, tough travelling stuff, and had sold some toxins and poisons for experimental use to Professor Akarsis; vicious stuff from the look on the trolls face that they had tested it on afterwards. Rat Trin cut a different figure though, dressed in supple studded leather armour and a black silk cloak draped over his shoulders. Weapons seemed to be everywhere; he had a longsword strapped over his back, two short swords sheathed at a hip, a bandolier of throwing stars across his chest; the verman tracker was also festooned with jewellry and fetishes, his large, ragged ears multiply pierced by golden rings.

He bowed mockingly. "My name is Trin, not 'Rat', as your unfurred type mockingly call me. I am of an honourable people, not the tiny scavengers that infest your settlements. Fifty gold pieces and I'll lead you to the Gilamesh*tes, but I'm not getting involved in whatever business you might have with them," he said meaningfully, wrinkling his snout and baring his yellowed teeth. "Especially not on the part of arrogant people who ignore signs." 

Sebastion relaxed a little against the jamb of the broken doorway. 

"If you don't wish to share your company, Mr Trin," he asked, with a slight frown, "why choose to live in one of the more densely populated areas of a large city? Why not settle in some out of the way village or outskirt?"

Burl was completely unprepared for what he was seeing. “What in blue blazes is that?” What looked like a man rat stood before him. Just another of the new experiences Burl had learned to expect and to look forward to.

In response to Burl's question Mel turned to answer, "Verman," realizing even as she did so that it sounded a lot like she'd said "vermin," which would have been a terrible insult to Mister Trin. "Ver-_man_," she added by way of clarification. "Of course." 
If her first meeting with one of the rat-men had been sinister, this one made no exception. But she and the others looked like drowned, well, rats after their walk in the rain from Karbal's, so it wouldn't be fair to judge. It was sad that some people could not afford to live somewhere nicer in such a beautiful city, she thought, fending off disillusionment. Mel didn't want to see the ugly underbelly of Naseria. It didn't occur to her to think that some people might _choose_ to live hidden in places like this. 
Mister Trin looked exotic. Mel recalled with a shudder the sidelong look Professor Arkansis had given her when the poison-seller came down the stairs into the lab; it meant, _Look at this specimen; imagine the possibilities; see what nature does and think what we can do better!_ It made her feel sorry for this creature. 
She elbowed Sebastion. "Maybe he doesn't like people because they're _rude_ to him. I've dealt with your honorable folk before, Mister Trin, and I apologize for our intrusion. We would like to purchase your services and thought the offer might interest you in spite of the sign. If not, we'll be on our way." 

Wyshira was the only drenched-to-the-skin member of the party that wasn't miserably uncomfortable; the only one in the group who didn't try to defend herself from the weather by wrapping up in a cloak. She lifted her face to the rain happily and followed right behind Wolf and Kale, pausing only occasionally when Cord needed extra assistance. 

Her enjoyment of the storm was a distraction, but for most of the way she concentrated on leading the blind dwarf through the treacherously sloping streets of the Rat's Quarter, and describing the sights to him as they descended into the Nest. She was a little suprised by his nervousness; it didn't occur to her that the storm would have a negative effect on his ability to compensate for his blindness. 

In Rat Trin's abode, she nearly choked on the cloying scent of incense. The rat-man's appearance surprised her, but he wasn't any stranger-looking than the crested, blue-skinned Lhazakk she had seen tending bar in Jormungand, or some of the other odd folk she had come across in her travels. He didn't seem to want to have anything to do with them, until Wolf bluntly mentioned money. 

_Well that's all right I suppose, _she thought, _as long as he doesn't sell information about us to anyone who comes asking just as easily._


----------



## Sniktch

> Wolf gave a snort of surprise. "So you're Rat Trin... I can see why they call you that."




Yesss-yesss!  Bring on the vermen, the Children of the Horned Rat will rise up and rule the world!

Er... I mean nice update, Carnifex, looking forward to more


----------



## Carnifex

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Yesss-yesss!  Bring on the vermen, the Children of the Horned Rat will rise up and rule the world!
> 
> Er... I mean nice update, Carnifex, looking forward to more  *






There's a lot more to the vermen than just being skaven/slitheren lookalikes of course


----------



## Horacio

Skaven-like creatures add spice to any story hour...


----------



## Carnifex

Trin gave Sebastion a toothy and humourless grin, his tail lashing agitatedly behind him. "This is hardly a densely populated place, unfurred; it is under your city, not part of it. It is sheltered and I am quite out of the way here, with abundant supplies of what I want on hand. And you think some hamlet or village of your unfurred type would accept me? I think not. Besides, I have little taste for wandering wildernesses without the luxuries I prefer."

He nodded slightly more mollified to Melisande. "Fifty gold and I take you where you want to go, but I don't get involved. It's not worth my skin."

Wolf nodded, and reached into a pouch, handing over a handful of coins. "Twenty-five now, twenty-five once you've got us there, alright?"

The verman's clawed hand snatched out and took the gold from the mercenary, quickly depositing it into a bag on his belt. "Alright," he muttered, then waved for the rest to follow him. "Come on, keep close. And keep your eyes out; where we're going, nasty things live."

As they filed out he swing the rickety door closed, closing a large metal lock that clicked loudly and rustily. The verman waved at them to follow him, taking a sniff of some powder he had in a small bag and shaking his head as if waking up properly.

* * *

They wandered what must have been ancient sewage channels, constructions deep in the embrace of the earth filled with debris that they had to clamber and climb over. The floors were often covered in a layer of water, moisture dripping from the ceiling as the storm above ground continued. It was almost hypnotic, wandering these winding passageways with such a sense of pressure above, just a single guiding torch held high by Trin the marker for them to follow as he wandered the maze-like underways of the capital as if out for a casual stroll. He didn't need the torch himself, his eyes keen in pitch dark, but even for those who did need light it just served to make the contrasting dark around them even more ominously pitch black.

Here through a collapsed wall; there along another passage; on and on for a long time. Oddly, they seemed to be going up a little; still well beneath the lowest cellars of the city above but higher than the natural cavern in which Trin made his home.

"We're on your ground now," Kale murmored to Cord as the crew made their way through the gloom. Trin seemed an honest enough scout-for-hire... which meant the mercenary could trust him as far as his pursestrings could reach. Careful not to touch the carvern walls but for their slimy-wet slick, Kale regarded his encroaching surroundings with a detached air, wondering how anyone could bear to live down there.

Yet, there was a certain appeal, a certain honesty to Trin. _He's my kind of scum..._ he thought before mentioning to Cord- "You may be leading us out of here.” _The smells alone can guide him,_ Kale hoped.

To Kale, Cord said, "The route is memorized, my friend. Much of my life has been spent in tunnels not unlike these; I will lead us out, if our guide should desert us in our time of need."

* * *

"There," Trin whispered.

They wandered a shambles of old semi-collapsed cellars, sewers and natural holes in the rock, myriad obsolete wooden and stone supports randomly rearing out of the ground. There, up ahead, the cave they were currently traversing came to the corner of an old cellar or somesuch room of which the corner had collapsed into the wider open space. The forest of wooden struts made approaching it perhaps a little more difficult but at least there was cover.

The room ahead was aglow with light from the lanterns within, and Rat Trin's eyes glinted in the fitful illumination. "There are your slavers. Quite ironic really, when you consider that we're pretty much underneath the temple of Naskha right now." He gave another humourless grin.

"For them, with their light in there, out here will be almost pitch darkness. Easy for you to approach, and easy for me to stay out of sight. I will wait here for you to lead you back out, but I'm not coming in. Now, my money."

"You'll get it when we're done, to make sure you hang around for us."

"That was not the deal! Do you question my honour? I will wait for you if you pay me; if you go back on our deal I leave now!"

Wolf reluctantly handed over the other twenty five gold pieces, and the verman hunkered down in the darkness by a rotten wooden support, producing some sort of root from a pouch and chewing rigorously on it. "Good. Now I wait here for you."

They could move fairly close to the exposed room in the darkness without fear of being spotted. The chamber was large within, even with one corner collapsed out into the void of the cave; Wolf and Kale scouting ahead brought back many details of what lay within. On the left wall from the collapsed corner was a section where the wall gave way to bars; beyond that, presumably, the slaves were kept. On the opposite wall of the long, spacious room, wooden stairs led up to a platform and a door set up in the wall; it was slightly open. On the wall between those two walls, on the far side of the room, a single wooden door was currently closed.

Within the room were numerous tables and chairs, a number of men in various states around them. Large casks sat in various places; one clearly of a beverage from the way one of the slavers poured liquid from its tap into his tankard. Other chests, boxes and suchlike were also scattered around, some with a distinctly exotic look about them from their construction and decoration; one man seemed to be taking a detailed inventory of the contents of some of the containers.

There were seven men in there, in all. Some of them were round a table playing dice and cards or otherwise attending to various duties, one wandering over to the bars and pushing a bowl of food through with a disdainful look at the occupants of the cells; Kale could recognise the two men who had been with the wizard amongst the people here, Kaelos and Garus. Kaelos, the man they had encountered in the tavern, was stalking anxiously back and forth at the bottom of the stairs, his hand reached up to fiddle nervously witha small ruby amulet that had been concealed from the trio's sight in the tavern; it looked like he was waiting for something. Garus had his feet up on the table where they threw bone knuckle dice, but he shared a worried look as well. The two seemed to have some sort of superiority to the other cultists around them. One of the men at the table had laid down a pistol near to his hand; another needed only to lean back and he'd have a short bow ready, which currently rested on a nearby low, long crate.

Sitting apart from the others was a big man, heavily built in loose, red cloth garments, tattooes running along his arms - bare apart from silver bracers - and across his neck. Apart from straps over his fists he didn't seem armed but with the confident air he had and his physical stature most people probably wouldn't mess with him anyway. He sat facing out towards the darkness, apparently just gazing off into the gloom with a stern look on his face. Occasionally one of the cultists would throw him a worried glance.

Burl used a wood support standing in the darkness for cover while Wolf and Kale scouted. As a battle seemed in the offing, Burl spent the time arranging the spell components he would be using so that they would be easily grasped. His plan was to bring up a magical force field to give him added protection as soon as they returned and gave the word that they would be attacking. Until they returned with a plan, he would wait and watch, quietly watching the others.

Kale hadn't been surprised when the ratling demanded the remainder of his payment as soon as they arrived at the strange temple. Surely, the man would bolt as soon as trouble arose. Kale, on the other hand, sought out trouble like it was some sort of ancient delicacy. _And I am the expert_, he determined as Wolf and he returned from their short scouting runs.

Now was the chance to see how the group performed as a team. Reports of large quantities of classy meats? Fairy tales of ancient dragons danced through the mercenary’s head as he considered the specifics of the situation. Kaelos seemed rather nervous- was he waiting for his employer to arrive, or to emerge from an audience with his superior? Kale hoped the merchant-mage was being dressed down, for events directly connected to a certain ‘young whelp’ and his refusal to die simply.

"So, what do people propose as a plan then? I reckon we'd do well to open up with whatever ranged weapons we have and then quickly charge in to finish them off while they're still confused, otherwise they'll get into cover - which there's a lot of in there - and might eb able to fight us off if they get organised since they'll know where we'll have to come from. Anyone got any other ideas?" Wolf asked.

There were two ideas Burl wanted to share. “First, there has been no mention of the leader being there. With his magic, we need to be prepared to act quickly against him. Second, I think you should try to take out the large man with the tattoos quickly. He sounds particularly nasty and besides if he would fall early, it may panic the others. I have several ranged magics that I can use, but I wonder if I should wait, not showing myself at first and wait until the leader shows then attack him immediately. I doubt that I could take him out, but maybe I can keep him from bringing his magic to bear on the entire group. From the description, there seems to be two obvious places for the leader to be hiding, the two rooms with doors. If it wasn’t for the slaves, I would say just heave in some alchemist fire bombs, but it could bring the whole place down, but remembering Kale’s singed eyebrows from his last confrontation with him, I don’t believe he would hesitate with firebombing us for even a moment.” Burl finished and waited for imput.

Burl made his analysis, and Kale was pleased. The mage may actually have an eye for tactics. Whispering, he spoke. ”Yes, the magic should be reserved for the mage, should he show up. And that big man, he needs to come down, too. I would like to sneak close with someone for support- Cord, you’re with me? Wolf, Mister Cornell and Wyshira can shoot, then close in quick to keep us from getting ganged.” Kale felt odd calling the blue priestess into the fight, but she had certainly proven her mettle several times over. ”The rest hold back at the room opening, watch our backs, and blast that mage when he comes calling.” Thinking back to the upper doorway and its unknown contents… ”Let’s not worry about my eyebrows…” he said with a smirk, wondering what sort of luck he must have.

Ready to depart with Cord, he concluded. ”We’re underground, it could go dark. Don’t go anywhere alone- if we need, we can rally just down the tunnel we came.”

”Anyone’s free to take a few plucks with my bow,” he said as he produced the ranged weapon, ”Though I’d be careful of the shiny tips,” he carefully revealed the silvery points, shielded in the shadow of his hand.

Sebastion had been surveying the territory, carefully, half-listening to the conversation, and moved back to confer... and disagree.

"The darkness gives us cover here, why waste it. Fire from the darkness, do some damage with surprise and missile weapons." he began, laying out the plan in his mind as he went along. "When the try to retaliate, logic dictates they'll take up weapons as well. That's when we advance, strike with melee, then fall back, drawing them into the lit backdrop of the opening.

Another volley of missile fire, and those that are left then can be attacked from the flank by the rest of us who can wait over there, out of sight, alongside the entrance. They'll stop to combat that danger, and turn, which is when we double back and come at them from the other side..." he looked around, wondering if they were following the idea. It all seemed so clear in his head, so obvious, yet he had had trouble explaining so many of the things that, to him, had been clear lately.

"What do you think?"

Sebastion painted a picture of the upcoming engagement, and Kale listened carefully, pondering the words and plan in parts, and whole. The swordsman had his mind in the right place... _It just might take a little work to get the hay out of his head._

Really, the man's plan was sound, though there was one point of contention. "The dark is of great advanage," Kale agreed carefully. "But there's no way those yoyos are walking through that hole. In a few breaths, they'll be behind cover, and we'd have to push through that doorway to dig 'em out. We'll manage a few volleys in surprise, but we'll have to bring the fight if we want any hope of eliminating the blokes before... nastier things arrive." Nodding to the Huron man for his input, Kale then inclined his eyes toward Wolf, seeking comment, or maybe validation.

Though Melisande was by no means stupid, she really couldn't be bothered to make much sense of all this strategizing. It would all be chaos once battle broke out anyway she figured, working from experience. As long as things remained ranged--and thus out of disembowelment reach--she was fine. She had a couple new tricks up her sleeve, anyway...

"Just tell me where to stand and what to shoot," she whispered impatiently. She wanted to be done with Kale's business and back to Lord Ecurius' for supper, and Pierre's right head's nervousness was beginning to get to her. Mel wanted to tell him to go up and visit Sandslipper in the temple of Naskha above, but the toad kept squirming and would not come out as long as Rat Trin was anywhere in the vicinity. Wyshira nodded in agreement at Melisande's comment.

 "Stand behind _me--_" Ebri murmured from the depths of her wrap-turned-cowl, placid, taking a firm grasp on Melisande's elbow and stepping in front of her in a protective stance.  "I am short, I will not impede your aim."

It seemed that there was some disagreement about the right way to proceed. She waited till they had it all sorted out, and then spoke to Kale right before he set out.

"I know you've got something up your sleeve; some new way to go off on your own and risk your neck. Take this first." She reached out and touched his cheek with one cool hand, closed her eyes and chanted a prayer under her breath. "There. That should protect you from any fire attack, at least somewhat. I've been saving that for you all day."

"Waitbut," Kale protested lamely. Feeling the cool rush through his cheek, the priestess surely had a good bearing on where Kale and combat would often lead. The woman had him nailed. The young mercenary didn't know if it was portent good or bad.

She smiled, then turned to Cord and went on softly:

"Can you do this? I know you've been.... disoriented. Will you be able to help Kale?" She wanted assurance from the dwarf that he was up to the task. When she was sure they were both ready, she gave them each an ecnouraging smile and said, "Both of you, go with the Lady's blessing."

Cord nodded in response, even as he listened closely to the crackling of torch flames, mercenary banter, and the regular thumping of a man pacing within the small cavern. The rain had disorientated him, with nothing so protect his head except open air, but the familiar presence of stone above his head and winding passageways restored his confidence. He felt more prepared, now, beneath the city, than he ever might have above it. "I will remain with Kale," he voiced, believing the challenge of keeping his words truthful would be more difficult than defeating the slavers. "Back to back, we will prove successful."  He gave a quick jab into Kale's side, a reminder that the blind dwarf would be in nearly constant contact for that point, forward. Kale was slippery, but few can refuse a dwarf with his mind set.

To Burl she said, "Stay by me. We'll watch out for each other. And watch out for _them._"

Looking around, Burl pointed to a spot a bit closer, one which he hoped would give him a chance to keep watch on both doors. “I will go with Wyshira over to that debris. I will stay hidden, either until the mage raises his head or until the second attack. I will try to disrupt him from attacking if possible. This isn’t written in stone. If things change, I will help, but I think it will be better for me to surprise him. If you have a better idea tell me.” 

"Far be it from me to strategize," Mel interjected, "But maybe we should try drawing them out with some sort of bait, if you think our best chance is out here." She glanced at Wyshira, getting an idea, and gestured to the priestess.

"Wyshira, Ebri and I could hide outside and talk as if we were some female slaves who escaped but can't find our way out. They'll come out to investigate and they'll be on their guard, but at least they won't be behind barrels in there."

Mel shrugged, expecting the more seasoned veterans to shoot this down, but wanting to make herself useful.

Wolf peered out through the gloom towards the suffusing light of the chamber absent-mindedly. "I doubt they'll come out here after us unless it's on their own terms. They've got plenty of cover in there once they hunker down, and we don't know what other resources. Giving them time to bring in any reinforcements they might have isn't good, and by all accounts this wizard of theirs is a canny conjurer if he can summon daedroth hounds and the kinds of monstrosities Myrley told us about. And those can probably see in the dark better than we can. We could end up being the hunted, which is not a concept I like. No, we can use the darkness to our advantage but we can't rely on it, I don't think. Melisande's idea is interesting but a bit too risky since we don't know how many slaves they have or how well they keep a check on them. That ruse might well alert them immediately, if they know for sure they _haven't_ lost any slaves, and we'd lose the element of surprise then."

"I think for most of us our best chance is to attack from out here but to actually take the battle to them in there. Most of us can't see well in this gloom, fighting melee in the dark isn't my idea of fun."

Mel had given a rather intriguing suggestion, and Kale had waited for Wolf's input interestedly. Alas, the man was right, and the escaped-blue-girly-slaves plan would have to be sidelined. The young mercenary was visibly disappointed. _Oh well, we haven't got any leather collars or bustles, anyway..._

Sebastion hunkered down a little, keeping his voice soft, worried that the longer they debated the more chance they'd be discovered - however, the plan was sound, and he needed to get them to realise that.

"We go in and meet them face to face... if we're doing well we stay there. All I'm saying is that if we have to pull back, we can. In the entryway there we'll have the benefit of darkness, but they'll be outlined in the entrance - easy targets." he clarified. It was one of the classic maneouvres, really, drawing the enemy into a position where your secondary force could flank him, then wheeling about to surround them and finish them off. Why couldn't they see that?

Sebastion made sense, and Cord noticed his tension with the company's whispers just outside the hearing range of the slavers. He could hear the grumblings of the fighters within the cave all too easily.

"I am ready," Cord said. "Let us meet them now. May we live to see another day, without regret of this one."

Cord readied his stance, and prepared to accompany Kale into the flickering cave.

Wolf gave the young warrior a bemused look. "Of course we can pull back if we need to, that goes without saying, but you're completely ignoring several points; firstly is that if the battle's going badly enough then they'll be able to move with us, not giving us any time to take advantage of people being outlined against the light before we're all in pitch-dark melee. You're making an incredible assumption that your enemy is going to do what you want them to do, lad."

"We're facing a wizard who likes to summon things and a lot of the kinds of horrors that arcanists conjure up really couldn't care less about whether it's light or dark. If we back out into the darkness and something like that follows us, _it'll_ be able to see okay, but most of us'll be blind as bats. But why the hell would the rest of them charge out after us anywayif we do manage to pull back? They can comfortably sit in there for as long as they need to once they get into good cover."

Sebastion sighed and shrugged, wondering why everyone as always ready to listen to a wizard about magic, but not to a soldier about swordplay...

_We're planning for a battle without the wizard here, at least that's what you said. he thought, matching stares with the older man. We don't take advantage of them coming through the gap, our companions who waited behind in here do.

I'm assuming they'll do exactly what any normal fighter would do. Press and press until the enemy goes down - exactly what you're planning to do, in fact._

He thought it all, his gaze never flinching, but he knew they were short of time, and the stubborn old man thought he knew best.

"Fine, we'll do it your way. We don't have time for me to explain it all..." Rising up, turning away, he slipped the covers from his sword, tucking them into his belt, and rested it against the wall as he took out his shortbow and nocked the first arrow, facing the hole in the wall and settling his breath ready for his first shot.

Wolf gave a helpless snort at the words of Sebastion, shrugging. "You're trying to lure them into an ambush for which they have no reason to take the bait, and leaving the primary attack possibly lethally undersupported by a number of attackers being placed completely out of position for anything than your ambush. In my seven wars I've seen plenty of casualties due to plans like that. Now lets get moving."

While the others bickered, Ebri stood observing the enemy, silently counting steps between points with her eyes, and hooked the edges of a row of shuriken into a fold of draped cloth for quick access. On her back, the kama felt light, expectant, covered as it was by her cowl. It would be wrong to welcome conflict, however, she was curious to test how she would maneuver with the new weapon. She remembered her training with it well, but she had been used to fist and foot for some time now. She turned, checking again on the location and status of her ward, and nodded at Sebastion.  _ 'If we live we will debate the matter. But even the best tactics may be undone by poor coordination'_  she whispered, trying another technique long out of practice, throwing her voice to the place just over Seb's shoulder. The comment was of little consequence, if she failed, but it was good to stretch one's abilities, she was reminded. Stagnation was a constant danger when one played a role for life.


----------



## Carnifex

_OOC: IIRC, the battle began with either Mage Armour or Shield up on Burl, and Wyshira's Endure Elements (Fire) on Kale._

* * *

The attack was begun.

Sandar had, in the mere moment before the first projectile soared out of the gloom, a glimpse of movement and was ready, though he had not even the time to shout out to the cultists; they would find out soon enough the danger they were in. As a javelin sped towards his throat he reacted with honed, trained reflexes, both hands flashing forwards to slap together with the missile itself caught between them, its motion stopped dead mere inches from the mans throat. The tattooed monk tossed Wyshira's javelin aside casually as more deadly objects rained down, Sebastion's arrow striking one of the cultists who frantically reached for weapons under the sudden barrage, a brief flash of blood marking the flesh wound inflicted. Ebri's shuriken sliced out as well, one biting into the flesh of a cultist and eliciting a yowl of pain.

One of the cultists was first off the mark, rolling out of his chair, and smoothly grabbing his shortbow from the crate by him as he disappeared from sight behind cover. Within moments he reappeared by a wall, casually tossing a small vial away from him as he leapt at the wall.. and stuck to it, clambering up limberly like some sort of grotesquely humanoid spider. Burl kept his magics ready for whenever their spellcasting foe might appear, and he could hear the man at the bottom of those stairs yelling up to the door, "Boss, we're under attack from outside!" Sounds from the other side of that door indicated someone was approaching it even now.

The other cultists were moving too, scattering for cover to check their wounds and fire back. One crouched behind the table, bringing his pistol to bear and blasting out a shot at the scurrying figures he could see moving towards the chamber through the shadows outside. The cracking report of the firearm resounded through the place as with a belch of smoke and fire it struck Cord, the old monk sent reeling by the sheer impact of the shot as it tore a chunk out of his flank. A lesser man would have been staggered by the injury but Cord, with his lengthy training in the unyielding stance of the monastic followers of Grumand, found his balance again quickly although the pain was intense. Behind the table, the man struggled with powder and shot to reload.

Kale, light on his feet, was already making good his way through the room, closing with cultists and in particular that platform, his quick feet already making distance between himself and the tough old dwarf behind him. Then the door that the stairs and platform gave access to opened.

It had been pushed open by whoever was behind that door but they certainly seemed to have no intention of running out into the conflict themselves. Instead words of spellcasting floated out; Burl and Wyshira could both identify it as a summoning spell similar to those that they themselves knew but more powerful than either could cast. And then, out of the room, came a horror.

Great leathery wings bore the tumescent body aloft, a multitude of bubbling green orbs that must have been eyes dripping ichor down onto the wood below. Vile serrated teeth pushed out of the jaw-slit that rippled open and closed, while the thing was covered in matt-black worm-like tendrils that twitched spasmodically in irregular movement. Tiny eyes lined the wing-limbs that seemed like they were broken from the bizarre, non-Euclidean angles they made yet bore the monstrosity aloft without any apparent problems. It gibbered and twittered in high-pitched squeaks as it fluttered, its wingspan half again as wide as the height of a normal man, and it wheeled off into the gloom outside the chamber, giggling to itself somewhere above the heads of those out in the darkness.

Melisande's hands pulsed with energy as two glowing sapphire bolts lashed out, zipping unerringly to strike the nearest of the cultists. He staggered, virtually knocked senseless by the impact of the magic, reeling dangerously out of cover and into the open. Under cover of the magic strikes Wolf loped forwards, not far behind Kale.

Ebri sent more shuriken scything out towards the cultists; even with the cover of boxes and chairs the little toothed disks found their targets easily scoring hit after hit, not doing enough damage to inflict serious injury on their victims but wearing them down further.

Kaelos and Garus were already diving for cover, shouts and yells directing the cultists and informing their boss of the situation in the chamber. Both found their way to cover and moved to close on the face-paced Kale, the hiss of longswords being drawn from sheathes filling the rogues ears as they menaced him. Cord was still trying to keep pace with Kale but it was difficult to keep up with the nimble human, especially with the gun shot injury he had suffered.

Wyshira hurled another javelin at the tattooed monk, and this time he didn't managed to deflect it, instead grunting in pain as the missile bit into his flesh. Pausing only to yank the weapon out, he moved.

It was stunningly graceful, almost art in action, as he leapt towards Cord and vaulted off crates, landing smoothly next to the dwarven monk. The human grinned viciously, seemingly recognising Cord's own movements as those of a fellow martial artist, and fell into his own battle-stance.

"Your _ki_ is not as strong as mine, old one. You cannot win this battle."

"Strength is not the true--" Cord began to say in response. And a fist struck out, palm contacting with the old dwarf with a crunch of cracking bone. Cord reeled, stunned, as the impact hit nerve centres and shocked his very system into immobility. His attacker just grinned more widely.

With a hiss an arrow caught the cultist still reeling from Melisande's magic; Sebastion hit him in the throat, and he collapsed with the fletching redecorated in red gore as he gurgled a death rattle.

Frustrated for losing his surprise opportunity, the young mercenary extended distance and made all speed toward the balcony. Here, he would have angles to cover Cord and the others, but more importantly, he'd be closer to Cancer, who was behind the upper door, no doubt.

Everything was happening so fast, Kale wished he could slow it all down, if only to watch the monk's hypnotic movements in closer detail. But it was an artform wasted in such a scene, what with the cracked cackles and twisted flesh of a creation much more horrid in origin. Kale hadn't gotten to the door fast enough, and Cancer was already pumping out his terror creations. The upper door open, Kaelos and Garus closing, Cord wounded, and a winged beast waiting in the darks, the initiative had already turned against the young mercenary before he'd even taken a shot.

Ducking to put a crate between himself and the approaching lackeys, Kale had to hold the line, to support his companions with arrows and angles. In a rush when time was of precious essence, Cancer would just have to wait.

She started her prayer on the run, dashing toward the dwarf as fast as she could go. She reached for him and pulled him toward her, turning to place her body between his and his attacker as she completed the healing chant. That's when she noticed the blood pouring from his side; she had no idea where that wound had come from, but she could see that Cord was in much worse shape than she had initially thought.

Impatient as she might have been a moment before, now that battle had been joined Mel felt her heart beating down her breastbone in an effort to escape. (Insanely, she hoped no one would oblige it this time.)

Although the thing that came out the door did surprise her--and it must be admitted that even in the Manipulation labs she'd never seen anything quite this _wrong_--it did sort of look like something Pierre would eat.

It flew too fast for her to do anything about it at first, instead having aimed her first volley at one of the advancing swordsmen. She did not take the time to survey the damage, but instead turned her gaze upwards into the darkness where the insanely chattering thing blobbed above. The very sound it made set her teeth on edge.

Knowing many of her friends could not even see it in the pitch black underbelly of the city, she made it her personal vendetta.

The next energy bolt was for _it._

Half way up the wall, skittering around spider-like in the shadows, the cult agent drew a thin, ivory-coloured arrow from the quiver on his back as he pulled himself up onto a rafter. He nocked his bow, taking careful aim into the melee below; then deciding against firing into the fray and instead readied for a shot at the new wave of attackers coming in out of the darkness. Pulling the string taught, he lined up Sebastion in his sights and let loose, the arrow flaring into brilliant, blue light with a crack akin to that of the pistol.

Sebastion felt the crackling arrow punch right through his shoulder, missing anything load-bearing but burning a chunk of flesh as it discharged a tremendous electrical shock into his frame. The rogue high above snickered as he drew another of the arrows and prepared to fire again.

Meanwhile, back in the darkness and scanning the gloom above, Burl conjured up a spectral hand; the phantasmal disembodied hand glowed faintly in the dark, the necromancer feeling a little of his life force to power itself.

The other remaining cultists moved to counter their attackers. The pistolier frantically poured more powder into his weapon and primed it, all the time Ebri getting closer to him; the other slaver charged Wolf, a cruel axe in hand, and caught the mercenary off-balance with a strike that cut across his chest. Kale hurled his darts at the tattooed monk; one was on course to hit Sandar in the throat but he plucked it out of mid-air at the last moment, while the other scored a true hit but merely inflicted a minor flesh wound on the tough brawler.

From the gloom above Melisande the unsettling sound of deformed wings warping reality with their very sweeps sounded and a foul shape dove down at the sorceress; the gibbering flying thing squeaked and slathered at her, its very presence sickening and infused with wrongness as the beast bit at her but she managed to shield the insane monstrosity off just in time to unleash destructive magiks into it, sapphire energy blasting out again to smash into it and elicit more angry chittering and burbling; it kept at her though. Beyond that door from which it had come the sounds of more spellcasting came; the magi amongst the adventurers band could tell that this was another summoning spell, a suspicion confirmed when another monstrosity came through the door.

This time it shambled rather than flew, a bear-like, bulky shape. It had bands of writhing tentacles spaced down its torso, and the two clawed hands each had on them a mouth as well that gnashed and dribbled profusely. The beast had no head at all but rather a wide slit full of needle-like teeth, and little eyes poked out from random places in its decomposing flesh as it staggered down the stairs from the platform, leaving a trail of noisome slime in its wake.

Wolf struck back against the cultist attacking him; bastard sword gripped in one hand and sahuagin trident in the other, he hacked and stabbed the man and quickly reduced him to a bloodied corpse. Ebri raced quickly through the furniture of the room to attack the pistolier who tried to bring his weapon to bear on this new attacker; the kama struck out, the silvery weapon cutting through the air with wonderful balance and lightness, but apparently with enough weight behind it to still cause serious injury because the blade hit the man in the face and killed him instantly as it plunged through his eye socket.

From beyond the other door, the one that nothing had yet issued forth from beyond of, sounds were becoming audible; the sounds of a loud approach, though as yet still the door remained closed.

Kaelos and Garus, worried by the deaths of the other cultist warriors but on the other hand encouraged by the steady stream of abominations plunging into the battle, chased after Kale, easily catching the dart-hurling rogue. Steel flashed and flickered as they engaged him with their blades, Kale evading Kaelos but feeling the painful bite of Garus's sword.

Cord could feel the pain of the monk's stunning blow receding, feeling returning to his limbs as his muscles freed up from the terrifying lock they had been in. And then, instead of pain he felt as if cool water was rushing through his veins; Wyshira had ran quickly to his side and her healing magic set much of his injuries to rights.

The big monk snarled irritably at this nuisance getting in his way. He struck out like a snake, a single punch hitting the priestess who had interposed herself between him and the dwarf, and as if she had been hit by a bolt of thunder through her very skeleton Wyshira felt herself lock up, nerves firing in agony as she found herself as defenceless as Cord had been before this terrible man.

Cord could sense something was wrong. This man was a skilled brawler, yes, and probably better than Cord when it came down to simple, brutal melee, but something about him suggested that his mastery and understanding of his ki, his inner strength and wisdom, could not be that great. Yet something about his stunning punches seemed to be not right, as completely infused with ki as they were to reduce first Cord and then Wyshira to helpessness before him. Even the techniques Cord had been trained in to incapacitate with a single strike were not as powerful as was being demonstrated here. How was the monk doing it?

Then with a blur of steel Sebastion came at Sandar from the flank. The blades of his double-sword flickered in the dim lantern-light of the scene as the monk turned to face him, blocking one strike with the palm of his hand as he caught the flat of the blade but not quick enough to avoid a second strike from the other end of the weapon hit him fully across the chest. With immense discipline the man bit down on a yell of agony, the ragged wound across his torso spilling crimson blood down his clothes, and prepared to unleash his fury upon the swordsman.


----------



## Broccli_Head

I loved this battle!


----------



## Carnifex

The pain in hSebastion's shoulder flared as he swung his blade in vengeance, doubling his vision at the jolt as the blade was halted in mid-flight. Wyshira and Cord had both been laid low with single shots, and Sebastion channeled the anger at that vision, and the pain in his shoulder, into the flashing strike that drove through his other blade, rising as he stepped his weight in behind it, biting deep into the chest of his target in a crimson spray. 

*"You want some more?!"* he bellowed, and followed his attack up with another... the sooner he could put this behemoth on his grave-slab, the sooner he could make his appointment with the archer. 

In spite of the terrible compulsion to flail and scream, Mel fought hard to maintain her concentration in face of the blubbery, toothy, multi-eyed thing that fluttered around her head gnashing and biting. Through the panic and crashing she heard the ominous sounds of more conjuring, which made her mad. 

Raising her hands again she attempted to shield her face. "Someone-_aah!_-drop--a--bomb on that--_eek!_--mage!" she managed to gasp before letting the magic flame through her hands again. The force of it seemed to crackle in her mind as she let the energy through.

The melee was whirling around her, but Ebri felt only more calm, more remote as her senses drew information from all sides, in an adrenalin-fed hyper-alertness that had taken years to become reflex. 

And it _was_ reflex, though not as smooth as that she usually experienced. Worry muddied it. She was slower, she noted, in evaluating the relative risks and gains of possible actions, than she might be. _Melisande._ The beast hovered over her, an immediate threat-- huge. But her ward, for all her mooncalf ways, had significant reserves of magical defense. And others come to her aid. _The greater threat lies beyond the door; the enemy will be beyond us shortly if the mage is not eliminated. _

With a flick of her wrist, she sent a shuriken spiralling ahead of herself--it would announce her, but it would also perhaps be a distraction-- and charged towards the door.

High up in the rafters, the limber cultist drew back his bowstring again and after a moments hesitation as he decided on a target, he fired at the stunned Wyshira. The arrow once again flared into actinic light and struck the priestess solidly, discharging a jolt of electrical energy into her through the wound it tore. 

Burl wove his next spell, dark and eldritch words imbuing his spectral hand with necromantic energies that played around it in a green nimbus. The hand darted out to touch the abomination assaulting Melisande and brushed the tentacular skin of the noisome beast, discharging the death magik into it with a crackle. It shuddered and giggled spasmodically before collapsing to the ground in a twitching heap, a wave of disgusting carrion stench exuding from it as the ghoulish magic took full effect. Melisande managed to bite back the nausea from the miasmic air. 

Kale attempted to tumble away from his assailants but they moved quickly to take advantage of the openings he presented as he tried to depart; fortunately his armour and natural dexterity kept him from harm at the blades of the two men. He loped away across the chamber, rushing past the shambler but far enough away to avoid its mouth-claws, and quickly scaling the steps to see what lay beyond that door. 

It looked like a small room beyond, many books and suchlike on shelves and a desk at one end; probably Cancer's study. The man himself stood there, a nimbus of magic playing around his as he stood in spellslinging stance, a loaded crossbow on the table next to him and a wand held high in one hand. He smiled as he saw Kale rushing towards the door. 

"Ah, the whelp has returned? Want to suffer more pain?" 

A handful of darkly muttered words followed his threat, a spell that none of the party's spellcasters could understand, one that none of them had ever come across before, and then suddenly bristling, serrated barbs jolted out of Cancer's hands, glistening red as the wizard laughed loudly. 

"This may hurt." 

The barbs spasmed, launching themselves from Cancer's hand in a storm of hooks and blades that scythed through the air, spraying a wide area. Most of them slammed into the wall either side of the door but some went straight through and out towards Kale as he approached. He could see them, infernal, magical organic barbs of bone and poison, cutting through the air as if in slow motion towards him, surely a lethal storm that would cut him down... 

...and he threw himself out of the way at the last moment, barbs whistling through the air just over his head before he tumbled easily back to his feet again. Cancer, his hands apparently fine once again, looked enraged. 

The twitching winged monstrosity was in no position to attack Melisande now, but the shambling bear-thing waded forwards ignoring the man who had just rushed past it and instead bulldozing towards Cord. As it closed on the monk it lashed out with one mouthed claw that hissed and spat as it closed in, hooking a hold on the dwarf's flesh and chewing brutally for a moment before Cord pulled himself free, blood streaming from the fresh injury, his mentality nauseated by the closeness of the thing in a way not unlike that of the werewolves. Melisande loosed more destructive magic into the fallen, paralysed beast before her, the bolts further battering the badly injured thing; still, the tenacious horror refused to die and her senses recoiled at the proximity to the beast. 

Wolf paced quickly over to the other door of this room that was rapidly becoming a chamber of horrors, readying his blade to strike whatever came through if it proved to be hostile. 

Ebri, her protective shield of faith holding firm around her, raced up towards the platform, easily pulling herself acrobatically up and onto the wooden structure just as a storm of barbs shot out of the door; she spied Kale rolling back to his feet, apparently unharmed, and then saw Cancer himself through the doorway. Her hand shot out to hurl a shuriken at him but her impetus had put her aim off and it buried itself in the doorframe instead. 

Wolf braced himself by the door as the noises from beyond grew louder, but when the door was simply smashed asunder he was taken somewhat by surprise. 

From the passageway beyond came two massive figures. 

Each was over eight feet tall, massively muscled reptilian figures, draconian in appearance. Their ochre scales changed to green in hue on their leathery wings, which they extended outwards as they entered the larger chamber; each wore motley armour of metal and hardened leather, bags and straps and jewellry abundant on each. Their draconic visages took in the situation in mere moments and then they set to work. 

The ready Wolf, still shocked but possessed of enough instintive reflex, lashed out with his bastard sword, but the blade just bounced off the scaled hide of one of the mighty beings. They rounded on him, each hefting a huge heavy mace as easily as if it was a toothpick, and hammered blows down on the unfortunate veteran; he took blow after brutal blow, and staggered back, bloodied and battered. 

Kaelos and Garus grinned humourlessly at the arrival of their reinforcements, chasing rapidly after Kale and Ebri to protect their master. Not quite able to catch up with the two just yet, although mere feet behind, they would soon close in close enough to use their swordcraft once again. 

Cord settled in by Wyshira in his unyielding stance, determined to protect her from further attacks, ready to intercept anyone else who might strike out at her. Even as he did so, the priestess could feel control of her limbs flooding back as the nerve-strangling pain of the monk's strike receded. 

The monk, faced with this new and well-armed foe, let loose a flurry of blows and kicks against his adversary. Amazingly, in the face of this storm of attacks, Sebastion somehow managed to avoid or block them all, the monk's aim thrown of by the sheer number of strikes he was unleashing. Sebastion replied with his own yell and strikes; his monastic foe deflected more blade-swipes with his bare hands again but one sweep made it through his defences and cut a deep gash into the man, blood gouting out and leaving him breathing heavily and severely injured.

The thing was down and by the sound of it, it was either being tickled unmercifully or else it was choking on phlegm. Some corpse-magic from Burl seemed to have stunned it somehow, and between the sudden cloud of rot and burning blubber, Mel had to struggle with spasms of gagging while she reached for her spear. 

Not realizing what an enraged look of digust and indigation twisted her blue face, she aimed at somewhere around the middle of the flopping, tumescent body and plunged the spear down.

Ebri continued to move fluidly toward the door, keeping the fleeting glimpse of the mage beyond fixed in her view. The air whistled along the kama beside her. Still to one side, she registered the presence of a new enemy-- the mercenary Wolf traded heavy blows at the other door. "Your mentor needs you--" she called to Kale, passing him. "I am sufficient for this--" 

The mercenary nearly made a double-take, but considering the situation, he was inclined to believe her. Still, if by some stroke of fortune the woman could destroy the mage, she couldn't stand against mage and armsmen: Kale was stuck on the balcony, for now. 

Cord could feel his eyelids blink in surprise as he wrested his arm away from the malevolent beast before him. This thing had never been human, unlike the coven werewolves. This alien, shambling mound was had been pulled from another land entirely, and in all senses did not belong deep within the cavern that he stood trying to protect Wyshira. 

High up in the rafters, the bowman took aim at what he now percieved as a greater threat; the figures menacing his own master. The bowstring pulled back taught, he sighted the weapon on the deft form of Ebri and let loose another crackling arrow, but this time the missile went wide and instead blasted a hole in the floor of the wooden platform with the crack of discharging electricity blackening the wood around it. Burl now acted to counter this sniping threat, the glowing ghost hand soaring through the air, now imbued with chilling necromantic energies. For now the agile archer managed to dodge the attacking ethereal manifestation, the spidery magiks of the potion keeping him balanced up on the rafters. 

Kale's two darts at the shambling horror went wide by far, the mind-chilling effect of the beast combined with the confusion of combat combining to throw off his aim. The monster itself once again assaulted Cord, but all of its frenzied strikes were easily dodged by the ready dwarf who blocked and avoided with practiced ease even in the face of this otherworldly thing. From within his chamber, Cancer watched the melee and mayhen outside, seeing Kale move to block the stairs up and Ebri continue on her path towards him, and he snarled out more magical words; suddenly there stood not one of him but five, five shifting Cancers created a blurred confusion of images that the monk would find hard to discern the real wizard. 

Melisande took the moment to try and impale the flying monstrosity that twitched on the ground before her, stabbing down hard; but to her amazement and horror the weapon barely even scratched the beast which, even in its paralysed state, seemed to have some sort of strange immunity to such a puny physical attack as she had made. 

Meanwhile the melee continued to rage within the main chamber, Wolf desperately striking at the dragonkin assailing him. This time he scored a solid strike, a mighty blow that staggered one of the reptilian warriors and drew forth greatgouts of blood; yet the behemoth seemed relatively unfazed by this and continued to batter the veteran warrior. The flurry of strikes with those mighty maces soon reduced Wolf to a crumpled, bloodied heap by the door, and with this threat dealt with the two dragonkin surveyed the rest of the battle, unsure as to where to pitch in next. 

Ebri charged the wizard amidst his myriad shield of mirror images, striking out with her kama; it hit one of the images which shattered into ephemeral fragments which soon evaporated. Cancer smiled at her unpleasantly; all four of him, the three remaining images mimicking the real face of the wizard. 

Kaelos and Garus were on the stairs as they approached Kale; forcing them to come one at a time, Garus first. He lunged with his longsword at the mercenary, but the man was easily able to evade the clumsy strike. 

Cord struck out at the abomination attacking him; his fist hit true, crushing vile flesh and shattering bones beneath as the monstrosity reeled from the force behind the strike. By him, Wyshira stepped forwards to pour cool healing energies into Sebastion, the warrior's wounds healing somewhat and the flow of blood trickling to a halt. 

Sandar went for Sebastion again, lashing out with what would have been a punishing blow had it connected; fortunately, the swordsman was able to turn the fist away and followed up with his own storm of attacks. Both blades bit in, slashing across the monk's midriff, and he fell in a pool of his own blood to lie crumpled on the floor.

Ebri smiled thinly as the profusion of images appeared before her, appreciating the inherent philosophical irony of the defensive maneuver. The mage thought to use illusion to mask reality. _But the truth is that illusion is reality._ By its very nature the world was composed of shifting images and the fantasies of the mind. It was not that one could escape such, at least not until one should become _enlightened_, freed, but that one had to understand and recognize the world for what it was. _The world is a snare set for the mind. _
Sheathing her kama, she leaped at the two nearest adjoining mages, kicking out in both directions.

Melisande shouted in frustration as her spear bounced off the blubbery hide harmlessly and almost threw her off balance. Obviously, she would have to take other measures to obliterate this thing and join the rest of the alarmingly noisy chaos beyond. No time to worry about the others... 

Dropping the spear she patted her pockets frantically--("_Oof_", thought a stressed and grumpy Pierre)--until she found one of the vials she'd bought earlier with Burl's money. 

She yanked out the stopper and dumped acid over the fibrillating abomination, with a fleeting thought of salt on a slug, and a prayer--addressed to Naskha via His temple above--this would work.

Pirhouetting to a halt as the last drops of blood from his strike hit the floor, Sebastion paused. Hand on the floor, double bladed sword out behind him, he surveyed the scene quickly from his half crouch. 

Wolf looked in bad shape, but he didn't want to take on either of the two mace-wielders without help, and certainly not both together. Cord appeared as though he might be winning his battle, so the obvious target was the scampering figure in the rafters. 

Reaching over his shoulder as he rose, he quickly sought the archer, dodging the attentions of a ghostly apparition - it looked like a hand - hopefully the work of one of the spellcasters. Timing the scamperings, he let fly, then gripped his sword and turned to move towards Cord. 

Opening her eyes as the last bit of healing power flowed out through her hands and into Sebastian, Wyshira took a deep breath and began scanning the area for the rest of the crew. She scarcely noticed the closing of the mercenary's wounds, or the fall of his opponent, the tatooed monk. 

_Where are they.....? _

Cord was nearby and seemed to be holding his own against the summoned horror. 

Kale was on the stairs and appeared to be uninjured so far......._ Thank the Lady!_


Burl was out of sight behind her, but Wyshira assumed he had managed to keep out of harm's way and was working his magic from the shadows. 

Wolf was over by the downstairs door and .............. _DOWN! _

Two huge draconian figures turned away from his battered, crumpled form, their upraised maces dripping blood. Wyshira gasped. She would have to pass right by them to get to Wolf. 

The priestess' hand went almost automatically to a scroll she kept tucked inside her robes. It had been a parting gift, scribed for her by her sister, and Wyshira had carried it with her since leaving home months ago. 

She unrolled the stiff parchment and read the words penned there. The scroll disolved into shimmering mist, swirled toward and around her briefly, then vanished even as she dashed away. She ran straight for Wolf, ignoring the two dragonkin, and skidded to halt beside him on her knees.

"Yearrrraaaaaaah!" Kale's eyes went wide, and his lips peeled back to a fierce predator's growl. Wolf lie crumpled on the floor below, and these two would pay the price for what their lizard pets had done. It was a rage so fierce that it could only be born, at least in part, by a sicking sense of personal error. 

By his lead, Wolf had been isolated without backup. Kale may have brought this all about. 

Kaelos and Garus encountered the mercenary's deadly eyes, then saw something they'd never seen before. With both hands, the wild man atop the stairs drew steel. A rattle of chain in the left, the keening song of fine-wrought steel to the right. 

To the two lackeys, Kale was a rabbit, dodging and avoiding frantically to preserve his own life. But in a blink, something had changed- what had they missed? Kale, as a light fighter, was supposed to sortie and disengage, to stick and move, fighting, but remain somehow scared or less mettled than the swordsmen before him. 

As Kale advanced, his two opponents would learn their beliefs were horribly in error. Kale was a hyena, angry and out for blood. Kaelos and Garus, as swordsmen, dreamed perhaps as children that they would be as lions or dragons. But even if they could reach in and take hold of their childhood dreams, it would be to their horror to encounter Kale. 

Lions or dragons, to overpower and dominate? Yet at their heels was the hyena, nipping lunging, finally stripping the hamstring, plucking the eyes, crushing the throat. It was honorless, patternless, tractless attack, and Kale had no respect for the swordsmen's human weaknesses. 

A warrior's only hope is to die a fitting death, yet one look to Kale's eyes told the truth- they would die; a wasting, heedless, useless death. A lowly scavenger would mean their end, and all their study and art and struggles and dreams would come to a pathetic and empty end. 

Fire in his bones, Kale took a steady step, and struck.

The cult agent up in the rafters was hit by a sudden shock as he nwearly pitched off into air; apparently the magic of his potion had now worn off and he was having to cling on in order to keep his balance up there. Now the spectral hand pursuing him around the place seemed a much gerater threat and he turned his bow against it, bracing his back against a wooden beam to fire a spark-trailing arrow at the necromantic conjuring. In his panic his aim was far from accurate and the missile soared off to explode against the wall in a pyrotechnic spray. In response, Burl's spectral hand darted in once again to try and deliver its chilling touch; and this time the frantic rogue could not evade the necromancer's magics. The man felt first the icy cold of the spell and then the unrelenting force of gravity, pushed off balance by the attack and plunging from the rafters to hit the floor below with a grisly thud. 

The now-enraged Kale went at Garus with his flail swinging wildly and brutally, a crunch as the weapon bit into the cultist's side and tearing at his flesh. He staggered, the impact of the vicious thing knocking the breath out of him, but he managed to keep his feet against the attempts by Kale to trip him. Then, for the three men; the two cultists on the stairs and Kale on the platform, everything descended into blazing hellfire. 

Within Cancer's room, Ebri had seen the wizard's hands once again swirl into patterns of spellcasting, and then from his palm shot a tiny, flaming bead of bright and incandescent red, that shot past her out onto the platform outside. 

The fireball engulfed all three men, and the raging flames quickly burnt through the wooden struts and supports of the platform, sending the entire thing tumbling down in a bonfire of destruction. 

Kale found his skin livid with burns - for the second time in two days - and his footing gone, losing his balance as the platform collpased onto itself and sparks roared up around him. Yet the inferno seemed less fierce than it should have, the rogue's body sustained by his comrade's earlier spell.Finding himself prone in the quickly-diminishing magical fires, leaving only the sputtering real fires lit by the pyromanic spell, Kale could see what had become of the two cultists; Garus lay still, a smouldering and unmoving body. Kaelos on the other hand seemed to me made of sterner stuff, standing up and beating out the few patchs of emebrs on his clothes with one grime-smeared hand. It looked like his little ruby amulet was glowing. 

The shambler once again went at Cord, foul mouths gibbering and snarling as it swiped and lunged, but the martial adept was able to easily dodge, duck and weave around the lumbering monstrosity's strikes. The paralysed abomination flopping around on the ground in front of Melisande continued to wibble and gibber even as she upended a vial of acid; unfortunately it seemed resistant to caustic substances too because all the liquid did was stream off it harmlessly, until when the acid hit the floor it finally began to hiss and eat into the ground. 

Ebri, faced with the evilly grinning myriad of mages, opened up with a flurry of blows, her leaping kick impacting against another image and shattering it into ephermeral shards; now only three wizards faced her, one the real Cancer. 

The two dragonkin tried to charge towards the central melee of the room; however the scattered furniture and crates hampered their approach and prevented them from reaching a full impetus as the hulking warriors closed on Sebastion, Cord and Wyshira. 

The burned, dazed, and anrgy Kaelos closed in on the prone Kale, stabbing down furiously and violently; Kale frantically twisted around to evade the descending stabs but one caught him on the flank to injure him slightly, drawing blood and a hiss of pain. 

Meanwhile Cord punched out again at the shambler, another punishing blow that staggered the monster while Wyshira darted past both it and the two approaching dragonkin to reach the crumpled form of Wolf, her magical sanctuary protecting her from the beasts even as the shambler finally toppled to the ground, Cord's assault too much for it - it disappeared into a cloud of smoke. As she reached the veteran mercenary, she was appalled at the injuries inflicted by the brutal maces and sheer strength of the dragonkin, leaving the man lying in a pool of his own blood. Just by a quick look at him she could tell he was already on his way out, the faint and ragged rhythm of his rising chest indicating that he was breathing his last few weak breaths before death would take him. 

Sebastion, deprived of his target up above, instead let fly at the most immediate target; one of the dragonkin about to pile in on him. Unfortunately the missile just deflected off the armoured scales of the foe without injuring it at all.

Sebastion grimaced as the axe glanced off the target, wondering what the scales might be made of, and resolving himself to hedge his bets and try to stab a little more than to carve gently. It was a different style, not a completely foreign system, and shouldn't slow him down... you had to be able to adapt to the enemy his father had always taught him. 

Falling back once more on the lessons he had been taught, he noted the cluttered path before the dragon-kin, and heard more than saw Cord finally end the threat he faced. 

"This way, Cord," he said, moving to try and isolate one of the creatures for a moment, "try to concentrate on this one." Nodding, Cord followed close behind Sebastion.

With that, he brought his sword up into both hands, spun it gently to the left, and then set into the attack.

Mel squealed in frustration as her acid poured harmlessly off the rubbery skin of the flopping thing at her feet and started eating through the ground instead. She had a strong feeling she was wasting her time. The thing might be able to regenerate and pose a future threat, but from the explosive sound of things she was needed elsewhere for now. 

Raising her eyes she surveyed the damage. Wyshira knelt over a bleeding, motionless Wolf; Kale was smouldering but still standing; and Sebastion and the blind dwarf were taking on some very dangerous-looking creatures which, to her knowledge, were not your ordinary lizard-men. She raised her hands and once again invoked the now-familiar surge of energy, aiming it at the nearest of the pair of dragonkin.

The pain of engulfing flames was so intense and familiar- Kale even forgot his anger as he and his two opponents plunged to the ground. With an explosion of pain, however, the mercenary was jarred back to reality. Garus had fought his last, while Kaelos had just begun. 

Spinning legs and body in a tight twisting arc, Kale leapt painfully to his feet. In the same motion, his charred arm brought down chain and ball against his swordsman opponent. 

The char of Kale's own flesh seared his nose; while Kaelos and his blade called out for blood. Kale looked to the man's eyes, hoping to see the change when their positions reversed.

_This must go more quickly,_ Ebri judged, listening to the room behind her. Several of the distinct points of sound she had labelled as her companions in her mental map of the conflict were either missing, or altered from the sounds of melee to _wounded._ Normally, she did not feel the press of time. Time flowed past, with little need for hurry or delay. _One must move with the current, rather than swim against it, and attempting to beat a river at its own task is folly indeed. So it is with time._ And yet, she did recognize that the risk of defeat -- not to mention, the death of potentially useful companions-- increased with each moment that flowed by. 

It had been no untruth she had told to Kale. She _was_ sufficient for this. But there were more foes than this enslaving mage, and the others did not seem to be performing at quite her level of competence.

_That is likely to be detrimental to your ward. And that would be unfortunate. _

She moved to shatter more illusions.

At first, Wyshira thought that Wolf's spirit had already gone, so severe were his injuries. She leaned in close to him, her cheek near his mouth, and was just able to feel the faint stirring of his breath in and out. 

_How could he have lost so much blood so quickly?_ she wondered, taking a quick inventory of his wounds. The dragonkin's spiked maces had done their work all too well, crushing the mercenary's ribs and opening numerous gashes all over his body. The priestess could feel a sticky warmth seeping into the knees of her trousers as she knelt beside him. 

She didn't waste any more time. Reaching beneath Wolf's armor to lay hands on the battered flesh inside, she began chanting the words of her spell.

Burl's spectral hand darted down from up above to strike at the mighty dragonkin, reaching in to discharge another burst of numbing, chill energy to the creature; in return it seemed barely slowed by the assault and more or less ignored the tiny ephemeral limb, pushing on forwards instead. 

Kale, now painfully on his feet, lashed out with his chained weapon; the flail wrapped round Kaelos'sleg and with a quick yank pulled him off his feet to lie prone in front of Kale; but the determined cultist seemed surprisingly unfazed, burning rage taking over his judgement and driving him on in survival-driven fury, and he was already pulling himself to his feet. 

Cancer's face was twisted once more into a vile sneer, angry and elated at the same time as he unleashed more dark magics onto Ebri as she tried to take him down. Casting defensively so that she couldn't disrupt his spell, he sent forth spiralling shards of red and black energy from his hands; a simple magical missile spell but one that punished Ebri badly as three missiles impacted despite her ducking and weaving, homing in unrelentingly to tear gashes out of her. 

As Melisande strode away from the still paralysed, twitching winged abomination, she sent her own brand of magic into the fray, the sapphire missiles arcing out with a pulse of bright blue energy to slam into the leading dragonkin, already injured by Wolf's blade and Burl's necromancy. The two bolts smashed into shards of azure light as they hit the warrior, causing it to snarl in pain and anger as bright red blood streamed down from the impact craters.

Ebri whipped out a handful of her toothed discs, sending them slashing through the air with a quick flick. One missed entirely but the other two both struck; still the mage himself proved elusive but the two images shattered and disappeared, leaving only the true wizard standing there; despite this he still had an insane grin on his face as though unworried by this turn of events. 

The dragonkin continued their rampage across the room. One, finding it's path blocked by a table, simply picked the piece of furniture up in one hand, before promptly swatting down with it at Sebastion, seeing the blade-wielder as a greater threat than the dwarf; the impact of the heavy thing sent the warrior reeling and battered, though the table itself was reduced to pieces by the sheer force behind the blow. The other dragonkin hefted its mace and went for Cord with a flurry of brutal swipes, smashing hard into the monk with one hit while he managed to dodge the other hefty lunge. 

Kaelos scrabbled to pick himself up from the ground before Kale, managing to get himself back up on his feet and avoiding an opportunistic strike from the mercenary. His own blade was turned by Kale's armour though, and the two faced off once again. 

Cord and Sebastion moved to double-team the injured dragonkin, Cord doing the best he could to help the swordsman get in a strike on the tall reptilian before them. It was brutally effective as they moved to flank the foe, both of Sebastion's swords striking true to carve rents out of the dragonkin and making it growl and roar in some guttural language. Still - still! - the eight foot wariior was standing and in fighting spirit, but beginning to flag now from its many wounds and injuries. 

Over by Wolf's body, Wyshria hoped that she was soon enough with her aid to save the dying man. The healing magic poured into him, injuries and rents sealing up somewhat and the worst of the blood flow halting, but this was still a badly injured man. He was regaining conciousness though, coughing weakly now but looking around with bleary and unseeing eyes.

_DM's Note: Thigns were not looking good at this point, with both Cord and Sebastion reduced down to single didgt hit poinst in one round of attacks from the dragonkin!_


----------



## Maldur

wow, nice.

Great job controling such a big group, in such a chaotic battle. Online even 

Envy

thx Carnifex


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## Carnifex

Maldur said:
			
		

> *wow, nice.
> 
> Great job controling such a big group, in such a chaotic battle. Online even
> 
> Envy
> 
> thx Carnifex *




The times when controlling a group online can get difficult are when everyone bar one or two people have posted, and you either have to wait or go ahead with another post and NPC their actions instead...

Not that I'm not guilty of sometimes not posting as often as I should.


----------



## Carnifex

The three bolts of magical pain seemed somehow appropriate as Ebri reached for her three shuriken. For although conflict was necessary in this case, it was a truth that aggression on one's part was more often the cause of one's own suffering, regardless of what suffering one inflicted upon the enemy. She was certain that, should she ever be worthy of enlightenment, she would instantly become aware of the union of all things, that the boundaries between individuals and things would be shown to be non-existant.

However, as she struggled toward release from the world's illusion, she had to further the cause of her order. This only made sense. Else, the teachings and the Purpose might be extinguished from the world, while, if all its servants worked to further it regardless of their own wishes and efforts..._ Even should I fall in the attempt, the Purpose will eventually be understood and achieved._

"Your pride will not serve you." she informed the true mage calmly, and followed her shuriken with her fists.

* * *

Finally, Mel was met with satisfaction as her efforts are rewarded with a painfully visible set of dents in the carapace of evil. Slavers--murderers--worshippers of evil gods, beware! Not to mention anyone who touches one hair on the heads of Mel's new friends.

Although she was near to panic on the surface, a peaceful glow seemed to suffuse her inside. Nitwit or not, right now she was doing something good, something right, and even if it spelled her doom the act would stand even as she fell. She felt it inside her, the warm glow, like a golden Mel-shaped statue that would remain with its hands raised in righteous spellcasting even if she lay crumpled in a pool of blue blood at its feet. The more the battle raged the more she glowed. She had never felt a purpose quite this defined. It was comforting, especially with two frantic toad brains screaming in her mind to bury herself in mud until they all went away.

* * *

The chaos of battle whirrled about Kale and his foe, the mercenary able to pull Kaelos off his feet, but too slow to capitalize on his vulnerable position. Making his way deftly to his feet, the swordsman burned with rage as Kale looked on. The scrape of blade on chain punctuated an already desperate battle, as sounds still came from up above, Wolf still lay on the ground, and the lizard things continued their merciless pounding.

Balanced on the balls of his feet, Kale felt cool pins and needles, even above the searing skin-burns. The situation was desperate; something drastic would have to turn the tide of the battle.

Singed hands gripped tightly about his weapons, Kale was frustrated as he planned his retreat... again. Anxiety welled up as he dodged yet another expert strike. About the room, all his companions were bloodied. This task was too much for Wolf, too much for Kale... and the entire team was just steps from folding and being overrun.

Swallowing his pride, the young mercenary knew what he had to do. Ultimately, the team's fate would rest in the hands of the one Kale trusted the least. Wheeling about and rolling over a short crate, Kale slipped out of engagement with Kaelos, running as he could to where the rest of his bloody crew made their stand. Dropping his flail in favor of a carefully wrapped item, he slid himself between Cord and Sebastion, forming what defensive wall he could.

His attention, however, was not on the two hulking reptiles. His eyes were on one death mage- Burl, the naive and hunted man whose inquiries into the dark arts put Kale on guard. Burl, of unknown fate, and of innocent or ignorant association with something much bigger than those bleeding in the cave. Burl the dark. Burl the hunted. Burl, their only hope.

The mage had risked his life for theirs before... that was the only consolation to Kale as he extended in his blistered hand the one thing that would make the necromancer so much more powerful than any of his companions.

"Line 'em up and take 'em out," Kale barked in a tone that reserved any questions the mage might have, for later. Placing the Wolf Master's Lightning Wand in Burl's right hand, Kale turned to fend off his deadly enemies.

 Looking at the wand, it took Burl only a moment to realize that the he had been handed the wand that had been removed from the leader of the werewolf faction, a wand that had spewed out lightning bolts.

Burl knew how to operate wands, but he was unsure as to what effect he would have having never operated this one. Not only that, but he was unfamiliar with the magic that was contained within. He did know that lightning did usually follow a straight line and could jump from one target to another, but sometimes it also struck and moved from the target to the next closest target. Using this weapon in close combat could be dangerous, but since Kale had given it to him and told him to use it, then he must feel it was safe to do so.

Burl looked over the situation in front of him. Moving a bit to his right he tried to line up the wand so as to possibly strike both dragonkin. From this position, he thought that he might be able to do so without endangering Sebastion or Cord, that is if the bolt traveled in a straight line.

Burl levelled the wand at his target; the two hulking dragonkin. The spell trigger activated, the entire wand pulsing into bright blue luminescence as inside it eldritch powers converged and magnified.

With a clap of thunder an arc of lightning lashed out to scourge and crackle over the foe for a fraction of a moment, leaving its outline etched into everyones vision. The reptilian warriors had fast reflexes for their size but werent' fast enough; caught off-guard by the magical strike, they suffered badly. One of the burly creatures toppled, a smoking carcass badly burned by the electricity, collapsing into a blackened and smoking heap. The other screamed in pain and rage at the burns across its skin, juddering and frothing as the last vestiges of energy crackled visibly across its skin.

Within his chamber, Cancer flinched at the sound of the lightning blast, most of the outside room hidden from his view. He sneered at Ebri's words, spitting at her. "You think you can take me, wench?" He followed his question with a slightly hysterical cackle as more arcane syllables spilled from his mouth, and fiery energy coalesced from mid-air to form around one of his hands in a great claw of flame that flickered and crackled greedily, slashing at the monk with the fiery appendage. Ebri easily dodged the swipe but could feel from its proximity the great heat it was emitting; if she was struck by it the incandescent claw would burn her badly indeed.

Blue energy flew from the hands of Melisande once again, slamming into the still-reeling warrior recovering from Burl's lightning bolt. It staggered as the bolts tore gory craters out of its flank, but the bloodied and burned beast still refused to topple where any normal man would have been long dead.

Instead it went berserk.

It's roars of pain turned into roars of anger as blood began to trickle from its mouth, stubbornly refusing to flee or die and instead hamemring at the nearest enemy it could see with its heavy mace, hitting Sebastion with a crunch and dropping the warrior with a spray of gore as his chest caved in. Screaming in berserk fury it stepped over the body and moved to hack down Cord; but the battered monk managed to dodge aside, pushing the swipe away from him as the dragonkin staggered from the impetus of its own assault.

Wolf poured the healing potion down his own throat; strangely it seemed to elicit new groans of agony but he managed to get himself to his feet and numbly pick up his sword from nearby.

Ebri struck out with a blow designed to stun her opponent for a moment, but as she punched at the mage he managed to dodge aside without much effort from the strike, her own attacks hampered by this opponents fiery fearsome claw which she couldn't afford to touch.

Kaelos came charging over to fight alongside the towering dragonkin, furiously hacking at Cord, by again the elderly monk managed to step aside from the new assault without too much effort. In response the monk was unable to get in a good strike, forced onto the defensive by both enemies.

Then Wyshira wove her magic and moisture in the air around her crystallised into solid form,. sent slashing through the air like tiny knives by the divine magic; the dragonkin staggered under this new barrage, tottered, and fell for good with dozens of small slashes torn into it. Kaelos managed to avoid the worst of the knife spray but was injured too, and looked to be near the end of his fighting capabilities.


----------



## Broccli_Head

Go Team Go!


----------



## Carnifex

I have to say, I thinl that the round of combat I just posted up was probably the turning point in the battle.

The party could deal with the cultists and the monk, even the wizard and his conjurations. What really causde them the trouble was the dragonkin. For CR 3 creatures, these critters are very hard - high hit points and AC makes them hard to fell, and high attack bonus and strength means two punishing strikes per round from each dragonkin. The party was already battered enough that if it hadn't been for the lightning wand they would have suffered far worse, and possibly lost the battle.

Of course, things could have been even *worse* if Kale had been captured during his earlier run-in with Cancer and the alienist had gotten hold of the wand of lightning bolt for himself 

So far this battle there have been another two enw spells used; firstly _*baatezu barb blast*_ and then *elemental claw*. I'll post both of these on the SH at some point soon


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## Horacio

Good update, Carnifex!

Well described battle  I want more!


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## Maldur

Great stuff!

And you know I want to see all the game goodies you have secreted away on your HD


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## Carnifex

Maldur said:
			
		

> *Great stuff!
> 
> And you know I want to see all the game goodies you have secreted away on your HD *




What I might actually do is start up a thread on House Rules and put spells, monsters, etc. on that instead


----------



## Carnifex

_“WOW!” _, was all a startled Burl could utter as the electrical energy erupted from the wand, jolting his hand upward and sending him back a step as he was totally unprepared for what had happened

Melisande thought the thing was going down when just after Burl's thunderous strike with a lightning bolt her energy waves grounded in its scaly hide. It staggered, blood dripping from its crocodilian jaw and the blank look of death glazing its yellow eyes--but only for a moment. She was getting ready to cheer, aware that Wolf was moving, restored by Wyshira's divine intervention, when the dragon-thing came out of its stagger coiled like a spring and screaming brought around a mace so fast it whistled. 

Her knees went weak. There were horrible sights and sounds in a Manipulation lab, but nothing quite like the thick crunch of the mace as it crumpled Sebastion like one of the straw-stuffed effigies they beat and burned on certain holidays in Carthagia. Dizzily she recovered her spear and used it to lean on for a second while clearing the spots from her vision. 

_Gods in the heavens._ She tottered forth, seeing Wyshira move in but not at all feeling sure the priestess was going to be able to help. She found herself nearly as devastated as Sebastion looked. Why did it feel like _her_ chest had been gouged out with a blunt weapon? Brilliant red blood had splattered the whole room, she saw as she approached, trembling and pale as a winter dawn. 

_A hired blade--Why not?--Isn't this what he expected?--Wars and warriors always end like this. Don't they. _

There were still sounds of fighting somewhere--and a rubbery multi-eyed menace flopping about in the cavern where she had left it--but Mel dropped to her knees, patting her pockets absently for a vial of healing potion part of her brain was not sure she still had. She tried to say something to Wyshira. Her larynx failed.


* * *

_You think you can take me, wench? _

Ebri could hear that the tide of the battle was turning, but she could not afford to split her focus; she could not turn and look. 
As the fire seared past her, an odd temptation hovered on the edge of her thoughts._ It would be unworthy. A distraction. Focus. _

She was a priestess, but of no conventional kind. Useless superstition; her faith required self discipline and confidence, faith that her training had been sufficient, not suppliant whining to idols. To pray now would be folly._ See the enemy. Direct your attention there. Prayer is the comfort of the weakminded and hopeless. _

"Yes." she replied simply, and lashed out again with her fist.

* * *

Wyshira ran back to Sebastian, afraid of what she'd find when she got there. The monster had dealt the mercenary a devastating blow with its mace, and she feared that he would be beyond her aid. But like Wolf only moments before, Sebastian clung tenaciously to life. His breathing was ragged and shallow, and his blood was flowing freely, but he he was still alive. _Amazing that air can even reach his lungs with that wound! _the priestess thought briefly, then began another spell.

* * *

With the wooden platform and stairs now merely charred embers in a heap below the doorway, which was set seven feet up from the floor, Burl could tell that it wasn't going to be easy for him to just clamber up there. At the moment he couldn't even see the conflict within, but that was easily solved by climbing on top of one of the few tables that remained intact after the devastating melee that had wrecked most of the room. Within he could see the gaunt merchant-mage, clad in his rich clothes, one hand shrouded in a claw of billowing flame that cast strange flickering shadows around the small chamber that was otherwise merely lit by a single lamp; Ebri darting through those same shadows as if she was herself one, dodging and gracefully weaving around to avoid being immolated by the vicious spellcaster. It would be difficult to place a conventional missile into that shadowy combat without fear of hitting his ally - but Burl had magic at his disposal. 

Ebri heard the magical crackle as bolts of energy coalesced from Burl's hands and launched out to zip past her, unerringly arcing towards Cancer at an incredible speed through the flowing melee to smash into the wizard with flashes of electrical discharge, sending him staggering and unbalanced. 

Out in the main chamber, it was quickly over for Kaelos; for while the swordsman menaced Cord, Kale drove his blade into the cultist's back and with a hiss of acid the warrior finally crumpled, well and truly dead. 

Despite the magical assault, Cancer was still fully capable of putting up a good fight, and drew from his belt with his free hand a scroll, a parchment delicately inked with fine calligraphy in arcane symbols. With a few words he invoked its power, magical energy coalescing behind Ebri into a hulking beast of skinless muscle, a broad-shouldered monstrosity from which fangs and bone spikes extruded at random angles, mouths scattered over it quietly whispering in unison on some foul, alien tongue. Now Burl's path of vision into the chamber was entirely blocked by the beast; and Ebri's escape route too. With an almighty crunch the monstrosity unleashed itself on the monk, great bladed talons rending into her and foul teeth finding a purchase on her flesh. Blood flowed freely as she was tossed aside like a ragdoll to slide down the wall, smearing it with her blood. Merciful unconcious had already claimed her. 

Cancer laughed hysterically at the carnage, almost clapping his hands in delight before remembering that one of them was sheathed in flame, and in some dark and foreboding tongue spoke to his conjuration. The seven-foot tall muscle-beast turned to look down on the room below, its sinister whispering increasing in intensity as it surveyed for another target. 

Without another thought, Burl took aim with the wand and this time prepared for what would happen, launched a bolt of lightning at the summoned monstrosity.

Melisande, trembling in shock, was the first to Sebastion's side. He was alive at least, blood-spattered but alive, though his breathing was so faint she could barely hear it. She found her potion of healing, pouring it down the warriors throat, and was rewarded with the sight of the blood flow stopping, gore coagulating round his wounds and a little strength returning to his breath. Looking close it seemed the damage wasn't too bad, the mace having pulverised the muscle and flesh of his chest but the bones not too badly damaged - she couldn't see any of the signs indicating one of his ribs might have punctured his lungs. 

Wolf began to make his slow and painful way towards the door and the summoned abomination that stood within it, standing in a wary stance with blade ready should the creature rush for him. Nearby, Wyshira hurried to the side of Sebastion to kneel by Melisande, healing magic pouring from her hands to seal injuries more fully and numb the pain with cool relief. The surge of energy brought Sebastion back to conciousness as if he was surfacing from a deep mountain lake, shocking him into alertness with the pain that remained and the damp cold of the chamber.

He lurched up, eyes flying wide, gasping for breath as the jolting surge ran through him. For a brief moment he felt like a drowning man bursting through the ice of a stream, dragging in air as though it might be his last chance. 

"I was dead..." he mumbled, scrabbling aimlessly on the floor for his blade. "Dead.." 

His hand clamped, finally, about the handle in the centre of his weapon, and he clutched it to him, a death-like grip on the leather bindings. 

"...dead...dead... I was dead..." he mumbled for a moment, before looking up at the two women who had healed him. He could feel the darkness wrapping him tightly, cold and warm at once, smothering and freeing, crushing his body but stealing his mind away into the bright darkness... 

"I was dead... how... what...dead..." he continued to mutter, lost in the sensations and confusion.

Wyshira was fully focused on the spell that would save Sebastian, and only dimly aware of Melisande's presence, there on her knees across from her. But then the mercenary coughed and gasped his way back into consciousness, and the priestess could take the time to notice the shock and the dread in the other young woman's eyes. The expression on Melisande's face spoke volumes. 

But before Wyshira could offer a word of comfort, Mel was on her feet again, cheeks flushed with - what? embarassment? - and was levelling some kind of rod at another monstrosity framed in the upstairs doorway. 

Meanwhile, Sebastian flailed about and muttered inchoherently about death, and Wyshira tried to soothe his jangled senses. "Shh now. You're all right. You weren't dead. Not... quite." 

His eyes were wide in his pale, drained face as he stared at her. She wondered how she must look to him; her hands, arms, tunic, all smeared with blood and gore. "Don't move. Just rest a moment," she went on calmly, reaching for a couple of vials of healing waters from her pack - but not for Sebastian's use. 

"Cord, I need you," she called, looking up. The dwarf was standing guard nearby. Even with most of her attention focused elsewhere Wyshira had known that he was nearly done in. She winced in sympathy at his obvious pain and weariness. 

She stood up and reached for his gnarled but steady hand, and squeezed it lightly before cupping his fingers around the two vials. "Drink these," she said, then proceeded to describe what she could of the battle going on around them, while also trying to count heads and see for herself who was where.

_What in the world did we get ourselves into?_ Kale wondered as he turned once again to face whatever horrid beast Cancer had brought up from the depths. Why should anyone want to bring others into such terrible business? Too late for all of that. Wyshira was already at work on Sebastion, and Melisande seemed to be regaining her composure. _She'll be clear-headed just in time to experience her own death_ he thought pessimistically, but "You might want to use that" was all he said. Point with Mel's spear briefly as he turned, the mercenary indicated the sorceress' curious fire rod. 

Mel smiled coldly as she drew the Fire-Serpent Rod from her pocket. She remembered the hellish, flaming snake from the kobold caverns with a mixture of fear and satisfaction. _It's working for the good guys now,_ she thought, leveling the twisted wooden wand at the creature in the doorframe above and crying in a steady, clear voice, _"Agemon!" _

Tongues of lightning flared out of Burl's wand again to lash out and scourge the skinless abomination standing in the high doorway, scattering droplets of boiling gore around it as it burned and twisted, great strips of muscle blackening and wihtering. Still it stood, severly injured but obviously at least a little resistant to the electrical energy that had struck it, and still capable of rending a mere human apart with its mighty talons. 

And now Kale sought to attract the attention of this mighty monster, swearing and gesturing coarsely at it, attempting to draw its ire upon himself; and its smoking features turned to glare at the man; he felt a nauseous quake of fear at the things unyielding gaze, a similar fear to what eh had felt at teh alien beasts already summoned by the crazed wizard. Dropping agilely down to the floor of the chamber, it charged with alarming speed and silence at the rogue, merely faint footfalls and malicious alien whispering marking its passage as it bore down on him. He thrust out as it closed, pulling the table across for cover, but what should have been a solid and damaging strike barely injured the monstrosity as it loomed over him, even with all its weight behind it; apparently it had some horrific resilience against such mundane weapons. Fortunately his improvised shield-table caught the first claw-swipe but the beast, now in close quarters, prepared to deliver more, and it didn't look like the table would resist all that much battering. 

Behind it, in the open doorway, Cancer appeared, another incantation on his lips and one hand still shrouded in flame. Dark energy cracklde as he pointed a finger at Burl, and then the necromancer felt agony slashing up and down his nerves, pure pain pouring into his body for a few moments of a crippling intensity. 

Then Melisande's fire rod shimmered with heat, warming her hand as it conjured into existence the fiery snake bound to it; the lava-fanged serpent struck out viciously at the monster, its bite burning new gouges down the fleshy muscle of the horror. 

Seeing the summoned beast attacking Kale, Wolf closed as rapidly as he could with his pained hobble, bastard sword flickering in the light as he hacked at it but with little effect and only minor injury to the monster. Cord was able to drink down the two potions proferred by Wyshira, healing magic flooding his system and healing up some of the injuries he had suffered, though still leaving him badly wounded.


----------



## Maldur

ooooooh, more more!!

thx Carnifex!


----------



## Mr Fidgit

very nice 

at this point, about how many rounds of combat have there been?


----------



## Carnifex

At least 8 rounds, IIRC, so far... but it's nearing its end now


----------



## Carnifex

The last vestiges of the darkness slowly unwrapped themselves from Sebastion's soul, the muttered words of the healer lost to his shock, but the soothing tone guiding him back. 

He rose with a start to his feet, realisation suddenly striking him that his backside was not the place to be spending his second chance, and as his viewpoint receded from the floor, the source of his problems hove into view: Cancer. 

The smug, irritating mage strutted about, apparently out of reach, above the fallen woodwork, but Sebastion had weapons beyond the reach of his sword, and slipping a hand over his shoulder, he grasped the handle of one of his throwing axes and hurled it through the air towards that obnoxious grin.

* * *

_What was that? Are you okay? Are you okay? _

Burl could barely hear Spike, but it was Spike and that meant he was still alive and kicking. Shaking the cobwebs from his mind and overcoming the pain he answered his companion, _Yes Spike, I’m still here. _

Taking stock of his body, he couldn’t find any blood, but still the pain remained. Again he heard Spike, _You got to do something about that guy or get out of here. My vote is for leaving. _

But Burl wasn't a coward. He couldn’t leave his friends behind, not when victory looked so close. Stretching his body to his full height, yet still with knees shaking, Burl began the manipulations to a spell while speaking clearly the words.

* * *

Melisande could hardly take the time to ponder what power she now had in her hands with the Fire-Serpent summoned to do her whim. She pocketed the wand like a hot potato and turned her outraged blue glare on the mage Cancer. 

He could not be taking in pleasure in this. Yet an insane rictus twisted his face as he surveyed the scene of his defeat--or did he have something else up his villainous sleeve? 

The answer to that question exceeded the scope of even Melisande's curiosity. Expertly now, though she could feel an emptiness growing in her mind where the magic had been, she raised her hands in another arcane gesture.

* * *

Once again Burl invoked his magics, this time in the form of ice crystallising in his hand in the form of a long, sharp dagger of cold. It launched out at the wizard up on his overlooking perch, striking true and biting into the flesh of the spellslinger who howled in pain as a great patch of frost crawled across his skin from the grievous wound. 

Kale, desperately trying to bring the table round to take the strikes aimed at him, lashed out with the brine blade at the sight of an opening in the muscle-beast's defences; the blade slipped into the noisome, skinless flesh, the acid barely raising a blister but the sharp edges of the weapon brutally damaging the beast's innards as it sliced into its chest; with a foul death-gargle the whispering mouths finally fell quiet and the monster collapsed, quickly discorporating into foul smoke which rapidly dispersed. 

Cancer, seeing his summoned creature disappear and feeling the chill bite of Burl's spell still, wove his hands in eldritch patterns to send a thin blue beam lancing out at Kale; fortunately for the rogue, the pained wizard's aim was off and it simply scored a line of frost across the floor next to him before petering out. Somewhere out in the darkness there was a giggling whimper as the flying monstrosity that he had earlier conjured simply evaoprated into thin air. 

Then, once again, sapphire light pulsed from Melisande's fingers, this time hurtling towards Cancer to impact into his chest and send him staggering. He screamed in rage rather than pain, spitting and yelling curses and threats while preparing to cast more magic. As the others either milled confusedly or, in the case of Wyshira, looked for alternate routes up to the higher chamber, Sebastion finished the matter with his throwing axe, the finely balanced weapon scything through the air to bury itself in the belly of the wizard. 

Blood flowing freely from his wounds, he finally toppled from the doorway to hit the ground below with a thud. 

Apart from the mercenaries, nothing else remained alive in the chamber.


----------



## Maldur

wow the power of concentrated firepower.

thx, Carnifex


----------



## Carnifex

I've just started a new thread in the House Rules section for the 'crunchy' bits from the SH - I'll post any new spells, beasties, magic items etc. over there instead. The link to the thread is here:

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=39102


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## Horacio

An update and a House Rules thread? wow, Carnifex, you really treat us very well


----------



## Carnifex

I've just posted the rules for the Baatezu Barbed Blast that Cancer fired off at Kale in the last fight up on my House Rules thread, here:

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=666213#post666213

Rather a painful, nasty spell


----------



## Carnifex

Suddenly, amidst the pulse of Sebastion's hearbeat -_ I have a heartbeat..._ - and the clash of blades, claws, flesh and spiralling, fizzing magics, there was silence.

It lasted for barely a moment until the wizard's corpse struck the floor with a resounding, reassuring thud, the hilt of Sebastion's axe rising from his chest like an obscene victory banner.

Relieved that the mage was dead, Burl looked for more targets. Seeing none, he started counting his companions all of whom he could see. Relieved that they were all alive, he started to sigh his relief when the thought struck him,  _Ebri._

Yelling, “Ebri. Has anyone seen Ebri?”

Realizing there could only be one place she could be, Burl began to look for some way to get into the room above. The dead would have to wait as long as there was a chance for Ebri to still be alive.

A wealth of thoughts assailed Sebastion about what had happened, and he found himself gathering the sheathes to his sword without thinking, going through the motions of cleaning the blade on automatic as he tried to cope with the emotions.

When Burl asked his question, and started looking towards the doorway above his head, he finally had something to focus on, and with quick look at the climb he turned to Kale.

"Can you make that if I give you a boost?" he asked, bending his knees slightly and holding his hands ready as a stirrup. 

Kale turned to the sound of Sebastion's voice. He was already in position and poised underneath the smoking doorway. "Right."  Kale siad simply, thankful for the tap back to reality. Quickly, he sucked in air as he took his first step, the fog of war fading enough to take hold of just how badly he'd been burned. Sebastion stood at the base of the doorway, Cancer's crumpled body mere feet away. Sparing only moments to jostle the mage's head with his boot, Kale accepted Seb's boost and pulled himself into the room, mantling quickly and silently with pistol in hand.

No immediate threats presented themselves, and Kale looked sheepishly down at Seb as he manuvered the other man's weapon._ I thought he was dead..._ he thought simply, then cut short as his gaze settled on a dark-wrapped heap in the corner. A few seconds passed, then Kale stepped back to the doorway. "Bring Wyshira up," he said, in a completely neutral voice.

Smoke lay heavy and still in the foul mage's study, the sights and smells a cloying scene of destruction. Books and papers filled the room, but what normally would have been Kale's first interest would have to be neglected. Walking reluctantly to where Ebri lay, he unsettled her in her expanding pool of blood. Touching her gently, the blood under his hands was still warm- either the shadow of a passed life, or a meager hope for one to continue. Applying pressure gently to the mangled places, he provided, he suposed, just one respectful plattitude for a woman whose spirit was already bound for the afterlife.

Whatever that means, Kale wondered cynically, and the only thing he could feel for sure was a profound sense of loss. 

Mel found she was shaking violently with the adrenaline let-down. When Kale lowered his table and gave her the most out-of-place smile possible--it was weirder in this room filled with ozone and greasy hellspawn smoke than her skin tone was--it occurred to her there had once been chairs; finding them scattered she chose instead a crate and lowered herself onto it, trying to keep her panting from turning to sobs.

The last two times she'd been gutted like a big blue fish, but somehow this was worse.

Burl mentioned Ebri, and for a moment Mel thought of going in search of her but her legs felt like rubber and anyway, as she murmured with a slightly shrill giggle, "Probably snuck off for soup."

Finally she remembered the fire serpent. It coiled on the floor over by where Sebastion was boosting Kale. She found her balance and went over closer to it, feeling the waves of heat off its white-hot flaming body. A wonder the wood of the furniture had not caught fire around it. Pierre wanted her to tell it to shoo. But Mel had a new pet, and its uses were not yet spent. She gestured toward the door where the dragon-men had come from. "Let's have an explore. You go first," she told the thing, one hand on the wand in her pocket as if she could use it to beat the serpent to sparks if it made a funny move.

Wyshira expected to be needed upstairs and so wasn't surprised when Kale called for her. The trouble was, she just couldn't make her feet walk any nearer to the Fire Serpent. She stared at it dumbly, eyes wide, and tried to summon up a calming image of a subterranean pool. But it was no good.

_DM's Note: Wyshira, as a water genasi, isn't too keen on fiery things..._

Melisande spoke to the thing then, some kind of command, and began to move in Wyshira's direction.

*"Stop!"* the priestess shouted, in spite of herself. She looked around nervously, embarassed by her outburst. "I uh..." She licked her dry lips and looked over at Mel, green eyes pleading. "Could you just ..... make it go away now?"

* * *

Ebri floated in non-existence, surrounded by the insistent chattering of dead relatives and spirit-kin. Whether it was really them or just hallucinatory images brought on by being near to death the woman did not know...

Ebri felt herself pleasantly divorced from her body. She did not mind, she found. This was, after all, what enlightenment was supposed to be like. The distractions of the body no longer mattered. The mind was freed. One became pure energy, unfettered...

_Oh, it will be so good to have someone new to talk to-- _the voice, which she had reluctantly identified as her mother's great aunt, chattered on, interrupting. _Do you know, the new Zol, she just sits there and won't even talk? She can't even hear us when they get her stinking drunk, which is practically half the time. The other times, she's so scared to say anything she just sits there like she's in some catatonic trance-- Too bad you had your little crisis and ran off, Ebri... even when you just made stuff up, you were still giving decent advice. Usually it wasn't too far off what we were yelling at you-- Just think--

I am freed from thinking._ Ebri countered. _You are illusory, Great Aunt. And I no longer care for the superstitious fantasies of the clan, in any case. I am beyond that--

Just think--soon you'll be shouting at her too, on the other side. Isn't it funny how things work out? The irony-- Maybe you'll do better than us--

I serve the higher Purpose--

Oh, whatever, everyone is in denial until they get here. You'll see soon enough--

I will not--_ Ebri insisted, and wondered how much longer it would take, the dying of her body.
Somehow, the prospect of eternal blissful peace with the cacophany of relatives continually interrupting was not optimistic.
Perhaps she was serving the Purpose in dying now; she could not know the Prophet's ends. The Plan was mysterious and ineffable. But she had been give an assignment, which was not complete. _Perhaps the ward is also dead...?_

That thought was unacceptable, suddenly, and she did pray now, when she had disdained it before. This was the more appropriate time, after all: action was impossible. _Great Prophet, behold your servant. My only wish has been to serve your ends. Do with me now as you will, whether it be to cease existence, or to continue refining this spirit in flesh and fulfilling your Purpose..._

* * *

Mel only paused a second at Wyshira's outburst. The priestess was clearly on edge with post-battle nerves, and Mel could relate. It did not occur to her she could possibly be serious about dispelling the fire-serpent. The fire-serpent was nifty. And it could come in very handy should more cowardly followers of Gilamesh be crouching in the corners of the passageway beyond.

"Don't worry, it's tame," she reassured Wyshira with a smile, and continued straight on toward the priestess and the passage. "We're just going to have a look around." 

Wyshira edged away from the sorceress and the fiery serpent, careful not to pesent her back to them, and made her way toward the group gathered beneath the upstairs doorway._ It's tame.... it's tame..... it's tame....._ she repeated like a mantra in her head, latching on to the words and taking strength from them. By the time she got to Sebastian, she was clammy and shaking. She breathed a small sigh of relief when Melisande and her "pet" disappeared into the passageway.

"All right," she said to the mercenary waiting to help her up. "I'm ready."


----------



## Carnifex

I've just posted the Claws of Gilamesh spell up on the House Rules thread here:

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=674568#post674568


----------



## Carnifex

As Sebastion helped up Kale, then Wyshira, then Cord, into the chamber above, they at last had the chance for a measured look around, to take stock of what this place had once been. Cancer's room was small, though hardly cramped, the walls covered in shelves of musty books, the fitful candle-light playing strange shadows along them. An ancient oaken desk dominated one side of the room, parchments and books laid out across it. Small, strange pieces were littered around the place, here and there; odd-looking crystals, preserved creatures in jars of embalming fluid, scrawled notes pinned onto books. 

Slumped against one bookcase, the bloodied form of Ebri was crumpled. Crimson rivulets had poured down from her brutal injuries but still she lived; her breathing came regularly despite her apparent lack of conciousness. 

* * *

The cacophony of relatives was suddenly driven away as if by a tornado, as pain reignited in her senses and reality flooded back in. She was cold and damp; damp in her own blood. She hurt, the great gouges really really hurt. And her head felt like it was full of cotton wool. Around her the figures of some of the others were blurry but at least they were there. It felt like... bandages? They'd started to bandage her up then, to stop the bleeding at least, and she'd come round. She hurt too much to move yet, but at least she was aware of the world around her. 

Yet one thing remained in her mind. She could not shake the distinct sensation that just before this return to a world of pain and life, she had sensed something in that great mental void, something beyond the cackling relatives jabbering at her. Something monolithic calling to her, a fortress of something beyond the material. Now she couldn't sense it, but it had been there, waiting for her. 

"Be still," Cord said kindly, brushing his own hand encrusted with dried blood across her own, hoping to bring her some degree of comfort. "We almost lost you." 

Ebri gasped . wanting to curl up in a ball by reflex. Any control her mind might have had gave way to her animal nature. _A creature's instincts are designed to preserve one's life, and increase chances of survival when the body is threatene,._ she recalled, trying desperately to recall the lecture on using pain as a focusing tool to heighten awareness. It evaded her. It was painful, _and_ useless. _One breathes more rapidly, more deeply, sending the benefits of air to the muscles rapidly. One protects the most vital organs from attack. One calls out so that other members of the family unit or group may realize that one is wounded and render aid. _This was some solace for the loss of mental control. This was a rare instance when instinct was helpful; more often it ran contrary to the overarching goals of the self...causing one to run in fear, for instance, or cry out at the wrong time, or seize up in the presence of snakes and high places... 

It seemed the Great Prophet had need of her further. This, at least, she chose to believe. For if the Prophet had not, why then had she not gone on to that great fortress beyond? Of course, it was not an _actual_ fortress. That would be a limited mental construct. But another destination, another level of existence... and it had called to her-- She still had important work to do. Or so she hoped-- 

Groggily, she wet her lips, and tried to focus her eyes on the nearest shape, waving her hand feebly. "Melisande?-" 

She must get up, she must see-- hopefully, she had sufficient strength reserves to say the prayers properly. _Or perhaps the Prophet will support me further, if I fail... _Stilling her mind as best she could, through the pain, she began to say the words that would draw on the power of divine healing.

Cord sensed movement as the others began to retrieve weapons and belongings, returning to some sense of normality in the wake of the deadly battle. Exploration had begun, it seemed, a process that he wanted little part in, even if he was able to help the group. His place, as before, was to protect and stand over those in need. That place was now with Ebri, at Wyshira's side. 

He brought a hand near to hers, grasping her hand weakly but solidly. She shook, ever so slightly, as she tended to Ebri's wounds, and Cord understood. He did as well. Neither knew this woman well, but her willing sacrifice so that the company might succeed, to bring pain and death on herself when it might have otherwise destroyed another . . . Cord was glad she remained alive.

* * *

As the experts arrived on scene, Kale was no longer needed. Ebri's lifeblood still pumped in her, though the narrow margin by which she lived was something Kale had never seen before. At the very brink, yet with Wyshira and Cord huddled over her, the woman just might live. 

With the team accounted for, it was back to business for the mercenary, securing the area and making sure they were ready to move. Ebri was a matter for the healers, but at least Kale could make sure the rest of them weren't caught with their pants down if something nasty were to arrive. 

_If something nasty were to... come home,_ Kale corrected, thinking there could be no more foul place for horrors to live. Sure, the rooms and study were civil enough, candle lit and upholstered in old, quality carpets. But the very room made his skin tingle, and something told him that this wasn't the worst. Wherever those double doors lead, that was where the monsters had come from. 

Making a short circuit about the room, Kale searched for any traps or surprises that might be awaiting his companions. Ebri began to moan back into consciousness. Feeling a bit responsible for the debacle he'd led the woman into, Kale stepped out of the room. 

And step was the right word, walking right out into open air, his legs recovering like great springs, eight feet down. His sking exploded again in cracking burning pain: how could he have forgotten? Standing up slowly from his nearly squatting position, he saw again Cancer's crumpled body lying at his feet. 

Rough and broken terrain was like home to the irregular fighter. But the contours of the place didn't say anything about the dark wrongness of where the team lingered. 

Reaching down, Kale loosed the axe from Cancer's gut. Breaking free with a sickening sound, the blade was cleaned, then returned to its owner. "Nice shot," Kale said with brevity, and no small bit of understatement. "And I believe this belongs to you?" he asked rhetorically as he returned Sebastion's pistol unfired. 

Nearby, Wolf had recovered familiar feral nature, and seemed almost everyday but for the ignificant injuries that Kale knew he must be hiding. Wyshira's healing had brought him back from the brink, but wounds still remained. And he wasn't the only one. Lingering for long moments, Kale regarded his mentor. "How ya doing?" he asked simply, not sure what to make of this whole mess around them. Wolf stood there, implacable as ever, while Kale wondered what he thought about all of it. 

Wolf was leaning against a wall with a pained look on his face as Kale approached him to ask about his wellbeing. "Well, those scaled bastards nearly put an end to me and then Wyshira's healing potion nearly forced one of my ribs through my lung." He spat a glutinous gobbet of mucous and blood from his mouth. "But I survived, didn't I? Now..." And then he looked pointedly at the gloom-ridden area seperated off by bars. 

The two mercenaries approached the cell cautiously, Kale with his torch held high, and faint whimpers caught their ears as the firelight glinted off terrified eyes within. A number of small figures were huddled at the back of the slave-pen. 

Wolf gave a disgusted snarl. "Children. They've got a bunch of children in manacles in there."

* * *

Melisande's short journey down the corridor led to first a turn in the stone-carved passageway, lit by a few torch brackets, and then into another chamber. It reminded her of nothing so much as a church. 

The chapel was small, a few pews and an altar at the end. Tapestries and emblems of draconic nature, flames and monstrous scaled beasts, hung from the walls, and the altar stone was stained with the black of dried blood. A chapel. A chapel to Gilamesh, and fortunately one that was unoccupied now. 

The fire serpent sizzled and began to go out, eventually collapsing into a pile of cool ash. 

With a frown Melisande took in the chapel of Gilamesh, hardly noticing now when the Fire-Serpent hissed into nothingness. Before her a tapestry-woven dragon's obscenely wide maw gaped, flaming, while claws pinned languishing nude bodies to jagged mountain rocks. Mel made a face. Then she sprang into action. 

With great resolve she shouldered the nearest pew, shoving with all her small might until the heavy wooden bench was pushed up against the wall. Using the pew as a stepladder she climbed up and pushed the bar holding the tapestry out of its hooks. With a dusty sigh the ugly scene folded and slid to the floor. 

Before moving to the next tapestry she paused in the doorway of the chapel to call out, "Can I have some help in here? Bring torches." 

With a few helping hands she figured she could have all the tapestries and pews piled up and flaming in a quarter of an hour. There was no way she was leaving this chapel intact for whoever--or whatever--its next occupants might be. The heap of ash would be a message Gilamesh's followers could surely understand, being disciples of destruction themselves. 

As she pushed the next pew up to the wall she thought of the crucified fleshtearer she'd found in the gnoll druid glade. Her lips pressed together in firm line of determination. The pew groaned as if in feeble protest and slid reluctantly across the stone. 

* * *

The warmth of the chapel fire on her back soothed Melisande's frayed nerves wonderfully. Some fire for the dragon-lord... She'd heard in stories how dangerous it was to be snotty in the face of the gods, but the opportunity was simply too grand. Give Gilamesh a taste of his own medicine! 

Wolf had released a group of emaciated children from the slavers' pens. Though righteous anger flared in her again at the sight of poor, ragged things, the chapel fire would have to be appeasement enough. Gently, she shepherded the young ones to a spot where they could feel the warmth of the fire and pushed a table in the way of the carnage so they would not have to look. 

With instinctive maternal gestures she comforted the confused, sobbing children. "Don't cry. We'll have you home again in no time. The wicked people are gone now. Here, do you want to see my toad?" 

She let Pierre keep the children busy, and smiling serenly stood drying her still slightly damp clothing and watching while the others scoured the place for loot. What an odd reaction to stress, she thought. She would much rather have burned the place down to the ground than grope the dead bodies. Then again, Burl was handling some pretty interesting stuff. She wouldn't mind having a peek at some of the potions or taking her share of much-needed gold, but was in no hurry. 

Eventually she got to wondering whether anyone had located Ebri Zol, and what Wyshira and Cord could possibly be doing upstairs for so long. Coyly she asked Sebastion for a boost, feeling very awkward and aware of her own weight, and hoisted herself up. 

There was a sheaf of papers on the defunct mage's desk. Curious, Mel rolled them up and tucked them all in her pocket. Maybe there would be something about the slavery trade that Lord Ecurius or the constabulary could investigate while the group went off on their mission to the mage-tower. A shame, really, that they couldn't stay and tackle the whole network themselves. 

As she turned toward the three huddled figures by the wall she realized the dark fluid on the floor was blood. They weren't just standing around conversing in esoteric riddles. Cord and Wyshira were trying to save Ebri Zol's life!

"Ebri? Oh great gods. Is that _your_ blood?" In concern Mel nosed in between the clerics. 

* * *

"Melisande is fine, don't worry. She's downstairs," Wyshira soothed. _Playing with a conjured Fire Serpent, but... don't worry!_ She wondered briefly if the odd blue girl could have stumbled upon any more cultists by now. But then Ebri began to speak again, this time chanting a prayer that Wyshira recognized as a spell of curing. The Ishrakite listened with curiosity to the strange mutterings. 

A moment later, Melisande had climbed up and through the second-floor doorway behind them. Soon she was hovering over the three of them, anxiously asking after her protector. 

With a start of panic, Wyshira looked around for the fiery snake, then let out a sigh of relief when she saw that Mel was alone. There were so many mysteries surrounding this girl; where she once felt friendly toward her, she was now unsure. But she didn't hesitate to ease her mind on the matter of Ebri's condition. 

"She was asking about you just now," the priestess told the sorceress brightly. "She was badly hurt, but we got here in time, and I believe she'll be all right now." 

"Here, take this." Wyshira placed the last flask of healing waters in Melisande's hand and stood up. "Let her rest for a bit, and if she seems to need it, give her that. I'll send Sebastian up to help you get her back downstairs." 

Wyshira walked over to the doorway, weary and elated at the same time. The battle had taken its toll on her, but she carried a warm feeling inside: it had been a long time since she'd had the opportunity to be so useful.

* * *

Sebastion, hunkered down in the doorway, bow in hand, tried to block out the noises from behind him, tried to focus on his self-appointed task of guard, but it was a futile attempt. 

The fire crackled away unheard, even the clattering of manacles didn't register, truly, as his mind cycled over and over the insidious sensations in his memory from those few dark moments. 

Wyshira had told him he hadn't truly died, but he had felt the explosion into his chest, had ridden the first brief moments of the blow, had known his time was up. Already, the dark distant thoughts and feelings were becoming darker and more distant, slipping away from him as he edged further from the boundary. 

Standing up in disgust, realising his attention wasn't on the task, and all the purpose he served in the doorway was as a backlit target, he turned to see the huddled group of large eyed, slack-ribbed children peering suspiciously around. 

_Why starve them? Slavery's a vile trade, but it's supposed to be about efficiency - work that doesn't have to be paid for. What's efficient about hungry, weak children? _

He wandered slowly over, making sure his weapons were as hidden as they could get - not that he could do a great deal about the blood staining his mail - wary of the impression he might put across. 

Dipping into his pack, he pulled out a little of the rations that he had, and his waterskin, and passed it across to them with a smile. 

_She gave them a *frog* to look at? And a two headed one at that...? _

"Listen," he said gently, squatting down across the table from them, leaving them the security of the wood to hide behind, "we're going to head back up to the surface soon... we'll see that you are given something to eat. Who are you, are you from the city? Perhaps the guard will be able to help you find your families?" 

He watched the look in their eyes for just a brief moment, that was all it took before he could turn away: for all that he had - or perhaps hadn't - died a death of the flesh, these poor children had died a death of the soul... 

He lashed out with a boot at the nearest corpse, but it didn't make him feel any better, and he remained near the children, turning back to them, wishing there was something he could do. Children shouldn't be locked away in a hole in the ground to be sold for coin... 

"I'm Sebastion... what are your names?" he asked, quietly. 

Wyshira looked down from the upstairs doorway at the scene below. She avoided looking at the sprawling body of the dead mage, her eyes drawn instead to the small group of thin and raggedly-clothed children that had been released from the slavepen. It seemed obvious to her that many of them were in need of treatment for minor cuts and bruises. _Fresh food and water wouldn't hurt them any either,_ she thought. 

"Sebastian!" she called down, her voice sounding small in the semi-collapsed cellar. The mercenary was trying to talk to a couple of the older children who stood protectively between him and the younger ones, but he looked up at the sound of her voice. "Could you help me and Cord climb down? And Ebri is up here, hurt. Melisande might need you to climb up and help with her as well." 

Wyshira was curious to see if Sebastian showed any special reaction to hearing Melisande's name. She'd noticed the way the two of them seemed to step on each other's toes at every opportunity, but she'd also seen the look in Mel's eyes when Sebastian was grievously injured. _Does Sebastian feel the same?_ she wondered with a slight smile.


----------



## Carnifex

I can categorically state that I will return to normal posting schedule once I've finished Morrowind 

(Which willl happen soon since I'm getting near the end now with my level 31 orc battlemage  ).


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## Horacio

Carnifex said:
			
		

> *I can categorically state that I will return to normal posting schedule once I've finished Morrowind
> 
> (Which willl happen soon since I'm getting near the end now with my level 31 orc battlemage  ). *




I hope you finish it soon, very soon


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## Carnifex

In celebration of finally completing Morrowind with my 34th level Orc battlemage, here's a new spell on the House Rules thread, elemental claw 

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=696625#post696625


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## Horacio

and the update? Where is the update?


----------



## Carnifex

Groans, shifting weight, bleeding wounds, and whispers of encouragement were all the sounds Cord expected to hear in the underground chamber. The voices of children, accompanied by releasing manacles, were not a part of that list. 

He remained with Ebri as Wyshira rose to care for the children. He knew, much by experience, that they would not welcome an old blind dwarf. Perhaps later, but his sympathy would not help them from this dark prison. Wyshira, the embodiment of cool water and refreshing life, would prove far more effective. 

He sat by Ebri's side, nursing her back to consciousness with the smooth, comforting sound of his deep voice. She had taken quite a battering, and Cord was reminded of how close he had come only moments before. He shivered, his hand hesitating, with the memory. Long ago, he had denied the reliance on weaponry, just as he had denied his handicap. To use the instruments given to him was his place. But to be so close, with so little between him and the enemy, between his bare skin and certain death . . . Cord began to understand why many men embraced themselves in layers of iron and hide.

* * *

The clean-up operation worked at a fairly efficient rate, considering that most of the band were either in a state of faint shock or injured. Wolf managed to persuade the children to venture out of their cell once he retrieved the key from the torched corpse of Garus; four, all under sixteen and thin with bad nutrition. He sat them down and tried to find out more from them as others around him ransakced the devastated slaver base. Melisande soon had the chapel torched, the pile of tapestries and pews crackling merrily with warm light. 

Burl's magical spells and Kale's skills at searching gathered them up fairly soon a small pile of goods, the necromancer indicating which were magical. The slavers seemed to have gathered up a fair amoutn of money and goods; and a number of the crates contained strange, exotic goods, styled in a manner the band had never encountered before. 

From Cancer's body they retrieved his wand, an elaborate ivory piece that glimmered magically under Burl's witch-sight spell. He had a potion on him too, unfortunately unmarked as to what it did, as well as a small pouch of money. From the body of the tattooed monk they found another potion, this time clearly marked as a potent curative, as well as the ornate but non-magical silver bracers he wore and his money pouch. But then Burl noticed the straps he wore over his hands emanated strong magic too, and these were added to the growing pile of gear acquired. The two dragonkin proved to yield objects as well, each carrying a curative potion. The hefty mace of one of them was of a strange and exotic make, inlaid with gold and lapis lazuil and ingraved with odd patterns - it radiated magic. An earring off one of them radiated magic as well, as did a normal ring from the other. Both had a fair amount of more mundane jewellry as well, gleaming rings and earrings and studs. Nothing of use was recovered from Garus's corpse except the slave pen key; a potion he had been carrying had shattered when he fell with the burning platform. The red gem that hung on a necklace around Kaelos's neck strongly radiated magic though. From the other slavers some money was recovered, as well as a pistol; the bowmans pulverised body was found to bear a number of magical arrows in its quiver, thin and slender yew arrows tipped with lapis lazuli. In a pile of mundane weapons in the corner they found too a weapon of an odd black steel, a longsword of fine balance and edge though it was not magical to Burl's sight. 

Breaking open the locked chests revealed small heaps of gleaming coin; a mixture of gold and silver and copper. Meanwhile, the crates yielded up strange things; more of the lapis lazuli tipped arrows, oddly decorated pottery (engraved with hieroglyphics and images of scarabs and geometric patterns) and small amounts of precious stones, and a vial of some brown-black powder that radiated magic. Another crate held a quiver of javelins carved entirely out of crystal, that caught the light with their odd facets and multicoloured refractions. 

Up in Cancer's study, Burl's ransacking revealed first a trap that Kale had failed to find; a tiny, poison-slicked dart on the desk that shot out to get tangled in the necromancer's roebs and miss his skin by a tiny measure of distance. Within lay two magical scrolls and two potions, as well as a vial of some noxious but non-magical substance; yet the wizard's spellbook was nowhere to be seen. _Okay Spike, where did he hide his spellbook. I looked everywhere in the library. I even checked for false fronts in the books. A mage of his caliber has to have a book, but where could it be. This is frustrating. _A small box of gems lay in another of the drawers. 

The sesk was covered in papers and letters; he was about to have a good look at these doubtless important documents when distracted by a strange occurance in the main chamber. 

Kale had just broken open another crate to find a large pot within, sealed with wax. Down its sides, lines of hieroglyphics interwove with odd scenes of scarabs and people and strange jackal-headed beings. He was about to take it out and set it doen, and then just leave it to move onto the next box, when it spoke. 

"Um, this is going to sound very strange, I know, but you couldn't let me out, could you?" The voice reverberated from within the pot, deep and rich and slightly embarrassed.


----------



## Carnifex

"Well, mister... jar," Kale began tentatively as he carefully set the pot down."We're not leaving anyone behind here, but we're in no postition for any more... surprises." _How ridiculous, talking to a pot_ "So I'll take you out of here and we'll see about getting you free once we're a little less... bloody." Kale wasn't searching for approval from the jar. He'd already made up his mind about what to do about the thing, and had enough bad dreams to battle without the addition of some 'releasing the trapped demon' nightmare to chafe his already quite sensitive hide. 

After collecting a length of fabric for use like the water-porters he had seen in Drakkath villages, Kale checked in with as many of the team as were available. "We need to get out of here soon. Whoever doesn't have a stake in what just happened, soon will, once they figure some gold is in it for their efforts. These children only add to our need to get the hell out of here. Burl, see if you can collect papers and books that can help us learn what the hell the Gilameshltes are, and what they're up to. This could be a prime resource into the elder god, and we seem to hear ancient, forgotten names spoken an aweful lot recently. 

"Ebri? Good gods, woman, I thought you were a goner. It's hardly ladylike to expose one's innards in such a way. Are you ok to move? Good, because this place is getting old, and it's never going to hit Immar's top ten vacation spots, in any case..." _That odd woman. Not exactly a church-bound priestess. _

"Melisande, a lot of these goods seem to be raw materials for magical creations -I wonder if you might be able to make odds an ends of what's here? Even if we can't figure out what it's for, if you remember what the things were, we may be able to have someone help us divine what these folks were making. I'm guessing they're not party favors..." 

After a few minutes, rigging carrying equipment seemed Kale's last obstacle to finally getting himself and his crew out of the little hellhole. Judicious use of dead man's cloaks, ropes, and daggers, made for quick and effective improvized totes. The gear Kale fashioned was both strong and effective- of course, it wasn;t like this was the first time he'd made such things. _Handn't found use for that skill as oft as I'd like, though.. _

Gear in tow, Kale prepared to move out. Four children for company, he was comfortable that Wyshira and Wolf had connected and gained the trust of the kids. Sebastion seemed plenty accommodating, as well- Kale only hoped that the stress of imprisonment did not cause them to do anything crazy on the way out. Crouching near the oldest of the four, Kale looked softly into the frightened girl's eyes. A mercy, their were still hints of defiance and life left hidden in the sockets. "We're getting you out of here, and you're _never_ coming back. This place, gone. These people, gone forever. We're going to keep you safe... but I need your help." It was time the cildren be involved in their own rescue. Kale didn't experience much in the way of slavery, but he had seen broken spirits. Bruised people who'd believed the lie that no one cared. Breaking the will was key to control, but it was a feat seldom accomplished without isolation. Kale continued carefully, his tone light but still with the professional tone known to a bloodied swordsman. "What we do, we do by sticking together. One person watches the other, covers their back. It's important that we keep track of one another, and I can't do it by myself. But we? _We_ are getting out of here, and we're going to make it just fine."


----------



## Maldur

Kale is shaping up to be a real leader in the party isn't he?

great stuff.


----------



## Carnifex

The nature of the children soon became clear; they were homeless. Orphans and street urchins, part of the poor class of the city, stolen away by dark-cloaked men, clubbed to unconciousness then finding themselves awake in that small pen, and fed badly. Some of them had even heard of Cancer's slavers before, and horrified to find out where they had ended up. 

Ebri felt energy well up from within her at her prayer, sealing wounds and stopping the flow of blood. The gouges weren't gone, and neither was the pain, but she could _feel_ the close sense of the divine as the holy power healed her. At least she'd be able to walk on her own now. 

Burl checked over the books and papers; he picked out the more interesting tomes, and the wizard's paperwork looked like it would be an interesting read, seemingly notes and letters. He'd been halfway through writing a letter when they'd assaulted the place, by the looks of it. 

The pot spoke out more loudly now, so that the others could clearly hear, after Kale had spoken his piece. "With all respect, this is a heavy pot; there's a reason it was in a big crate, you know." Certainly it _was_ quite a sizeable pot at four feet tall, and Kale found that it was even heavier than it looked as he strained to pick it up and move it. "I'm quite happy for you to take me elsewhere and free me in a more salubrious environment, but to be honest it'll weigh you down quite heavily. You could just free me now, it'd be much simpler. I'd be very grateful too - you see, I'm something of a seer, which is why I'm stuck in here at the moment. A bit like the Fuldarian Auxilliaries ended up stuck in that little ambush at Corvenne? You know, when you were just new to it all and they had you in the vanguard? When the orcs nearly routed you all except for a bit of luck and the arrival of reinforcements? You see, the orcs wanted you all as slaves, hence why they tried to trap you. In the same way, I am a seer, hence some rather unpleasant individuals sealed me up in here so they had, as it were, 'knowledge on tap'. I'm as much a slave as any of those poor sods over there in the manacles were; and I _know_ you've been thinking thoughts about how it might be a good idea to just dump me somewhere without freeing me, master Amegrion, but you'll find me incredibly thankful if you _do_ choose to have the mercy to let me free." 

The children all stared at the hieroglyphic-enscribed clay pot. Wolf meanwhile, still limping around in pain from his injuries but active nonetheless, looked up from some more crates he'd uncovered from the debris of battle in the corner of the room. 

"We're lucky Cancer didn't throw his fireball a little to the left. These crates are full of black powder, he'd have blown us all to pieces." 

From out in the darkness, a snout poked out. Trin carefully picked his way into the room, a polished blade in each hand but in a relaxed stance, surveying the scene of destruction and giving the talking pot an alarmed and confused look. "These slavers, I've seen them getting these crates brought down here not long ago; all crates from a long way away, the southlands of you unfurred types, desert lands, so I heard."

Burl walked to the edge just as the pot began to speak again. “Well, what are we going to do with it? Whoever or whatever is in it is right. It is too big to haul back, especially in our condition. Not only the pot, but” sweeping his hand about the room “what about all of this? It’s got to be worth a small fortune. If we leave it unguarded, the denizens of this underworld will have scavenged it in a matter of hours. Who is carrying the rest of the items we found? 

Again looking to the others, “I vote we open the pot. It is either that or leave it.” Gestering to Kale to come closer, Burl whispers, “Do you still have that pistol? I’m not an expert on that gunpowder, but if you would put the crates around the pot and stand back with your pistol ready. If what ever comes out is unfriendly, could you not fire into the crates and blow it to smitherines? 

Ushering the children gently together gently, Sebastion turned back to the group as the talking pot continued its commentary and investigated the 'black-powder'. The smell was familiar, vaguely... 

"Is this the stuff from the little stubby arrows in that pistol?" he asked, examining the crates, looking for an empty one. 

_Why would someone need this much? Maybe they're selling it... bring something in on the wagons to make a profit out of the other half of the journey that takes those poor kids away...._ Somehow, he didn't think so... people seeking a profit on the inward leg of a dubious business would be unlikely to ship something that would catch that much attention. Something else to report to the authorities when they returned to the streets, but for now... 

"Hey, talking-seer-pot... do you know if there's some rope and an empty crate around here somewhere?" 

_Jury rig a sling,_ he thought, _and two of us can carry this stuff - and the pot - out and sort it somewhere safer... _

"I thought if we made a sling of some sort we could carry the pot out without having to open it here... and take some more of the rest of the stuff too... I see how Burl's eyeing those books." 

Kale frowned at the thing- he couldn't detect a smarta$$ tone in what it was saying, but it certainly knew that the team's back was up against a wall. And, it seemed, that wasn't the only thing the pot knew. The mercenary's eyes narrowed as the being recounted things of Kale's past. Surely Wolf knew these things, but likely no one else... not in their entirety. The seer was trying to explain itself or make itself useful, to Kale it was only becoming more and more dangerous. Human? Highly unlikely. It had been transported cross-country in a wax-sealed vessel- and his captors didn't see fit to just port the guy around in chains. 

"Ah, so I was almost a slave, and you're a slave... and _no one_ objects to freeing slaves." Kale began sarcastically. "Why, we have so much in common, what as fellow slaves and all." A touch of anger began to edge in his voice. "And these kids are slaves, too... no doubt we're both just as harmless." Kale stopped abruptly, listening to himself heat up, and talking about the marginalized children like third-person commodities. 

_Damn it! Just to hear my name and the Fuldarians in the same context! _And that wasn't the only source of his frustration, looking at a tough situation that even with the team would be shorthanded for whatever was ahead. Kale took a deep breath and relaxed his hands. 

Walking up alongside, Burl spoke the truth of their plight: only so many hands, and a lot of gear to move. Distancing himself from the situation, the mercenary continued soberly. "This stuff is too dangerous to just leave sitting around. We can't afford to tote along a huge jar, as well. As far as leaving the guy buried in some pit..." Kale pointedly said to the thing, knowing still that it didn't take a seer to consider it'd crossed his mind, "I didn't consider that for half as long as maybe I should have." 

_What are you talking about?_ Kale scolded himself inwardly. _The thing may be indiscreet and capable of who-knows-what, but he hasn't acted against us... then again, he hasn't had a chance to act against us._ The mercenary was starting to get paranoid, and he knew it. Most likely, the thing wanted to be free and get home. He may be industrious enough to slip away with some of the spoils, maybe even ambush the crew at the worst of times... but accommodations could and should be made. Defensively, Kale opted for the benefit of the doubt. Stopping for another long moment, he recentered himself around what he hoped was a wise perspective. 

"Forgive me. This hasn't been an easy day, though even now I can't see any reason to keep you or anyone locked up." Kale felt the weight of the children's eyes on him. What would they think if he kept the thing cooped up? "But packed along with such lethal accessories as you are, you'll pardon my caution. We'll have to pack up a whole load of this stuff, and detroy whatever we can't carry. Now, if you can carry some cargo of your own, that would be quite helpful," and Kale was sure that he could find plenty of gunpowder tuns for the thing to carry. They'd compliment well the two javelins the mercenary was carrying. He couldn't know for a fact, but he was pretty sure what those javelin would do to a thing carrying a huge load of blasting powder... and to anyone unfortunate enough to be anywhere close. 

"But first, I would like to proceed with introductions. It seems you already know me... While we load up, you can tell me who you are, as well as what you know about the scumbags who are a little too dead at the moment to speak for themselves." Kale listened as he gathered all he could. Producing cloak, salvaged garments, and climbing rope, he equipped as many of the crew with packing gear as he could. 

Unbelievably, the bulky heavy-packing techniques of the block-footed Fuld-Aux actually came in handy. Exchanging few silver arrows for sheafs of the blue-tipped kind, he went on to cover and pack as much as he could. The jar hadn't told the whole story of those last days with the Aux, Kale pondered. How Wolf's independant intervention had coaxed to action the thick skulled Aux their reinforcements. Blundering sods they were, Wolf couln't stand to see them slaughtered by orcs. Or not slaughtered, but made slaves. _No wonder Wolf intervened. _

Later they suspected the ranger a spy for knowing so much about their elementary and exposed movements. It was all so ridiculous, and Kale and Wolf both were fortunate to have survived the idiocy. _Nah, Wolf could've fought his way out,_ Kale gave the man credit. Of course, against the Fuldarians, it wasn't as heavy a compliment as one might first believe. 

The being had completed his stories, and everyone seemed ready to go. Shoulders were burdened, and sprits were not at their peak. But the crew wasn't in the clear, and considering their vulnerable state, they'd all have to be extra-frosty. "Let's get ready to move. Feeling okay to move, Ebri?" Kale looked over the recovered woman with an appraising eye. _What did she say? 'I can handle this one?' Well, we _did_ survive as a team... and she's got some wicked moves._ "Oh, and may I speak with the skull thing?" He finished, betting that in fact the one who could see into a person's past could not actually read minds. Searching for corroboration from the mimir, in any case, the jar surely could not know what the magical archive had inside his metal head... 

"It seems I am out of excuses. Kale said at last to the jar. "Thanks for your patience... now, how do you do this? Kale inquired as he drew his flail. Bearing down in a quick chopping stroke, he brought the spiked ball down directly on the jar's stopper. Unsure whether he would be happier with the vessel destoyed, guaranteeing no one could use the thing again, or with the jar intact to somehow recapture its occupant if need be. Perhaps unsure in his mind what to decide, his arm did come down quite hard on the vessel. He couldn't resist tensing, unsure of what he may have unleashed.

Having helped pack up the equipment - without staking any claims - Sebastion eyed the crates of blackpowder warily whilst looking at the ceiling of the place, and imagining the buildings and lives above it. "We can't just destroy this place," he explained, pointing upwards, "bringing the roof in means bringing someone's floor in with it. Besides, the authorities will want to have a look around this place. If we can't carry everything out, then some of us will have to stay behind and guard it. I'll wait here..." 
As Kale swung his flail at the bottle, Sebastion reached out his sword to stop it, feeling the blow run along he scabbard to rattle his hands. 
"Which means we don't need to make any rash decisions now, without some more convincing, and more impartial, answers..." he added. 

Mel's serene smile eventually faded as she watched all the others begin making arrangements for departure. The children were still huddled apprehensively and not one of them had touched Pierre. She'd thought it was a good idea at the time. Suddenly it occurred to her that she was so busy combating evil she'd forgotten to do much good. She'd flippantly ignored Ebri's absence only to discover that the friendly priestess had been upstairs bleeding to death; she'd also ignored the severity of the children's plight, leaving the hungry and frightened creatures with a hideous Manipulated toad --_Same to you!_-- to keep them busy. Feeling stupid she wandered down to see what she could do to actually help and got what felt like a metric ton of loot dumped on her by Kale, who was running about fixing things up and shouting orders and talking to a big jar. _Good thing someone's organized,_ she thought, though she had her doubts about the jar. 

Until it talked to him. 

Then she approached it, squinting at the geometric patterns on its sides and wondering if someone like Sandslipper would better be able to identify it, hailing from the southern desert lands as well. Not that Mel was any expert in pottery; it just reminded her of typical Myrmecian designs you got on table mats in exotic restaurants. 

She was itching to knock on the thing and ask it a few questions when Kale came at it with his flail. Hastily Mel made room for the weapon as it whizzed past--and then winced when Sebastion reached in with his sword to check the blow. 

"Let him open it," Melisande protested, curiosity like hot coals under her feet, making her dance with anticipation. "What is it? What's in there? How does it know so much about you, Kale? How can it breathe? It's very magical, that much is sure." 

When Sebastian stopped Kale from breaking the jar's stopper, Wyshira found herself on the side of recklessness rather than caution for a change. "We might as well open it now," she chimed in, moving closer for a better look. 

"Are you all right in there?" she called out loudly, placing one hand on the intricately painted surface of the jar. Her eyes travelled up and down the heiroglyphs, searching for familiar symbols. "How long have you been in this thing anyway?"

"He is right," Cord agreed, nodding to Sebastion and stepping to his side. "On both counts. One does not tear up the floors to sweep out the dust, nor does one unchain a silver-tongued dragon. Let us leave this prison and allow those with more experience and knowledge to release whatever captive being lives within that jar."

The voice issued forth from the pot once more. "I wouldn't be too sure that leaving one or two people here would be a wise choice. Firstly, that fire that your blue-skinned ally lit in the room off the corridor might spread and smoke the place out anyway or just burn it, and besides which, the smell of that and the blood, and all the disturbance that was made eliminating those cultists, is going to draw attention here." 

"Perhaps not from the city above, but consider that plenty of things live down here too. I wouldn't be too happy about the safety of anyone left here, if I were you." 

"Besides, while I don't have the physical stature to help you carry much of your acquired belongings myself, I know the magic call for some friendly beings who would be quite capable of helping you move it all up in one go, without leaving anything - or anyone - behind."

At Wyshira's enquiries, it spoke again. "Oh, I'm alright in here; you see, at the moment all I am is a disembodied spirit of knowledge, my physical form little more than ethereal until I am released. Yet I can tell you that it really can get quite boring at times, after a few hundred years of being stuck in a pot. You see, the people who imprisoned me were struck down long ago, theri city devastated, but I - in my pot - was buried in the rubble of one of their temples. So there I remained for those long decades, until mere months ago I was excavated by a band of robbers who prowled the ancient site for valuables, and then shipped here."

The talking pot, much like the mimir, prattled on helpfully while Mel, mesmerized, drew closer until she could put her hand on the lid.

"You seem to know a lot about us," she said, wondering how it knew she was blue and then wondering how it knew so much about Kale's background but didn't seem to have been able to come up with more than 'blue ally' for her. Then again, Kale had been Cancer's first target, thus perhaps a subject the evil mage had discussed with his slave-in-a-jar. It was all very strange. 

She tried to remember where she'd left off. "But you still haven't told us _what_ sort of creature you are, and you'll forgive us but after all we've been through and seen in here we can't be too careful. If you've been living in ethereal form in a jar for hundreds of years you're clearly not something we're familiar with. 

"Now I really, _really_ want to open this jar, but I don't think my friend is going to let me until we have some concrete assurance from you that that is not a stupid thing to do." 

Only after the fact did she realize she was being tricky. She gave Sebastion a conspiratorial look, to make it seem like she'd planned it that way.


----------



## Carnifex

Maldur said:
			
		

> *Kale is shaping up to be a real leader in the party isn't he?
> 
> great stuff. *




Kale is certainly proving to be an 'ideas man' which is quite suitable for party leadership. It's this part of the campaign so far that the party dynamics are really developing, since this is after all the first time they've fought and won a battle as a large group and are now having to resolve things.

Kale's player was, at this point, really hoping there's a genie inside the pot 

Seeing Burl's obsession with finding Cancer's spellbook was also really cool. Great roleplaying all round from the party here...


----------



## Carnifex

There was a sound that might be translatable as a mournful sigh from within the pot. "You... seek to classify me within your structures of learning, as a _this_ or a _that_. I am not something that can quite be... _understood_ in those terms. I am me. I am a being of... knowledge, seerhood, but I am not, as it were, a _human_ or _dwarf_ or _orc_, or whatever other classification you might wish to set upon me. I am a being." 

Burl settled himself down and listened to the conversation between his comrades and the voice in the pot. It was true that they could use some serious help in getting the spoils out of here and he was not wanting to leave something of value behind. 

“I say take a chance and let it out of the pot. It is either that or leave it. There is no way we are able to haul it. Don’t you think that if it was something that Cancer could have used against us that he would have done so. 

Then mumbling to himself, “Maybe he can tell me where the ellusive spellbook is.”


"I don't think Cancer even knew what he had," Wyshira said thoughtfully. "Kale, didn't you say you found the jar sealed up in a crate? It seems to me that Cancer hadn't begun to go through these goods yet. But that's not to say that it couldn't tell you where the mage's spellbook is hidden," she added with an understanding smile for Burl. 

_*IT*.... I keep thinking of the voice's owner as an IT, but it sounds male,_ the priestess mused. A disembodied spirit.... ethereal. What sort of being would they see when they let it- er *him* out? 

"We have to free him," Wyshira said finally, speaking primarily to Sebastian and Cord. "It wasn't right that he was made a captive hundreds of years ago by that forgotten civilization. It doesn't matter what sort of being he is."

Watching Wyshira search the hieroglyphics for understanding, Burl shook his head saying, 


“It’s about time I get my head up out of my arse and go help them. Maybe I can make something out of the writing.” 

Burl moves to the pot and begins looking at the writing. It is then that Burl stops, slaps his forehead with the palm of his hand in an upward motion and looks at the others. Removing his backpack, he pulls out a scroll case. Opening the scroll, Burl reads it, then with a look of comprehension, reads the writings.

_DM's Note: Burl remembered he still had a scroll of comprehend languages from a while back  _

Pulling his strike with a strain to back and arm, Kale let up as Sebastion blocked his swing. Grimacing in frustration, the young mercenary could do without his interferance. 

_This isn't a bloody round table, and we don't need to _vote, Kale thought indigently as he tried to discount Sebastion's position. _But consensus... damn it, you've got no business leading if no one wants to follow. _

Many did agree with Kale's 'rash decision,' but that wasn't the point. Half the reason he acted so quickly was that he didn't want any time for second thoughts. Now, he had seconds, and thirds, and a whole multitude of reasons to find a way to be done with the whole talking jar incident. 

The jar and its occupant was the most dangerous thing in the whole chamber. It would be better to leave weapons behind... and the crew was in no position to be separated. Seb's offer was bold and practical, but offered too much risk. 

The whole crew, and anything they didn't want to fall into unknown hands would have to would have to be leaving, soon. 

_"I don't think Cancer even knew what he had,"_ and Kale pondered, wondering why Cancer recognized his face in the cellar the night previous, and why the mystic warrior was so intent on watching the chamber entrance. No, it was dangerous to overestimate one's enemies, but the mercenary could suppose that Cancer knew exactly what the jar was. 

_"It wasn't right that he was made a captive hundreds of years ago by that forgotten civilization. It doesn't matter what sort of being he is." _Kale inclined an eyebrow toward the priestess, disagreeing with her conclusion. 

"Many beings, and many particular beings, are locked up for good reason." Kale said carefully as he looked to Ebri, hoping her skull-charm could shed some light on their current plight. If he had only borken the damned jar in the first place, this dilemma would not be eating away at them. 

"But legal issues of peoples past are not my concern. We have plenty of portable wealth, and we could have been walking out that door long ago. These crates pose a problem, if we do not want this power to fall into other hands." Frustrated that he had to be the bloody Naseria policeman, he continued. "This stuff just can't sit around. We have to pack out what we can, and somehow destroy the rest. Our new friend in the jar, he's the most dangerous of the lot," he said, not caring if the thing knew he thought of it as a tool or weapon, "Matched up by a whole lot of powder and lightning. We shouldn't leave _any_ of it behind, but the first thing take, is him." 

People as things... that was the threat slavery posed. The mercenary knew it, and it burdened him, but at the moment, expedience demanded that he see the seer as an object, a dangerous weapon that must not fall into the wrong hands. 

But whatever they chose, it had to be chosen quickly. Unfriendly strangers could already be closing to investigate. "Mister Trin, how fast could you rustle some cargo porters?" He wondered how well-connected the scout really was. Giving his reply consideration, he continued. "We'll be getting some kind of company real soon. Rat Trin, could you step outside and keep watch?" Kale asked. Surely the hunched man thought the request an opportunity for the band to talk amongst themselves, but what Kale really wanted was to make sure they were not surprised by visitors when they actually finished their little debate and decided that it was time to go. 

To the jar, the mercenary spoke again. "You've made a lot of promises, but with all respect, your altruism doesn't impress me. If it were me, I'd set you free... but I'm also willing to live with the consequences of being wrong. This team, these children, we're not in a position to be wrong." 

Kale saw Burl begin to decipher the writings on the jar. Hopefully, they would soon have some of the answers they sought. Stepping back and relaxing as he could, he made himself comfortable for more delays. Maybe, maybe, they could afford to tarry longer. "You've already got my name, what's yours?" Helpless to speed things along, Kale was content to chat with the seer until they hopefully gleaned the information they needed. 

Split between needing to free the prisoner, and fearing fell reasons for his imprisonment, the mercenary simply had to relax his tense nerves until the moment turned, and he could actually act.


----------



## Carnifex

*Hieroglyphics*

With a new shimmer of magic over his eyes, burl found the hieroglyphics suddenly comprehensible...

_And in the fifteenth year of the rule of Xar'Natath in our splendid city of Xar'Semret, Ak'mun'tet spoke against Xar'Natath. He spoke evil words, that Hashrukk our All-Father had fallen to madness and that death stalked us over the sands from far nations, and many believed his honeyed words, and there was rebellion within the city. He declared that the people must flee for their lives to save themselves before the armies of the Usurpers arrived, and attempted to have the armoury destroyed to prevent the Holy Ones from performing their guardianship and executing the heretics. And the All-Flesh's faithful gathered and, led by Xar'Natath, they marched against Ak'mun'tet. The seer-spirit was captured with magics and his guards slaughtered for their heresy, and Xar'Natath had the seer-spirit imprisoned, and at the words of Kaman Utep, the Scion of Hashrukk and Daemon Guardian, Ak'mun'tep was forced that as punishment he would be forced to resume his duties as temple seer with never any release.

And in this year Xar'Natath led the warriors of Myrmecia to burn the cities of Urek and Natatash, and Hashrukk summoned our people's finest to go to war against the heretic fiends of the followers of the Younger Usurpers.

All Hail Xar'Natath, All Hail the Might of Hashrukk. All Hail Myrmecia, Land of the Sun. We Are the Myrmecians, the Chosen of Hashrukk.

See the fate of heretics and infidels.
Ak'mun'tep shall here be imprisoned to contemplate his folly and dispense the wisdom of ages to the true faithful, as is his punishment._


----------



## Carnifex

I'ev just posted up another entry in my House Rules thread, this time of a spell cast on Burl *way* back naer the beginning of the SH... I present the _Cold Feet_ spell 

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=716564#post716564


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## Horacio

How, those were good and long updates!


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## Carnifex

Kale chilled at Burl's reading of the text. "Read it again," he asked, steeped in concentration. Storing away the details, even the ones he did not understand, the account nonetheless had sealed his opinions about the seer. 

"Ak'mun'tep, then?" Kale finally had a name. "I can't imagine being imprisoned for centuries, but I believe that you can imagine that things have changed quite a bit since you've been around." Or maybe Ak'mun'tep already knew all this... and more. It didn;t really matter, in any case. Kale just needed some sort of semi-reasonable way to bein conversation with some centuries-old being left locked in a pot. 

Evidently imprisoned at the whim of a zealot, ultimately proven right at the fall of the elder Hashrukk, the spirit had to be set free. Great. Suddenly Kale was a justice of Mymecian Law. _It doesn't matter. The spirit's coming out of his jar... it's not like anyone can stop us..._ In the absence of some sort of mandate by god or country, Kale made his own authority. 

Reacting no more to the reading of the text, the mercenary looked over to Sebastion and the others for consensus. _Is it time to bust him out? _his eyes asked.

Cord nodded, his face turned in a direction signicantly off from the rest of those gathered around the pot. Now, however, they had more knowledge to work with, and a course of action they might agree upon. 

The spirit enclosed within the jar was once a man, unless some foul magics released the original inhabitant and replaced it with some other strange being. However, Cord thought it unlikely. Not only would this imprisoned man be a benefit and an ally to their company, but releasing this Ak'mun'tep was their responsibility, as much as freeing the slave children.

_Hashrukk... Gilamesh... Shushurek... _

At Karbal's Melisande had begun to suspect it was more than coincidence. Now a chill went through her as Burl read. The elder gods--again. 

Although her hands had gone cold she knelt by the pot and inspected the seal. If it was centuries-old wax, it should be easy enough to break without shattering the pot itself, which was important because as Kale said, Lord Ecurius would love to see this intact. 

"We ought to let him out," she murmured. "We're all in this together." Any ally in this mysterious struggle was going to be precious. But what was the struggle about, anyway? Were the elder gods stirring up a rebellion against their usurpers? Was that good or bad? One thing she was sure of, it was becoming scary.

Sebastion shook his head as he stepped closer, more than a little wary of Kale's opportunity to take the decision out of their hands again. 

"Anyone heard of this Akmental person before? We know nothing... he could have challenged for the throne, he could have been a self-serving power-monger. A name and part of a history are nothing... I say we leave him in there, take him with us, and let someone who knows a little more about this, and has resources to do the job properly, let him out. If he's supposed to be trapped in there forever, how do we even know cracking the seal will release him, and not kill him or something?" 

It all seemed to make perfect sense to Sebastion, the dangers this thing could pose, but everyone just seemed to see a puzzle to be solved.

_Democracy is the purvey of pampered merchants and worried mothers,_ Kale thought as he stood by, waiting for a decision that was already inevitable. _When it comes to conflict and stress, we need leadership he thought cynically. Of course, who's going to provide that humble little service? Me? My little foray has been doing so well, so far... _ Kale couldn't agree more with what Sebastion was saying, only, circumstance did not offer them the opportunity. 

"There's a lot we don't know, and any decision we make out of this is a risk," Kale said carefully, trying as hard as he could not to argue. "To take the pot means to leave a lot of this behind. That would be dangerous, but maybe not folly. But then to let experts pore over the guy in the pot..." Kale didn't finish, but he knew he didn't trust anyone in authority to not at least be tempted by the prospect of owning and controlling his or her very own 'seer-pot'. Knowing the temptation had crossed his own mind, he was in no mind to give anyone else the chance. 

"I'm inclined to take this inscription at face value. And if a group of Hashrukkites imprisoned someone centuries ago for telling the truth, it's likely time to bust him out. Whether or not he's a self-serving power monger," Kale paused for a moment, he was addressing Ak'mun'tep in the third person. "There are many, many of those running free." 

Careful to keep his confictions from completely coloring what he was saying, Kale was nonetheless invested in what was going on. The mercenary had a lot of opinions of what he thought others ought to be doing, but he also knew the dangers of enforcing that will. That went for keeping prisoners locked up for no reason, or trying to browbeat his companions into releasing him. Just a few more moments, perhaps this would resolve itself. 

Kale wished again that he'd smashed the pot when he had the opportunity. Hoping for quick resolution within the group, the mercenary realized his actions had put Sebastion far on the defensive. He had looked forward to the time he could work with a team without falling to the failings of so many other groups of individuals... Looking to Wolf, he hoped the older man could offer some sense in the situation. 

Mel's blue hands moved across the sandy, ancient surface while the voices of Cord and Burl blurred into a drone in the background of her own excited thoughts. _How amazing--an ally who can help us understand these Elder Gods and why they keep popping up in our travels--and what stories he can tell, I'm sure! Imagine, a Myrmecian spirit hundreds of years old! It's a discovery to go down in the annals. Lord Ecurius will be _so_ pleased--he'll shake all our hands personally and maybe--maybe--he'll let us participate in the research (except while we're away at that Tower or whatever it is of course) and then he'll make me his assistant Truth Seeker and I'll make friends with Ak'mun'tep and I'll be his ambassador to the modern world. He'll share his wisdom with me and Lord Ecurius will be so appreciative... And shouldn't we let the poor soul out? After all. We are the burners of the Temple of Gilamesh and the freers of slaves...! _

The others were still talking when she stepped back, leveled a finger, and with an icy ray froze the ancient seal. All it took was a tap to crumble it to crystalline shards. Suddenly there was silence in the room, except for the crackling of flames from the chapel behind her. Smiling she pried and pushed, sending further showers of miniature, dusty icicles to the floor. The lid came off with a sigh of old air. 

Apprehensively, but with a broad smile of curiosity, Mel leaned over to peer inside. It was dark. She almost put her hand inside, until she realized it was probably best to stand back and give--whatever it was--room to emerge.


----------



## Carnifex

Horacio said:
			
		

> *How, those were good and long updates! *




 I think I owe a few updates for not doign so for quite a while.

We're only 5 threads behind current events now


----------



## Carnifex

The seal of the pot was finally broken... 

Wax crumbled and broke around the rim of the lid as it was removed, the ancient innars of the clay pot finally revealed to the outside world. Inside, all that could be seen was darkness. 

And then wisps of vapour began to drift out, then faster, wreathing amongst themselves into a form that quickly grew in solidity. 

* * *

Ak'mun'tep blinked, irises of brilliant blue taking in the scene around him as the last of the enchanted mist from within the pot dissipated. His features screwed up in distaste. 

"Well, I have to say, the stenches of carnage, blood and smoke do conspire to form a most... _unique_ atmosphere for this chamber," he said inoffensively. 

Clad in pale cream and golden silk robes, the figure just topped six feet, golden-brown fur over his exposed forearms and jackal-head. Gold and jade and lapis lazuli glinted in bands and rings, a heavy golden necklace weighed down by an amulet in the shape of a scarab. 

He looked interestedly at the assembled band. "I have to say, it's nice to be free again... and I thank you for it; please, accept these as presents," and he drew from his voluminous robes two ornate little boxes, offering them to the warband. "Gems and spices, I'm sure they will be of some worth to you. And on the matter of my other promise, to aid you in carrying your goods... I am sad to say that I alone am not particularly adept in the transportation of materials, but I can bring those that _are_." 

With that the jackal-headed being spoke eldritch words and with a flash of light two hulking figures appearde by him, massive insectoid things of hulking muscle and chitinous armour plates. They looked battle-ready and vicious, but Ak'mun'tep held out his arms to touch each of them in restraint. "No, there is no battle here." The warrior-beasts looked at him, surprise registering in their visages, and the jackal-man smiled. "Yes, I am free again; I'm glad to see you still answer the call. I wish you to help these people move their goods to the surface. Ah, but we cannot have you wandering around looking like that, can we? You'll scare the locals... ah, wait." 

He pointed at one, magic fizzing out and transforming the figure into a slightly disorientated human with a flash of light. It shook its head to regain its bearings, and looked most displeased. The other began to laugh stupidly at its companion's plight, but then with a crackle Ak'mun'tep enchanted it as well. This time, it was replaced with a disgruntled-looking donkey, complete with harness and saddle-bags. It gave an annoyed bray. 

"Don't be afraid of them; they will serve to help you transport your new possessions, after which they will leave you. Now, unless there is anything else, I feel there are many things for me myself to attend to..." He left it hanging.

* * * * * *

The splendid figure before her surpassed her wildest hopes. She wanted to clap. 

After observing in wonder as he summoned two fantastic beings (she wanted to clap _again_ when he transfigured them, transfiguration being her particular speciality), Mel's face fell when Ak'mun'tep suggested he was about to take his leave. 

"But--but--we--you--Sir--Begging your pardon, Mister Ak'mun'tep, but there is so much we hoped to learn from you before you go. Please stay and enjoy the hospitality of our host, Lord Ecurius Tarravus of Naseria, and tell us about your homeland and your struggle against the disciples of Hashrukk. We're having a bit of a run-in with the Elder Gods right now ourselves..." She trailed off, confused as to how to explain that the gods this magnificent being knew would not, actually, be Elder as far as he was concerned. Anyway he would certainly be curious to find out...


----------



## Carnifex

Sebastion's attention was fixed on the imminent 'danger', and too late he remembered the maxim 'one guardian's eye must always be on his temple...'. The muttered words and sudden feeling of cold on the back of his thighs turned him around in time to stare down into the bottle as the mists began to swirl. 

"Morag's Teeth" he swore, stepping away from the billowing fog, knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip on the two-bladed sword he held. "Bloody chicken-brained woman!" he blurted, backing away. The lack of any overt hostility robbed his vituperative of some of its justification - not all, by his thinking, but some - and he spun on his heel with a fierce glower, stalking away to the nether reaches of the dark hall for a while, as magic crackled, and hulking insects became 'donkey's, and the like. 

In the darkness, however, he bit his lip and swore as much at himself for the outburst as at them for their actions - at her... That was the key, he realised, eventually. Not that it had been done, but that it had been her... he'd actually thought he was beginning to... 

_Beginning to what?_ he demanded of himself. _Beginning to understand? She's a damned *witch!* Beginning to like her... you're just another hired flamin' sword... Time to wake up, Sebastion... _

Returning to the group as the discussion turned towards what they could glean from this creature by way of information, but Sebastion looked to the practicalities, spying the stranger and the donkey stood before the crates of blackpowder. 

"What do we do about that?" he asked of the others, doing his level best to ignore the dog-faced stranger in the odd dress. "There's too much for the donkey to carry. If we burn it we risk bringing down whatever lies above us in the city. If we leave it, those who stayed away through fear of Cancer will come to claim it, and we may have loosed a different danger upon the city." 

_Am I just looking for something to justify my outburst?_ he wondered, as eyes turned in his direction, _Or do I actually have a point?_

Wyshira didn't care about the mysterious black powder everyone seemed to be so concerned about. And she wasn't that interested in the books and papers, or the gems and coins that lay around the place in piles either. Now that they had discovered some of the history of the Voice-in-a-Jar, she was immensely curious about it, and was glad when Melisande finally took matters into her own hands and cracked the seal. 

Now she stood in awe, her eyes wide with wonder and her lips still slightly parted from her startled intake of breath. _A seer! And a strange being from an ancient race as well..._ Imagine if she had a few moments alone to talk to him. There was much that she might learn!  She tried to catch Kale's eye. Did he see the opportunity here before them? Burl had the right idea, but the wrong question, as he immediately asked the seer if he knew where Cancer's spellbook was. Finding out about the mage's spellbook was all well and good, but there were other, deeper mysteries to be solved.  She hoped that Sebastian's outburst wouldn't put Ak'mun'tep off. What was the matter with that man anyway? _Chicken-brained woman???_ She had to wonder all over again about the odd relationship between the mercenary and the sorceress. 

She didn't wonder long though. She saw her opportunity slipping away. "Excuse me!" she interrupted, surprising herself with her own boldness. She hesitated, taking a moment to work up her courage to go on. "Would you mind very much if we asked you some questions?"

The jackal-headed seer peered imperiously at Melisande. She felt the sapphire eyes lock with her, and could not help but shiver - not because it emoted fear or nausea, but because those eyes seemed so deep in their blue, so pure and endless, full with a limitless intellect that she knew must dwarf hers. 

Ak'mun'tep smiled. 

"I cannot stay, young..." His smile faltered, and was replaced by a quizzical look. "... celestial-child? Or god-blood? No, not a god-blood, but a... wait... what are you?" He was almost whispering now. "_Shadows?_" 

He shook his head back to attention as the others plied him with questions. "Cancer's spellbook is in his residence," he said off-handedly without paying much attention to Burl, as he looked instead to Wyshira after her more penetrating question. Once again he set those deep eyes upon the genasi, analysing her minutely. "I can answer you some questions, to the best of my abilities - and my knowledge about this world is limited by centuries of captivity in a pot. But I cannot stay and enjoy any hospitality, there is much I have to do. I will gift you with _some_ information for freeing me." 

"As for the smokepowder, soldier, the two I summoned are more than capable of taking it with them; their forms belie their true strength." The man sniffed the air absently, the donkey brayed irritably. "And will be able to defend you at a pinch if anyone sets upon you during your travel to your residence." The seer moved his gaze to Sebastion, scrutinising the man's features. "Remember that not all is as it appears to be," he said slyly. 

"Now, your questions.. hurry with them, I shall answer only a few. Things move fast in this world you know, and soon enough others shall know of my return. And those servants will only hang around for a while before they return to their home, which would be a mishap for you." 

_Oh,_ thought Wyshira, disappointed. Well, she would give her questions a try anyway. 

"Thank you, o wise Lord Ak'mun'tep." The priestess composed herself, raising her head and looking directly into the seer's unsettlingly deep eyes. She managed to project an air of quiet calm and dignity, despite the fact that she was bedraggled, rain-soaked, and drenched in blood. 

Realizing that the questions she had about Burl might reveal more to Ebri, Sebastian, and Melisande than the crew was ready to divulge at this time, Wyshira stepped away from the others and spoke softly as she stood next to the seer. 

"My friend here," she indicated the necromancer with a slight nod of her head, "has become embroiled in troubles that he does not understand. Numerous parties seem to be interested in capturing or killing him, from one of the powerful ruling families of Iril, to mysterious assassins, to well-armed members of the clergy of Toran. 

"Can you tell us what they all want with him? Does it have anything to do with the feeling of corruption that my other companion, the dwarf here, senses in the land, especially in the Drakkath?" 

The jackal-headed figure smiled slyly as he leaned forwards to whisper quietly into Wyshira's ear, jewellry spinning and glinting from his movement. "If you care for wisdom, priestess, consider your goddess and listen to words from the air. What does anyone want with anyone else? An advantage. An advantage in this great interplay of complex desires and designs, interlocking cogs spinning; in which certain gears wish to become dominant, to drive the others. As for corruption, that is a relative term, though I would consider that perhaps in this wondrous weave of designs I find myself within now I have returned, Burl might be, in a form or way, linked to what you call the corruption; but only in a... circumstantial way. I wonder..." 

And then, Wyshira heard more words, as if floating from the air itself into her head. _Know this, that to know whay Burl is pursued by some and sought out by others is to know more than he himself knows, to know more than even those of his bloodkin know, yet. Yet. But they will know before too long, I have no doubt. _

Ak'mun'tep gave her a dazzlingly charming smile for someone with the head of a jackal.


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## Horacio

And yet more updates? 

Cool!


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## Maldur

Carnifex is on a roll!


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## Carnifex

Burl remained silent as the other questioned Ak'mun'tep, contenting himself with helping load the donkey. He was pleasantly surprised when he heard the answer to his question from Ak'mun'tep, “Cancer’s spellbook is in his residence” 

_Now why didn’t I think of that. I guess I must have assumed he lived down here. Well, how do I find his home before it becomes common knowledge that he is not coming back?_ wondered Burl. 

He hadn’t really shown much interest in the conversations, until he caught Wyshira looking at him and then start whispering in Ak’mun’tep’s ear. 

_If I was paranoid, I would wonder what she was asking about me._ then noting him whisper an answer, _And more importantly, what did he tell her. Spike, remind me later to ask her what’s going on. _

Wyshira tried to wrap her mind around the words of the seer. It wasn't easy. She was a plain-spoken girl, not often given to long hours spent in deep contemplation or the pondering of riddles. And yet she did seek wisdom. 

_ would taking Burl give the Toranites an advantage?_ she wondered, frowning._ He seems so...... unremarkable. He's a necromancer, yes, but there must be many of those. What is it about him then? _

The words that came after - in her mind - seemed to echo there, mixed in with her own thoughts. _What? Burl's bloodkin? Who would they be? _She could not tell if it was the voice of Ak'mun'tep in her head, or something else altogether. 

She was grateful for the information and yearned to ask more, but she was reluctant to impose on the great one's generosity. Then he flashed her a smile so disarmingly gracious that she was encouraged to speak up one last time. She returned his smile, if less broadly, then went on again. 

"My lord, if you will, answer one last question for me." Wyshira spoke in a normal tone of voice now, and all her attention was focused eagerly on the seer. She seemed less poised and a little more wistful suddenly, more like the naive wanderer Kale and Wolf had first met coming down out of the mountains a season ago. "Can you see as far away as Cryosia? Tell me about my mother and my sister. Are they well? I've been away so very long now!" 

* * *

Behind the flame of her intense fascination with Ak'mun'tep, Mel felt another burning--a shameful blue heat in her ears and cheeks. As Wyshira pushed past and started hogging the seer, Mel was left alone with the cruelly echoing _"Bloody chicken-brained woman... Bloody chicken-brained woman... Bloody chicken-brained..." _

Beyond her, a donkey brayed. A brief, satisfying image of the sound emitting from Sebastion's mouth soothed some of her discomfited blushing. 

On the one hand she wanted to make some scathing snap about indeed being chicken-brained enough to waste her last healing potion on a pig-headed male; and on the other, well, she wanted to cry. She bit her bottom lip to prevent either of these from happening in front of Ak'mun'tep, who was looking at her--or through her--with eyes that seemed to stretch backward like impossibly distant horizons, as if she could ride for days or months straight across their azure landscape and never find the end, never reach the oasis of great knowledge beyond them. To see the jackal-brow twitch with surprise and uncertainty frightened her a little. "_God-child...?_" he'd said, reminding her of aasimar, but he did not seem sure. Then, "_Shadows?_" 

Her arms came up to hug her sides even though the heat of her chapel fire had quite dried her clothes by then. The taunting voice in her head gave way to another more sinister whispering: "_Shushurek..._" 

There were a million questions she needed to ask Ak'mun'tep then, but Wyshira was now idly asking him for news of her family. Not that Mel couldn't relate--she'd often thought of her mother since she'd been on this trip, and sometimes even tenderly--but when you had an ancient seer for no more than a couple more minutes you had to make your questions count. Trying to be as polite and un-pushy as she could even though she was actually interrupting, she stepped up and waved to divert the seer's attention her way. 

"I'm sorry, I beg your pardon, I know you're in a hurry sir--we just have a couple of pressing questions if you don't mind." She glanced a quick apology at Wyshira but went on anyway. "Have you heard of the Great Prophet, Shushurek? Do you know anything about what we call the Elder Gods or why their cults seem to be stirring up more trouble than usual? We're caught in the middle of something it seems, but we don't know what it is. Can you tell us anything helpful?" 

Seeing Sebastion looking at the crates, Burl offered, “Do you think it would be possible to tie the large pot to the donkey’s back and then load as much as we can into it?" Sebastion eyed the donkey with understandable scepticism, walking slowly round it to place his scabbarded sword against the wall, and sizing up the saddle-bags in comparison to the first crate of blackpowder. 

_Great seer, but his knowledge is limited by captivity, huh?_ he thought, dragging a hand slowly across the wood of the crate for a moment. _Knew enough about us before you got out, though, didn't you? _

More than a little suspicious of the jackal-faced figure -_ Is that a dog or a rat?_ - he kept his eye on Ak'mun'tep as he tested the crate's weight to see if he could lift it, then manhandled it across to the donkey. 

_Here goes nothing..._ he thought, as he watched Wyshira whispering furtively with the creature. 

Making ready to move, Kale listened nonetheless very carefully to what was being said. Melisande asked an excellent few questions, and glancing up from a rope harness Kale was impressed by her inquiry. _It seems her curiousity has a practical side... _

Smiling briefly at this current assemblage of talent, Kale was pleased at the progress he'd seen in his life- _It's a long way from the Fuldarians _


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## Carnifex

"Oh, they are fine, do not worry for their wellbeing," Ak'mun'tep said offhandedly to Wyshira's question about her family, his attention already drawn to Melisande's questions which seemed to interest him more. "Shushurekkkk..." he said with an amused hiss, drawing out the last syllable as he pondered the matter for a few moments. "The Great Prophet. Yes. I have heard of the deity you call by that name, though only rarely, and I know... comparatively little that I can pass on to you. I do know that He was once a mortal, a Man of Shadow in those ancient times. A Younger God, I believe - but very powerful, and very wise." He sighed. "There is little more I know about Shushurek, to be truthful with you." 

"As for cults of Elder Gods, how do you know they are stirring up more trouble than usual? What is the standard yardstick by which usual cult trouble is measured, I wonder? But I can tell you this." 

"I sense something in the... air, something different. Something has changed, or is still changing. Perhaps that is what stirs the cults into action, perhaps they believe it signals an even greater change - one that will benefit them in some way." 

"In fact, I think I will see whether I can discern what the nature of the change I can sense is... and I have little more time to spare here, I am afraid. Thank you all once again for freeing me; I remain most grateful. And goodbye..." 

He discorporated, transmuting into thin smoke that drifted up to mingle with the ashen smog coming from the chapel. 

* * *

It hadn't taken long to prepare to move out after the seer had disappeared. Wolf had been watching the exchange from a distance, cautious but remaining aloof, but now he set back to aiding organisation. The donkey looked overladen for a simple beast of burden but apparently retained the strength of it's true nature, easily clopping along without any sign of tiredness or fatigue; the man too, who never said a word, silently strapped on aboxes and crates till it looked like he would brak his back, yet didn't even break a sweat. Trin nervously hovered around the baggage train as everyone else gathered up things to carry; the verman avoided going too close to the two summoned creatures. 

"Right," said Wolf, looking around the chamber for a last time. "Everyone got everything we need? Then lets go."

“I suggest we take one last look around to make sure that we have gotten all that we want from here. Also, we should probably look around to make sure that no sign of us is left behind. We don’t know who might decide to wreck a bit of revenge upon us for our work today,” Burl said.

As the party moved out, Burl made his way to Trin asking, “Would you know where the house of Cancer is located and could you show us the way?” 

* * *

Of course it had been a silly question. Trouble with cults of the Elder Gods may not have been cropping up any more than usual; it was just that since Melisande left home her eyes were opening to a lot of new things that might actually just be a lot of old things. Perhaps people were visited by scary, whispering shadow-creatures in the night with relative frequency in the borderland forests. Perhaps there were crypts of Azrael all over the place, and people just didn't know because they didn't usually poke their noses into kobold nests unless forced to. Perhaps perverted scrying amulets, like see-through spectacles, abounded in the world at large. Mel had been selfish to think there was something special going on. 

Yet Ak'mun'tep confirmed what the blind dwarf Cord had said he sensed, that something was changing. Something for the worse if these evil slavery cults thought to profit by it. There was much to ponder. Mel touched her hair. She'd done it up so ridiculously that morning and it was completely ruined. Serves me right, she thought. But she _was_ going to fix it up again before going to Lord Ecurius with the news of Ak'mun'tep. He would be very interested. In the seer. 

Brushing soot and dust from her bedraggled rabbit-fur cloak she headed for the exit from this place of evil, pausing to admire the seer's transfiguration work on the donkey and the porter as she slipped out with the others into the dank undercity once again. 

"I suppose we'll have to hurry," she said to no one in particular. "It's a shame because I did want to go see how Sandslipper was doing at the Temple of Naskha. Maybe if we have time later..." 

Burl wanted to find the malevolent mage's house and raid it for more information. It was a sound plan, but someone had to escort Ak'mun'tep's porters back to the residence and it would not be wise to break up the group. Still... she really did want to visit the Temple of Naskha while she was here... 

"I'll go with Burl and Mr Trin," she suggested hesitantly. 

Thinking on Burl's suggestion, Kale turned to the crew's noble porter and donkey. "Gentlemen, it seems we will be taking a detour, if that's alright with you, of course..." Despite the seer's assurances, it seemed folly to count on an unknown force. Yet, with the two creature's help, the mercenary felt emboldened to make one more risk to further their investigations.

Wolf nodded to Burl's first suggestion, of clearing the place of their tracks. "A wise idea, but I don't think anyone'd be able to tell it was us in particular after the way this place has been trashed and burned, especially with Melisande's little pyromanic urge to burn out the chapel. As for everyone's suggestions we go to Cancer's house, I don't think it's a brilliant move to split up when we've got all..." 

He was interrupted by Trin waving his hands frantically to get everyone's attention. "Hey! Hello... I hate to break it to all you optimistic unfurred, but perhaps you shoudl put a halter on your desire to gallop off to that spellslinger's house because I _don't_ know where it is. I can find just about anywhere under the ciy but on the surface? It's not as if he advertised where he lived, is it?" He gave a long-suffering huff. "If you know where it is, by all means, go ahead, but let's just get it straight before you all start looking to me for guidance here, that I don't." 

* * *

Cord remained unmoving as the seer answered the questions of the magic-users in their group. He would have asked about his own experience with the growing malevolence he felt, if he trusted the incorporeal thing. With a gruff snort, he turned away. 

Another seemed to have disengaged himself from the interview. Silently, Cord approached Kale to stand solidly at his side. Cord offered no words, no criticisms, no judgements. Just his presence served as an affirmation of Kale's actions. Inwardly, the old dwarf smiled. Despite Kale's assurance he did not want a postition of power or leadership, with every passing moment he grew into that very role. The others admired him, as did Cord. 

After Ak'mun'tep left, and the party began to focus on where to go next, Cord made his way to stand near Trin. Cancer's residence was definitely a good location to seek, however first they would need to safely find the surface. Cord trusted the ratlike being very little, and hoped to confirm their return route. 

Kale would understand his intentions, and no doubt Wyshira could probably hazard a guess as to why he would allow his fingers to trail against the rock, or bend over to hear the whisper of a wind. Silently, he assumed his own role as a backup guide, should their untrustworthy one fail.


----------



## Horacio

WOW, and yet more updates!!!


----------



## Carnifex

It being Sunday I'll probably leave off any updates today, but then again if I get the time I might put one together...


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## Carnifex

Actually, what I will do is post up another spell on the House Rules thread. Introducing the Manipulator spell _Agonise_:

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=720902#post720902


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## Carnifex

Well, we're finally past 5,000 views on the thread. I reckon that means several thousand people have looked at the first page of the SH, thought 'this is awful', and not read it again


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## Carnifex

And here's an excellent bit of conversation between Sebastion and Ebri, the two party members who came fairly close to death in the battle with Cancer and his minions...



Sebastion walked alertly alongside the 'donkey' one eye on it, one on the 'human' pack-bearer, and trying to keep an adequate watch as they moved through the underground.

Good news travelled fast, but bad news didn't need to travel at all, and word of Cancer's sudden absence would spread like wildfire. Someone would have seen, or heard, or smelt what he had in his possession, and looters and potential followers would be on their way soon, if not already.

Having paused only long enough to be sure the fires were out, Sebastion had been eager to leave before that whole world of trouble descended upon them. When they were contemplating a detour to Cancer's house he had forced himself to grit his teeth, knowing that another complaint would simply be ignored, but he didn't pretend to be anything other than grateful when Trin admitted no knowledge of the place, and they reverted to their intent of making their way to the surface, and the authorities.

Finally, after a while, he began slowly dropping back through the ranks, checking briefly to see that everyone was alright before eyeing the path behind them to be sure they weren't being followed. Then he'd make his way slowly back to the front again, and start the cycle all over.

* * *

Fortunately, the children remained hushed, still and quiet, still traumatized from their ordeal. It took little of the energy Ebri was carefully hoarding to keep them going through the dark. With the addition of Sebastion's efforts, the task was not challenging, which was well, for her thoughts had a disturbing unclarity to them.

An injury to the body will necessarily be a distraction... you are gravely injured... she reassured herself.

Sebastion slowed slightly, once again, peering warily at the shadowy figures of man and donkey as they trotted past, burdened beyond normal capacity. Finally, towards the tail of the line, Ebri appeared with the small gathering of children. He didn't bother trying to speak with them this time - every time they saw him with his blade at the ready they shrank back away from him.

"It is merely a weapon-" she could not help but teach, even in this moment. "It has liberated you; its intent is in the mind of the man, not the gleam of the blade. Our minds are our true weapons."

"How are they holding up?" he asked, quietly.

"They are still alive..." she murmured. "The future will tell."

He smiled, faintly, at her attempt to quell their fears. He hadn't tried - the longer they were afraid of men with swords, the better their chances of a long life.

"The future will tell for us all... what about you?" he asked, falling in line at the back, turning to face behind them as he listened for the sounds of potential pursuit.

"I am also alive. Though I admit... to find myself so is something of a surprise... As for the immediate future, I think I will remain in your company somewhat longer..." She struggled for a semblance of plausible explanation. The Immarian tenets were simple on appearance, but surprisingly complex in their depths. Some shred of mythology... some scrap...

He shuddered at the intimation, recalling his own narrow escape from Death's realm.

"It changes things, doesn't it? Standing in the river like that..."

Her head ached, and she settled for the trappings of clerical mystery. "I believe my god wishes me to wander further, and your road is... interesting... Is that how it was for you? A river?" It was clear the soldier's soul, not unsurprisingly, could not give up its attachment to the physical realities of life.

"A river? No, it wasn't, but... well... that's the legend, isn't it? The boatman - the ferry across the River of Death - burial with a coin to pay the boatman..."

"Ah, yes. Well, that is a common tale." she acknowledged. "Though my faith perceives it as a road with no end, upon which one may not turn back; in fact, it disappears behind you as you walk forward. A forest people I encountered once held that death was climbing a great tree, similarly, and reaching the sky."

"I'd.. we... Death had always been something I imagined would happen to other people." he finally managed, with a wry grin. "That's why it's changed everything."

She peered up at Seb, stopping to breathe deeply. The flickering torches threw back shadows, shifting and twisting his face. She was reminded, now, of the masks of the ancestors in their house. "How has it changed everything?"

"It...well.... I don't know. It just feels different." he conceded, after a moment. "It's like... I don't know what it's like. I've never thought about dying before, really...."

"Will you act differently now, that you have glimpsed death? I do not see how one should. If my path was correct before, I will continue upon it. And yet you are a soldier..." she mused, keeping back the rest of her thought. You have brought death many times over, and trained for it. This is your profession...

"I don't know. It depends on the situation, and I only know how I'd react now. I don't know how I'd react now, if it hadn't happened... if that makes sense... I've trained for other people's death... the training was all about keeping me alive. I've never really thought about me dying."

"Perhaps the meaning is-- if there is one, and the experience is any more than random chance--not to think about dying, but about living--"

Sebastion appeared to consider this for a long moment, his brow furrowing as he did. "I'm afraid I have the feeling that there isn't any real meaning to it at all. I never did before, but it seems important now..."

She stopped again, adjusting her now ragged and bloody wrap. Her lungs felt weighted with lead. "You will forgive me, I hope. Philosophical introspection is a great comfort. I do not suppose you have any willow bark to hand, do you?"

"Willow bark? Why's that?" he asked, trying to imagine what profound lesson might be learnt from a piece of tree-bark.

"It is important, yes. What meaning anything has, soldier, is what we assign to it. If you say it means nothing, than mean nothing it does. As for the willow bark, I should like some pain relief. I could go without it, but I will slow us unnecessarily. Though it is no matter."

"Oh, wait... I've got a potion in here, somewhere..." he passed his sword across to her, swinging his pack round in front of him to delve for the durable earthenware bottle.

"No, do not waste it. I will be able to help myself when I have rested."

"But, what meaning is there to find? Really? You're born, you try not to do anything too stupid, and then you die... what exactly is it that we expect to achieve in the meantime. If we're being followed you may not have a chance to rest: take the opportunity while it's there."

A tired smile formed on her lips. "If we are followed, I will take it then--" She tied the bottle into a fold of her garment. "Thank you. Who is it, do you suppose, expects you to achieve anything?"

"Well, I don't know that I'd say anyone expects us to... but... if we're here for something... what is it? And if not, what's the point?"

"It is as I was saying before-- not that you should believe me, out of hand. The point, as you call it, may not be a fact of cosmic mystery, already predetermined, to be found and sought. Rather than seeking after it, as if it were a thing, an artifact of power, consider that it may be what you create yourself. The point is, like the image of death, whatever meaning you construct for yourself." Ebri sighed. "Too many attempt to relieve themselves of responsibility by waiting for their purpose to be revealed to them."

"Right..." Sebastion managed, not quite following a great deal of what was said. "So, the only point is what I want the point to be... so really there is no point, there's just... desire? If that's the case, no-one does anything wrong? There is no 'evil' to Cancer's slavery, he's just doing what he wants? Isn't he?"

Ebri stopped short, not heeding the gaggle of children who butted up against her, tripping and stumbling. The tunnel seemed illuminated with light, a flash on the edge of her vision. The Purpose-- For a moment, she felt elevated above this, floating. Amazing, how even in blathering useless superstitious deception, a kernel of the truth may be found. It was there, she was sure of it-- "He is.." she forced her mouth to go on, trying to reconstruct what she had been saying..."He is... evil, by your definition of it. Is that not sufficient to make him evil? He is doing as he wants, or has done... and you set your will in opposition to his..."

Her words, she was sure, were half garbled, but perhaps they would be enough for the soldier. Or at least give him meat for thought--

"But who am I? I'm just a man with a sword and a big mouth - I don't have any better idea of what's right or wrong than he does... and yet I killed him for it. Threw an axe at him, just as easy as breathing."

"And are you disturbed to have killed him, then? Should you not have?"

"No, not really. What he did was... wrong? It was wrong, I don't know why, I can't say what it was that was wrong about it, but it was... it was wrong. He had to be stopped, and we stopped him." He sounded almost as though he were trying to convince himself.

"So we did."

"So who is to say that he was evil, and we were good? Are we all evil?"

Ebri put her hand on his arm, stepping over a pile of fallen tile. "Sebastion, if I told you that Cancer was good, and you were evil, would you believe it? Could anyone cause you to believe that?"

"I don't think so... you'd need to talk faster than a Banar Fish-seller to do it. But that doesn't mean I could explain to you why."

"Does the lack of an explanation make something less true? You were born a man, a Carthagian. Do you understand why?"

"I'm Huronese." he corrected, with a smile. "Assumptions, without basis. They might seem right, they might be right... but how do you know?"

"You put more value on a course of explanation that has been logically reasoned, that has what you believe are facts to support it. You treat evidence, empirical knowledge as more true than that which is simply felt or intuited. But what I am telling you, Sebastion, is that one is not more valid than the other. Simply put, the world we see and feel, it is illusion. It is not real-- and yet it is the only reality most of us can perceive. And so, to most of us, that understanding is useless-- except for this: what we believe we know is also illusory, also a construct of the mind."

"This is all illusion - a make-believe underground, but there will never be anything else for us? Then surely this is all that matters? Isn't it? Or... wait, you're confusing me." As though he hadn't been quite confused enough on his own.

"And what you intuit, whether you can explain it in words or no, Sebastion-- that is equally as true as that which you think is fact."

"If this isn't real... what is?"

"That--" Ebri smiled, "--is the great question..."

Sebastion paused for a moment, staring at her. He shook his head slightly, his brow still deeply furrowed as he tried to work through what she had been saying. "Why do I feel as though I have just lost an argument," he asked, "that you somehow didn't win?"

"There is no winning or losing. Only walking further down the path. And in this case, the others are getting ahead of us--" Ebri grinned, hitching up her trousers.

"Hellfire." he muttered, stepping quickly to keep up. "I'm going to check up front before my head starts to hurt." he said, catching her up - she moved deceptively quickly, and he had to jog to do it. His brow was still thoughtfully furrowed, though, and he gnawed gently on his lip as he walked.


----------



## Piratecat

Sweet.


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## Maldur

And you say that nobody ever reads your SH!!!


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## Sniktch

Yeah, look, you've attracted P-Kitty now.  I'm turning green with envy


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## Carnifex

*bounces happily*  Thanks for the compliments  although as I said in the other thread - it's the players who are the real stars for coming up with this stuff!

Anyways, here's another Manipulator spell in the House Rules thread, a cantrip called _Sense Physiology_ that Molly, Melisande's player, suggested...

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=725750#post725750


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## Carnifex

I'll do another story uodate later on today; for now, here's the _Diagnose_ and _Affect Physiology_ spells:

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=727814#post727814


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## Carnifex

The strange luggage train made it's winding way back up through the labyrinthine undercity of Tarravus, meandering through the damp and musty tunnels and passageways, past debris and fungus and drizzling streams of muddy water from the rainy surface above. The battle-weary band, laden with acquisitions, made slow time through those dark ways, Trin always leading with his torch, occasionally pausing to look scrutinisingly around at an intersection or to sniff some powder from one of his myriad bags. Anyone watching the verman might coem to the conclusion that he was addicted to the strange spices and snuffs he seemed to partake. They might also pick up on the fact that he seemed nervous and on edge, the stimulants bringing his sensory awareness up to new levels. 

The continual darkness was suffocating in its claustrophobic pressure and dampness; for people already weary from injury and exertion it was depressingly deadening. yet eventually they came to the upper levels of sewers where the occasional shaft of grey light pierced down from above, though everything seemed wet from the rain above and they had to wade. Then they came to the underground black market, the bizarre cavernous bazaar where Trin made his home. 

Trin gave a few parting words before he scurried through the gloomy cavern towards his ramshackle house. "If I were you, unfurred ones, I'd be moving soon and quickly. What went on down there'll be known before too long, and then people will begin asking questions. And depending on who it is asking, you may well not want to be around when they turn up." With that the exotic creature slipped in amongst the vendors and stalls of the market. 

And so the journey up and into the Rat's Nest began, streams of water poruing down past them into the depths of the earth. Not once did the two enchanted servants that Ak'mun'tep had conjured complain, or even say anything at all, merely wordlessly bearing their loads. They barely seemed to notice the world around them at all. 

And so they entered the Nest, wandering amongst the struts of wood as sheets of drizzle and gray light came down through the gaps between the wooden planks that formed an artificial ceiling here. They were watched, huddled groups of beggars and unclean furtively and suspiciously darting looks at them, muttered words passing around. Trin had been right. Already it was known that something had happened down below - some event that had disturbed the status quo of the undercity. The beggars whispered and muttered, disquieted by the change.

* * *

Up through the soggen layers of city Ebri trudged along, laying one foot in front of the other automatically, half dreaming, her awareness split in two. Much as lesser people trusted that their hearts would beat and their lungs breathe, one part of her she trusted to monitor her surroudings, record what she heard and saw, to keep the straggling line of children moving, giving an encouraging word there, taking that one's arm... while the better part of her attention was given over to the flash of insight Sebastion's feeble questioning had led her to. 

_"Too many attempt to relieve themselves of responsibility by waiting for their purpose to be revealed to them."_

It had come out of her mouth, like so much else that served the maintenance of her role, at hardly any instigation of thought. Long ago, long before she'd ever reached the sanctuary of the monastery, she'd learned to weave words to deceive and amaze and confuse; to speak habitually in ways that the weak and fearful could interpret in whichever way pleased them best. Or, not understanding at all, they were likely to assume she was wiser than they, and leave, still satisfied. She'd been _Zol_, and it had lent her authority, and she had exploited it. It was no different, now, really, from being _priestess of Immar_. But these words had flashed, lodging in her mind, as if through them lay the opportunity to awaken further. 



_The_ Purpose. The Old Master had said that she would prove worthy to understand the Purpose; the more advanced being had been confident of it. To understand the Purpose. She turned that phrase over. It implied that there was indeed a purpose, a _point_, as Sebastion had so crudely put it. Appropriately for a soldier, he thought in terms of blades and stabbing, the meaning of life being the thing without which a penetrating object was useless. 



She, too, had waited and learned, hoping that the mystery would be revealed to her in time. She'd expected the veil of illusion not to simply dissipate, but to wear and grow thin with her efforts, as a cloth of delicate but strong silk would do against a constant steady wind. She would catch glimpses of the truth as worn spots would show the light, until the day the veil sheeted and parted, and the truth was no longer obscured. _Is this what it is to understand?_ Was it that there was no mystery? _Perhaps--_ she conjectured tentatively, _one wastes energy in attempting to discover the Purpose that might be better put to achieving the Prophet's ends?_

It was a radical thought, but it seemed worth considering. She did not have to ponder what was in the mind of the Prophet; his wishes for her were made clear by the instructions of the Old Master and her superiors. She was to protect her ward, and secondarily, to continue to operate supporting her order without compromising their operations. It was these two aims which deserved all --and that was a considerable amount-- of her effort and skill. _I will visit Karbal when we reach the surface of this stinking mass of rock and mud and plague-ridden mortality,_ she decided. _I will report, and discuss the question with him._

* * *

Up into the drenched city, and the rain poured down on them, unrelenting and soaking as they walked the streets towards the gate. Guards there were uninclined to hamper their progress, the watchmen's cloaks pulled tight around them as they watched the band suspiciously from their posts. Two Wind Hawks, cloaks of feathers draped over their shoulders, stood command under the eaves of the gatehouse, but they too let the mercenaries pass without incident. In the gray haze the Air Tower could barely be made out looming over the sodden city below. Occasionally a crackle of thunder cascaded across the sky as it vented down its contents, lightning arcing out to touch and gently enfold the myriad towerlets of the Air Tower before harmlessly dissipating. 

They made their way all the distance back up the valley side to the estate of their patron, and only then, as they reached the gates of the mansion and its grounds, did Wolf hesitate. 

"Oh sod, I haven't decided what the hell we're going to tell Ecurius yet." 

* * *

Within the small guest wing it was warm, the hearth filled with a carckling fire in the common room from which the bedrooms led off. The servants had recieved the bedraggled and bloodstained mercenaries with some surprise at their state, and had probably gone off to alert their master to events immediately. The two conjured servants had laid down their loads in the common room and then discorporated into thin smoke that rapidly dissipated, leaving without a word nor gesture. Now the party found themselves in the warmth of the common room, their acquisitions piled around them; crates of money, starnge goods, and smokepowder. 

Almost immediately Ecurius arrived, appearing with an urgency to his step; his face grim, but not cold or hostile, as his eyes took in the mercenary band. His gaze swept over the loot too, and then he spoke. 

"You'd better tell me what has happened. I've heard word already, that something happened to do with the criminal element of the city, and from what I see before me it was bloody, I would guess? The Wind Hawks told me you looked bad but I didn't realise quite how bad they meant. You look like you need some serious medical aid, though I have no idea how much of the blood you've managed to get spattered over yourselves is your own." 


Maybe it was the exhaustion, the buzzing discharge of spent corticosteroids in her bloodstream or just the feminist backlash of having been called 'chicken-brained' for the dozenth time, but Mel's sentiments for Lord Ecurius cooled a few significant degrees as he arrived frowning and beginning his demand for answers with "You'd better tell me," as if they were his slaves or something. There was a great deal implied in his last phrase as well. "...I have no idea how much of the blood you've managed to get spattered over yourselves is your own." 

"As long as it's red I'm safe," she said stupidly, inspecting the rust-stained hem of her dress. Of course, he would be talking about Kale, Wolf and Ebri Zol, who really did look a sight, come to think of it. 

Only a couple of hours before, when Wolf had suggested they make up a story to give Lord Ecurius, Melisande had nearly lectured the veteran on the merits of telling the whole truth and nothing but to a Truth-Seeker; but before she could even open her mouth a little Sebastion-shaped imp in her mind told her that was chicken-brained and she clammed up. Which annoyed her, when she thought about it, so she threw him a couple of stern looks en route when he wasn't clucking away chicken-brainedly himself in the face of Ebri Zol's philosophical discourse, which obviously took a good deal more cortex to fathom than was available to poultry. 

Now, on the other hand, she wondered if they were right that it may not be wise to spill the whole thing to Lord Ecurius on the spot. She really had no grasp of the intricacies of informational strategy and no clue how one decided who was to be trusted and who wasn't. Was it naive to think that even if they couldn't trust Lord Ecurius, it was still wise to tell him everything in view of their future employment? No matter which way you looked at it, hiding things from a powerful Truth-Seeker who happened to be your benefactor just sounded chicken-brained. But what did she know? She gave Sebastion another reproachful glare. 

The whole day just made her grumpy. There was an ugly side to Tarravus she hadn't wanted to know about. There were traumatized slave-children, abhorrent xenoplanar beasts, cults of evil dragon-gods and to top it off it was pouring down rain. Except for Ak'mun'tep (oh yes and the little chapel fire of victory), the day had been a miserable failure. 

She could only imagine what her hair looked like by now. Scowling, she dropped into a cushy armchair by the hearth and let someone else with a more evolved brain do the explaining. _And I don't mean you, Pierre. Quit feeling so smug. Chickens are two rungs up from amphibians, let me remind you. _

When no-one appeared eager to speak, Sebastion laid down the facts for Ecurius. "Someone has been hunting Kale... we went after them, and found that they might be hunting something a little bigger..." he pointed to the crates of smokepowder. "I'm not an expert, but I guess that could make quite a hole, somewhere."

Ecurius's gaze followed Sebastions gesture to the smokepowder crates, and he stooped low over them, scooping his hand into the fine gray powder and letting it run through his fingers like sand. "Smokepowder... there's enough here to provide for a fair few firearms." He stood back up. "Care to go into more details about how you came upon this?" 

"Kale had a run-in with an unpleasant character in the city," Wolf growled, slumped in the chair he had commandeered in front of the fire. "Turned out they were on the look-out for us anyway; probably because they were slavers, and I've hardly had a track record of friendliness with slavers." He shifted to make himself more comfortable as Ecurius himself took a seat in the common room. "It didn't seem a good idea to leave a potential enemy behind us in the city, and our... ah... information acquired through some magical divination implied it would be a good move on our part to deal with the problem." A faint flicker of a smile crossed his face as he remembered the mimir making it's suggestion. "We found out it was some slaver operation run by a cult of Gilamesh, led by a merchant and spellslinger called Cancer Tierholme. We tracked down their base of operations; right down in the bowels of the city, under the sewers and old ruins. Then," he sighed painedly, "we eliminated them. The cult's been cleansed, the few slaves freed, and we nearly took some heavy casualties if it wasn't for the skill of our healers." 

"A dragon cult?" Ecurius asked interestedly. 

"Indeed. Cancer had a couple of these dragonmen things, big winged lizard-men, brutally strong, down there as guards too." 

"Dragonkin? But they're western creatures." 

"Maybe, but there were a couple down there, though by the time I came back round this lot had dealt with them," he said with a grudging smile of respect to the others. "And those crates of smokepowder, and it didn't look like they were seeking to equip anyone with firearms, we only found one pistol down there. Sebastion's thoughts might have some merit; they might have been seeking to blow something up. Not any more of course. And Burl, the wise fellow, wasn't going to let us go anywhere without bringing back all the wizard's books and correspondence he had down there. I'm sure you'll be interested to see what he had written down there as well." 

Wolf leant back, wincing slightly from the injuries he had suffered during the battle, while Ecurius pasued for a few moments silent contemplation in the flickering light of the fire. Outside the storm seemed to be rapidly abating, to go as soon as it had come, though it remained dark from the lateness of the day. 

At length, the sorcerer spoke. "There will be... repercussions, you know. You can't simply go slaughtering people in a city, even if they were cultists. The authorities are already aware something happened, after all."


----------



## Broccli_Head

Ecurius really upset me when I first read this. Talk about a lack of support for those that you lead (or at least are a patron for)!

those snotty lords...what can you do?


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## Carnifex

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> *Ecurius really upset me when I first read this. Talk about a lack of support for those that you lead (or at least are a patron for)!
> 
> those snotty lords...what can you do? *






Well, as you know, this brews up a little storm between Ebri and Ecurius


----------



## Carnifex

Bonewrench and Boneshatter spells are now up here:

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=731005#post731005


----------



## Carnifex

_"There will be... repercussions, you know. You can't simply go slaughtering people in a city, even if they were cultists. The authorities are already aware something happened, after all." _

_That must be Ecurius... where did he come from?_ Kale wondered, not knowing that he had stopped paying attention to anything once they had passed the gate guard. 

It was true, Wolf and Kale had tended to make their own law wherever they went, and Naseria was not the tacitly-permissive mercenary haven like his native Corinthia. It would probably take more than a wink and a nod to keep Ecurius and his mercenary 'hirelings' from unwanted scrutiny.

As Burl listened to Ecurius, he opened Spike’s carry bag and allowed the hedgehog to scuttle out toward the fire where he raised his spikes and shook like a little dog splashes of water flying. Turning to Ecurius, Burl spoke, “I wouldn’t call it slaughtering innocents. Kale had been attacked and almost killed by Cancer and his hired thugs. We were given to understand that he would keep coming after us, so we took protective measures and struck back under our terms. Not only did we rid the city of an evil slaver, as Wolf said", pointing at the stack of smokepowder “we possibly stopped a major disaster before it happened.” 

Walking to his backpack, Burl began rummaging through it, pulling the papers and maps that he had gathered from the lair. “Take a look at these papers. Maybe you will see something of interest to you or the Wind Hawks. Also, if you know where Cancer lived or have the resources to find it, there might be more clues as to what he was up to. That is if we can get there before looters start tearing it apart.” 

Mel glanced up from her brooding slump to shoot Ecurius a pointed look. "My goodness, the 'authorities' must be very well informed here in Tarravus," she said a trifle sarcastically. "If news travels so fast, why hadn't they done anything about this before? Those children had obviously been in there long enough to be beaten and starved half to death." 

She waved a hand, turning back to the fire. "Anyway we don't really have time to slog through the swamps of justice, do we? We'll answer your questions, but I'm sure you'll agree that we should be moving on to more important matters as soon as possible. You'll handle the authorities for us, won't you Milord?" 

Inwardly she winced, picking up her mother's harsh tones in her own, usually softer, voice. A little late she smiled a sweet smile at Lord Ecurius and added a "Please?" for good manners, incongruous though it sounded. 

_What's wrong with me?_ she lamented to Pierre, whose right head was emerging from his comfortably wet pocket. _Either I'm acting like a nitwit or my mother. _

_There's got to be another option! _

Pierre, accustomed to being of two minds, didn't really see the problem. He flippered himself out of the pocket doggedly and sat like a lawn ornament on her lap, enjoying the moist warmth rising from her soaked dress. 

Burned and exhausted, Kale was in dire mood. He sat gently in the Lord's opulent guest common room. Melisande levied her request that Ecurius manage the authorities, and Kale couldn't think of anything better than to drop all responsibilities so he could get away, get healed, washed, and into a warm bed. But the Truth Seeker had a point, the authorities had to be dealt with. Besides, some others needed tending to even more badly than Kale himself. 

"They can thank us later," Kale said of the guard, witholding any tone of condescention. Authorities in Tarravus actually had authority, not like the political facade and machine of Iril, where the shipping houses held the power, and the discreet mercenary bands were their insturments of choice. Here, some government folks might actualy care about their jobs, and when they realize the crew were not murderers, but 'humble public servants, doing their good turn for the community'... well, Kale expected they'd still be stepping on a few toes. This was beside the point that swift exectution was not the preferred method of problem-solving here in Naseria. 

Battered and burned, however, he couldn't care less. "I prefer my 'repercussions' in gold," was the mercenary bluster that became a bit of his own inside joke. Surely, Kale enjoyed coin and busty serving wenches and friendly barroom brawls as much as the next dirty swingsword. 

At its most banal, he killed for a living, yet at the end of the day, where was he? He and his disparate crew limped home from putting yet another ugly group of malcontents out of their misery, with little reward other than the mixed, horrible satisfaction of watching the foul men fall to their blades. Of course, this was not simply 'pest-control', but devoid of the facts, Kale doubted anyone would think anything else. 

Kale needed to be free from certain mages who prefer to fry him on sight, and more importantly, slaves needed their freedom. Truth was, Kale told himself, the temple and its people simply had to be eliminated, immediately. Mercenaries held no truck with this sort of 'charity', and authorities certainly frowned upon it, at the very least. But the job was done. Any local mercs could be taught quickly enough, should they be foolish enough question his mettle. And the authorities? Somthing told Kale he wouldn't be hassled about this one. 

Looking to Ecurius more seriously, the mercenary continued, still with a bit of bluster. "If investigators start hassling you too much, send them to me. We're a crew in high demand right now, but I'm sure we could clue them in to help them get the answers they want. They'll be able to find where there used to be the Gilamesh temple, its followers and tuns of flashpowder. It was all just about directly underneath the temple of Nashka, as I recall?" Kale asked rhetorically, as though it were of little consequence. The young mercenary had yet to scrutinize any papers Burl had recovered, but with support including an ancient 'seer-pot' from the heart of Gilamesh-land, and dragon-kin allies from the west... plotting some sort of attack while directly underneath the prime temple of one of the gods responsible for Gilamesh's fall... All the answers were not in place, but Kale supected that anyone who supported Nashka (read: all of Naseria) wouldn't be too bent out of shape over what Wolf's little band did that day. 

It was too much to think about for the moment. But one thing Kale did know was that it was time to be on the lookout to harvest favors and reward, 'repercussions' were hardly on his mind. "I also found a few guys in town who helped supply the boys with what they needed for their little project..." that was a nice additional bit of help, he planned to tell any investigators if only to offer the illusion of willful cooperation. 

Rat Trin, Kale hoped to protect. It would not do to hire a guide, only to bring the guard down on the fellow a day later. Besides, Trin might prove useful again someday. 

The men around the poker table that night past? They didn't really do anything wrong, per se, but those who choose to deal with the wrong kind of folks, Kale wasn't going to go out of his way to help them. Besides, some Hawks of some sort would probably just come into their place, break a few things, get a few scraps of information, then leave. It was a much smaller cost than Kale had to pay for getting tangled with Cancer... or what the slave children paid, for that matter. 

_You are one cocky sonofabltch, you know that?_ Kale thought as he schooled himself carefully still, focussing on making sure the others were faring all right, and concentrating on looking around the room without moving anything that hurt. Bravado and a defiant attitude, those things helped. _In the end, it's ego and will that keep a soldier going..._ and at the moment, that was just about all he had.

Their patron sighed. "I didn't call it slaughtering innocents either, Burl, but you still went about killing people in the capital, which is not the way things are done. There will be questions asked by authorities, and they will want answers. Don't get me wrong, I have no love of slavers nor cultists, and I am glad that you destroyed such a malign presence, and others will be too. Nonetheless you cannot simply act as if you make your own laws, because you do not. You should have recoursed to the authorities." 

"I don't know where Cancer lives, though I could find out with a little time. Note that despite what you seem to think, looters aren't going to descend on the place in their hordes to steal all the evidence. I'll have Wind Hawks secure the place and search it for evidence. Most of the people of this city are only going to hear about your little incident as a tale on the streetm nothing more." 

"The reason why myself and a number of other notable figures in the city already know about the events of today," he shot an acidic look at Melisande after her earlier sarcastic comment, "is because we heard you had headed down into the Rat's Nest. I don't know exactly who saw you; the Wind Hawks won't tell mem and they were the ones initially told. Then the next thing I hear is a report from the Wind Hawk gate-watchers diverted over to me by a Sky Captain from the Air Tower - sent by arcanology, if you want to know how it arrived so fast -that you've emerged from the Nest in quite a state." 

"Now, I have every intention of dealing with this as best as I can, because yes, I do want you on your way without too many delays. Luckily it was nothing high-profile, and to be honest you've done more of a service to the city than caused a problem, because I know that news of slavers had recently reached the city guard and they wanted it dealt with. Like I said, most people will be happy with what you've done, but there will be many who are unnerved by the idea of a mercenary band being able to circumvent the laws so easily, and they'll cause me some trouble." 

"Now, I'd prefer you all to be off as soon as possible; by the time you're back, the small disturbance you've caused should all be over, and if anyone remembers it, it'll probably be in a favourable light anyway. I'm sorry that I may seem somewhat irritated over this, it's just that when you sweep in covered in blood and there's a threat it may all set back my plans... well, I'd prefer that things went smoothly."


----------



## Carnifex

Another House Rules update is back, with the Manipulator spells Metabolise along with one of my favourites, Flesh No Barrier 

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=731160#post731160


----------



## Carnifex

I've just gone back and edited the post where the party return to the surface, adding in Ebri's reflections during the journey up which I'd forgotten to put in there previously.


----------



## Carnifex

Burl pondered what Ecurius had to say about getting out of town quickly to let things cool off, then looked to the others, asking, “It probably wouldn’t be such a bad idea to get on the road. I only wish I had enough time to finish preparing the healing salves that I had started before we leave. With our past history, they probably would come in handy. We have a few items that need to be delved into also, but we can probably do that on the road to the Tower, although it would be better to do that here in relative safety. But my biggest question is what are we going to do with all this?” pointing to the large pot and the smoke powder. 

Just then, a thought popped into Burl’s head. What brought it to mind, he didn’t know, but it was there. _I wonder what happened to the bird Tewlcroghen was sending for the information I gathered? I hope nothing has happened. _

Ecurius settled back into the comfort of the chair. "It depends what you want to do with all that powder,"he replied to Burl's question. "Though I can't see what you'd need that much for unless you're going to be carrying enough firearms to equip an entire force of Dawn Guard. If you do want to leave it here, I'll make sure it's kept somewhere safe and away from fires. There's plenty of room down in the cellars."

"We will need a day's rest, certainly--"Ebri said, mopping the excess water from her mass of braids. What she wouldn't give to have a bald pate again; the hair was a nuidance and a vanity and a curse, but necessary for appearances in the world. "--and though it would be more appropriate to stay and address the moral ills and conditions that made it possible for us to act freely without regard to the law in this instance--for example, how is it, Lord, that an underground city exists at all in this fair and enlightened place? It is a breeding ground for disease and criminals and discontent, and it is all too easy to turn a blind eye to that which you cannot see in the first place. Though we saved those children from a life of slavery, their lives have already been marred by suffering and trauma that may take years to heal. That is not the way to make productive citizens, and it does not speak well of your governance-- and if you object to my words, Truth seeker, then you are no Truthseeker at all, for that is the truth indeed-- " Ebri paused for breath, having sufficiently represented the Immarian loathing of slavery and general distrust of governmental authority for now, and stood and bowed, seeming to acquiesce, "though that would be more _appropriate_, what would be more _expedient_, I suppose, would be to go as soon as we can. And I do not mind, entirely, for the Tower does present a curious prospect of adventure. I would as soon be gone from the city, in any case."

Mel sat up aghast, nearly dumping Pierre off her lap, as Ebri Zol's pleasant, soft voice offered a severe lesson to Lord Ecurius. _A breeding ground for discontent?_ she wondered, recalling with a shiver what became of malcontents in Carthagia. As a child she had quickly learned to cover her eyes whenever she approached the town square. Why had she dared imagine Naseria would be different? And if Lord Ecurius wasn't the lofty noble soul she had imagined, what would he do with Ebri Zol and her impudence? 

Stroking Pierre, she shrank back down into the armchair to stare at the fire. Of course Tarravus had a stinking underground; why wouldn't it? Evil would always fester. She could burn as many chapels as she liked, but Gilamesh would endure. 

"Me too," she concurred as Ebri Zol closed her speech. "Don't take us too hard, Lord. You should have seen what we saw. We will not soon forget it, no matter how bright your city aboveground and how dear your hospitality. If our mission can in any way aid you or the city's authorities in better controlling its--its evil elements, then I am all the more eager to begin." 

Sebastion held his tongue, firmly, after realising he might have spoken rashly where wisdom held silence to be in ascendance. Ebri's words rang true, mostly, though he wondered why it seemed only he could see what they couldn't: the evil didn't dwell in the darkness below the city. The evil dwelt in the city, and ventured down to those it kept enslaved and encircled whenever it needed supplies or victims. 

Ecurius, for all his titles and fancy words could just as well be the very evil they were speaking of - certainly the presence of such a coven as the Gilamesh*tes suggested complacency from above, if not actual complicity. With that in mind, Sebastion ventured a nod of agreement. 

"Perhaps a quick departure would serve us well." he offered, quietly. _From your home, at least... the city gate could perhaps wait a day or two. I'm sure Mr Trin would know an unseen way or two out of the town... _

* * *

Wyshira had been quiet... thoughtful... the whole way back to Ecurius' house. The steady rain was a comfort to her in a way that she doubted any of the others could understand. She trudged along beside Cord, watching out for his steps and ready to help him if he stumbled, but she didn't speak. To anyone. 

Back in the guest's quarters, she allowed herself to drop wearily into a well-cushioned chair as far away from the fire as possible, heedless of her sopping wet tunic and trousers. She closed her eyes and listened detachedly to Ecurius' entrance and the subsequent conversations. 

She was thinking about the words of Ak'mun'tep, the jackal-headed seer. She had been relieved to hear that her mother and sister were well, of course. That was one little niggling concern that she could put out of her mind for now. But she certainly wished that he had answered her question about Burl in a more straightforward manner. 

_"If you care for wisdom... listen to words from the air." _

There was much to think about there. Oh. And of course Melisande had asked about the Great Prophet next. _Shushurek again! Why does that name keep popping up? And shadows, and the Elder Gods......._ Even Kale seemed to take an inordinate interest in these things. What did the Men of Shadow have to do with the crew anyway? 

A suspicion had been growing in her, ever since the bookseller's today...... Melisande, the scatter-brained blue girl: was she really what she seemed? Think about it! A Carthagian, a Sorceress, a wielder of that treacherous (to Wyshira's mind) Fire Serpent Rod..... Did she lead the other two, Ebri and Sebastian, in plotting to snatch Burl for themselves? 

_Gracious Lady, but it's been a long day!_ Wyshira thought with a self-deprecating smile. She massaged her temples with her fingers and tried to sink deeper into the upholstered chair. Opening one eye briefly, she glanced over at Melisande as she brooded in her own overstuffed chair near the fire. How could anyone suspect *that* one of keeping secrets or of plotting? 

Wyshira shook her head and vowed to stop thinking for a while. She'd be asleep in a minute if she didn't get up and do something anyway. Now that they were all safe again, she could think about using the last of her spells to heal the most greivously injured of the party. 

When she opened her eyes, she found that Burl was standing beside her. The necromancer asked if there was anything he could help her with. Wyshira smiled up at him, appreciating his presence and his concern. _Does he really study death-magic? He's not what I ever expected a necromancer to be!_ She rose to her feet and took his arm, her cold, damp fingers penetrating his robe to the fire-warmed skin beneath. 

"You can help me take care of Kale and Ebri, Burl. Thank you for your offer. I need a bowl for water, and some clean strips of cloth. 

"And then, I wonder if I could talk to you about something." The storm priestess lowered her voice and leaned closer to the mage. "Alone."

The necromancer nodded, quickly moving to fetch what the priestess had asked for, and then quickly returning. He paused by Wyshira's side as she tended Kale's wounds. “When we are finished maybe you could help me finish my healing salves. We probably will need them on our trip to the tower. We should have time for that discussion you wanted.” 

* * *

As he sat and listened to Ebri's rant, the warming firelight that slowly dried the sodden band out played odd shadows across the sorcerer's face; but it was clear that his fine features were expressing barely contained anger at the priestess's words. Yet he let her finish her speech before he spoke. Let me first tell you that you have _no_ understanding of what the title Truth Seeker means, what our purpose and aims are, so do not sully it with your crass comparisons and ignorant declamations. Trust me, I am very tempted to temper your arrogance by showing you that you were not able to act without regards to the law by handing you over for questioning by the watch myself." 

"Whereever you have many people together, you wil have criminals, and you will have crime. I object to your words because you are _wrong_,Immarian; our government does not exist to crush those under it by over-control as you would apparently have us do to stop anyone from ever committing a crime, but merely to combat such crime and evil as best we can, and to maintain the integrity of our nation. An undercity exists under the capital simply because that is how it physically is; the watch do as good a job as they can to deal with the criminal element and I am disgusted by your disparagement of their efforts when you can do no better a job than to wander down there and kill a few people. And what? Do you think you've saved the city from some great evil? What of all the other petty criminals? And what of the truly great threats? You have done something good in expunging some cultists and slavers but do not even consider yourself to be capable of accusing a government of not doing their task correctly because you stuck a blade into a criminal and think you can set the world to rights, you arrogant, ignorant woman. You have no idea of the problems faced in the real tasks in the world." 

He snorted in disgust, only slightly mollified by Melisande's more tempered words. "I am merely...amazed that some mercenaries feel they have the right to declare the government and law enforcement as useless just because they have gone and shed some blood.You have no idea of the enormity of the task of administering to an entire city, do you? Especially not when the criminal element is far from being co-operative with the watch... do you expect them to just tell us where all the cultists and slavers and murderers and robbers live? It is a big city, there are a lot of people living here, and we cannot, unlike you, simply go around killing people because if the defenders of the law ignore its strictures then it is little more than a mockery anyway." 

"Anyway, yes, perhaps a quick departure," he sighed, and got up, and left the room. 

"He didn't like that,"Wolf growled at Ebri. "Not one bit. I don't think he actually objects to what we did - he's probably quite glad, and more than a little worried about it all - but railing on at him like it was his personal fault was a bit unfair, don't you think? I don't think he likes what goes on in the dark corners of the capital any more than we do. He's right too - what we did today isn't the solution when you're trying to rule a city by any other means than terror."


----------



## Broccli_Head

You know that I read it! And sometimes 2X since I'm a longtime subscriber, even. 

cool thing is, that you are almost caught up with where the story is!


----------



## Carnifex

Indeed, we're only a handful of threads behind now! Soon I'll have caught up fully, I'd imagine.

And hey, this is the 300th post in my SH


----------



## Carnifex

_It’s amazing what goes through your mind at a time like this,_ Kale thought as he roused himself from a trancelike stare. He heard only absently what Ebri and the others were saying, but as Wyshira’s healing energies rushed new, cool energy in to his body… he felt a foreboding even as the fine-clothed lord stiffened, brow furrowed. 

...you have _no_ understanding of what the title Truth Seeker means ...

Ecurius spoke in almost clipped tones, withholding his emotions like a dike about to burst. The whole scene washed over Kale like bitter drink- pungent, numbing droughts known only to those in trapped in the depth and sourness of life. The mercenary didn’t know why, but he somehow though it would be better, easier, if in fact Lord Tarravus was a complicit politico, and the band merely an arrogant grip of sellswords. But neither was the case, and such was the whole tragedy of the scene. 

What was Ebri thinking? Kale had always considered her the expedient one, a priestess, sure, but an idealist? And naïve? His head swam in confusion. He had thought her such a neutral party, like a scientist observing her world. Immarians always seemed so bookish and indifferent to him… the encounter with the slaves must have really set her off. _I’ll be honest, it set us all off…_ And rightly so, he felt, but the mess this emotion had gotten them into. Reckless. Unprofessional. 

...do not sully it with your crass comparisons and ignorant declamations ...

And Kale himself had practically fallen asleep until the storm was right on top of them. _”One nod at sea, and the Nor’easter’ll meet you eye to eye.” _It was an odd old proverb to be thinking about at the moment, Kale considered as he looked slowly to Burl and Wyshira. His exhausted first partners had never encountered a scene like this. It was imperative that they all relax and not make things worse than they already were. 

...I am disgusted by your disparagement of their efforts when you can do no better a job ...

Inside, Kale was wilting from the recriminations. He had only known Ebri for a few days… she really didn’t speak for him, but really. It didn’t matter. Honestly, Kale felt a bit like the loose-tongued priestess did, but Kale had a chip on his shoulder, which was clear when Ecurius spoke about ‘you mercenaries.’ It was hard enough to weather misunderstanding and loathing, without some of it even rightly coming to bear. This night would pass, and tempers would subside, but this wouldn’t be the last time this kind of conflict would come up.


----------



## Carnifex

Having said her piece, Ebri sat back against the supports of her chair, relaxed, and at ease. Quickly, she had gauged the reactions of her companions to her words--how interesting, the variety of responses to the perceived conflict--subdued silence, horror, attempts at mollification, some clearly wanting to distance themselves, others allying themselves by body language, and others more controlled and neutral--and now let her eyes remain fixed on Lord Ecurius, blinking slowly like a lizard's, as he made his rebuttal. 

_Far from weakminded.... or weak-tempered._ she judged. _Nor does he let his anger distract him from his needs or his principles..._ It was clear Lord Ecurius would not fly off the handle; and also that he needed them somewhat. Or at the very least, that the expedition to the tower that he wanted them, as he'd put it, to _loot_ was important to him, enough so that it would be an inconvenience to him to find replacements for a band with one impudent and/or clear thinking and critical member. But a more important question had been at least partially addressed. _He is unlikely to betray us. _


For the latest expedition might clearly have embarrassing implication and consequences, both in the trouble and bloodshed they had themselves caused, and for the social conditions the little excursion beneath the city had brought closer to the scrutiny of public attention. And it was easily within Ecurius' power to disavow all knowledge of and responsibility for their actions, indeed, as he'd threatened, to have them imprisoned. And she had given him an easy excuse, had he been so inclined. 

And that, she found, was good to know, before they set out on a dangerous mission with uncertain ethical implications, likely to return with a great deal of valuable treasure which a Lord Truthseeker might well wish to keep knowledge of secret and all to himself. 

And as the Lord departed, and the flurry of her companions' responses began, an equally crucial thing became apparent: _these people were disinclined to betray her, as well._ With only a few weeks' company and less for some of them, and a small number of shared combat experiences, they had already formed a group identity that, apparently, included her. Though her comments made them uneasy, some of them, none had moved to repudiate her, or verbally distance themselves, or even express outright displeasure. Wolf, the charismatic leader, was framing his attempts to bring her back in line with the group ethic in casual, non-confrontational terms. Most passed no comment at all, despite the fact that, in their terms, she might have just risked their liveliehood. 

It showed, really, how easily led such people were. She made a mental note to develop a closer relationship with Wolf. 

"No, he didn't, did he?" she answered the leader, getting up gingerly to walk to the middle of the irregular circle of chairs and benches. "But now we know somewhat more of our employer, would you not say? As for _unfair,_ no, I think not. That is the responsibility of those in power, to be subject to such scrutiny and criticism, and it is ever the _way_ of those in power to label those critical voices they would not wish to hear _ignorant, inexperienced, unrealistic, and incapable._ Lord Ecurius is quite an able administrator: by his answer it is clear he is used to dealing with such small folk as I. I do not mean to disparage him unduly: but I _am_ glad to understand him better. For we are working for him, or I should say, rather, _you_ are. It is you who travelled for weeks to work for him. Wherever I go, I serve only Immar. But I am pleased to share your paths and your ends for this while. And while our ends are determined by a great lord, I will take care to learn what I can of him. I do beg your pardon, if you found the exchange _unpleasant._"

With Burl's help, Wyshira had begun to make her way through the party, one by one, tending their wounds.  She wordlessly moved on to work on Ebri next, casting her last healing spell as unobtrusively as possible. 

And then it was Sebastian's turn. He watched her warily as she and Burl approached, and she wondered what it was about her that he didn't like or trust. She was used to being held at a distance, even put up on a pedestal, due to reverance for her station. That had been a fact of life for the storm priestess almost since the day of her birth. Of course, Kale and Wolf had never held her much in awe, which had been a new experience for her; but the two mercenaries had always been respectful (mostly) and appreciative (certainly) of her gifts and her power. 

But Sebastian was...... _What?? Suspicious of me, _she realized with a start. And not because they'd only known each other for a day. It might be because of the strangeness of her race, she supposed - _fish scales seem to turn some people off!_ - but no, she was beginning to see that it was her 'magic' that made him uneasy. "Don't worry," she told the Huronese mercenary. "I'm not going to cast any spells. I've got some things in my kit here that will ease your discomfort and make sure your wounds don't begin to mortify, although they look clean enough. Burl, fresh bandages please."

Slumped in the chair by the fire, Wolf nodded at Kale's words. "You're right. I don't think Ecurius does have anything to do with those slavers, especially Gilamees. No Naserian noble would countenance such things; you have to remember that here, the sorcerers claim their powers comes from the blood of Naskha in their veins. Elder god cultists are hardly tolerable to them." 

"Anyways, it's getting late now, and time for rest if we need to make arrangements for leaving tomorrow. Night to you all." Looking weary but still awake, Wolf left the common room.

* * *

When she was through with her rounds, Wyshira bid the remaining group members a quiet good night. She nodded to Burl, and he followed her out of the firelit room and through the darkened halls of Lord Ecurius' guest wing. She led the way out through a side door and into a secluded garden that she had discovered earlier in the day. The steady sound of falling water could be heard coming from around the corner of a low stone wall, and Wyshira hurried toward its source: a foam-flecked pond and fountain surrounded by night-flowering vines and shrubs. 

She sighed with pleasure at the sight, sound, and smell of the peaceful alcove. Then she turned toward Burl. "I wanted to tell you, away from the others, what I asked Ak'mun'tep back there under the city. I asked about you, and why the Toranites and those hooded assassins were interested in you. The answer the seer gave me was enigmatic at best, but I thought it might make more sense to you. He said that you would give these people some kind of 'advantage', I guess politically. And he said that you might be linked to the corruption that Cord is always talking about, but only in a circumstantial way." 

"And then...." Wyshira paused, concentrating, remembering that voice that came from out of the air. "And then I heard this voice, his voice I guess, in my head saying that you didn't know why you were being pursued, and neither did your *bloodkin.* At least not yet. Your bloodkin.... I don't understand what your bloodkin are. But they will know before too long, he said. "

"Do those words mean anything to you?" 

Listening carefully to her, Burl tried to gain some comprehension from what she said. “I have no clue as to the first part that you have told me. As to the mention of my bloodkin, I have none to speak of except for my father. I was an only child and my mother is dead. I have not seen my father in years, nor do I really care to since he was responsible for my mother’s dying. I don’t even know if he is alive or dead.” 

Burl assumed that the term _bloodkin_ meant something like _family,_ which made sense, Wyshira supposed. "But I got the feeling that the word was used to mean something else, not your blood relatives exactly," Wyshira noted thoughtfully. She tried to recall exactly what the voice had said: _"Know this, that to know why Burl is pursued by some and sought out by others is to know more than he himself knows, to know more than even those of his bloodkin know, yet."_ But her musing was interrupted by the swift beating of wings on the night air.

Burl felt Spike trying to get his attention, _Bird coming, big bird coming_ Listening, Burl heard the flapping of wings and spotted a hawk heading his way just before the bird landed on his shoulder. Burl spotted a message canister attached to it’s leg, realizing instantly what this must be. _What wonderful timing. How am I going to explain this?_ thought Burl as he reached for the small parchment within. 

* * *

She looked up to see a hawk dropping from the sky and landing with graceful precision on the necromancer's shoulder. Here was a surprise! The magnificent bird stood nearly beak-to-nose with Burl, staring at him with a purposeful gleam in its golden eyes. But Burl merely seemed chagrined by the creature's timing. _He's not nearly as surprised as he ought to be,_ Wyshira thought. _He might almost have been expecting that bird to show up!_

* * *

As he unrolled the message with a quizzical look on his face for Wyshira’s benefit he said, 

“I wonder who this could be from?” Looking at the note without really reading it, he gave a small chuckle, then rolled it back up placing it in his pouch. 

“That is really interesting. I wonder how she found me here. It is a note from an acquaintance of mine, an elven female to be more precise. She did now that I was headed in this general direction. Maybe she had a scrying performed. I’m sorry Wyshira, I really should send her a reply. After all she did go out of her way to write me. Could you meet me in about an hour in the lab so that we can prepare those healing salves. If we can cook them, the could start hardening by the morning and it looks Wolf will be having us leave tomorrow. See you in a bit.” 

Whistling for Spike and gathering him up, Burl hustled to his room where, after locking the door and placing the hawk on the bed post, he carefully unrolled the parchment and read it.

* * *
Burl glanced at the parchment attached to the hawk's leg, and explained about it being a message from an _acquaintance_ of his, an _elven female._ Wyshira found herself frowning at the note, mistrustful of it at once; or did she really just resent the intrusion into their private conversation? When Burl asked leave to break off their meeting so that he could return to his room and reply to the message, she couldn't help feeling like she was being shut out of something. It took a moment, but she shook off her hurt feelings and stammered out a reply to his apology: 

"I- well, yes of course! I mean, that's fine with me, we can meet later in the lab. I don't mind. I wanted a chance to wash up anyway." She managed an overly bright smile then, and shooed him off to his room with assurances that she would be along soon too. The ceaseless murmuring of the fountain washed over her as she watched him make his way along the dark garden path and out of sight. 

* * *

Later, after a bath and a change of clothes, Wyshira nibbled a handful of grapes that she'd filched from Ecurius' table earlier in the day and stashed in her pocket. She'd wanted to invite Melisande to her room this evening to share the prize, along with some tea or wine, and some girl-talk. But she imagined that by the time she and Burl were finished working on the healing salves, it would be quite late, and the blue sorceress would be long asleep. 

Oh well. Wyshira hoped they'd find the time to talk sometime later. Meanwhile, she ought to be trying to find her way to Lord Tarravas' lab.....


----------



## Carnifex

The fire was warm and Mel's limbs had gone a little melty in its heat, not to mention in the blast of anger from Lord Ecurius which could have melted steel. Adamantine, Ebri Zol remained cool, but the more malleable Mel felt slightly devastated. A few hours ago she had been dreamily planning a glorious future for herself with His Lordship playing a pivotal role alongside the mysterious Ak'mun'tep; now all she wanted to do was pack her things and get on the road again with her real friends. 

A lazy smile curled her blue lips. Friends. How astonishing. Some of them were worse than peculiar (but then, she wasn't one to point _that_ finger), and some she still had doubts about--Burl the friendly necromancer, Kale who seemed to be hiding quite a lot under his jaded rogue disguise, not to mention that... that... _pig-headed_ blade-for-hire--but they had just lived through a literal trial by fire and had come out not only victorious but tested in the flames of righteousness. Mel discovered as she watched the cheery fire in Lord Ecurius' parlor that she trusted each and every one of them profoundly. More even than she trusted His Dreamy Lordship. 

Her previous plan to go upstairs and fix her hair before requesting audience with Lord Ecurius and explaining the whole Ak'mun'tep affair went up with the weaving sparks in the flue. He would want to know about that, and the sooner it was told the better light it would shed on the group, but Melisande found herself very comfortable in that armchair and in no hurry at all to face the Lord's wrath again, and certainly not alone. Although if it got back to him that _she_ personally had released the ancient seer from his jar-prison and had not bothered to tell him, this would further jeopardize relations. And what was she doing in Naseria anyway, if not to try to find a benefactor and make a new life for herself? 

Maybe in the morning. Right now she wanted a bath and a long, dreamless, comfy night--perhaps the last for a long while. With a yawn she peeled herself out of the armchair. "I'm going to take full advantage of a bed and a roof while I can," she announced, cupping Pierre in her hands. "I uh--I just think you're all wonderful. What we did today--it was brave. It was the right thing to do, no matter what our personal reasons were. Well, good night!" Indigo with embarrassment, she fled for the stairs in Wolf's wake. 

Sebastion watched everyone else slowly truck out, smiling slightly at Mel's words, reassured despite the argument of the Ebri and Ecurius. Both of them seemed to be trying to... push away the reality of the slaves they'd found, and turn them into fancy words and high-sounding moral consequences. 

He'd stood and looked into the eyes of those frightened children, he'd seen the complete absence of hope for a few moments in their dead stares, and he knew that no-one should have to go through that. You didn't have to sign up to a guard to defend people - each and every person that drew breath could do that when the opportunity arose. If it never arose, lucky them. 

Unable to shift the smile, and trying to convince himself it had absolutely nothing to do with Mel's words, he turned away from the soft beds and warm fires of the guest quarters they'd been assigned. He wasn't used to such places, and he wanted to be sure he was ready for the morning. 

Slipping through the gardens quite openly, he took his gear to the stables, nestling himself in amongst the horses and the dry hay in the loft to settled down and work his armour and blades over, sharpening out the nicks and unbending the worst of the chain links, all the while wondering what the 'morrow would bring, and whether all the things they'd reclaimed from the slavers would be taken by the guard as evidence...


----------



## Carnifex

Partway down the guesthouse hall, Kale stood easily by the wall. Nearby, a lampsconce flickered shadows about, as though the mercenary hadn’t yet decided: to be seen, or unseen. 

His brow creased in frustration, wondering what it meant, any of it. With so little he would or could make sense of-- then their resident Priestess of Truth had to go and throw her own flavor of chaos into the mix. 

Fiddling with his leather handwrap, his eye caught a shadow through the hall. _Lady Truth herself_ he thought as the woman approached. 

"Bad for business, to say the least," was the only neutral way he could think to begin. _Bloody stupid running of the mouth is more like it._ Looking up from his hands, Kale searched the woman for some manner or sense. 

Ebri moved purposefully down the hall, the hem of her garments brushing the dust-free floor, the ridges dividing the massive stone blocks from one another punctuating her thoughts as her fingers trailed across them. The healing was a blessed relief: it removed one more distraction, allowing her to marshall more of her energies toward her goals. Of these, the primary one was sleep, but it seemed likely to be delayed: the hothead mercenary Amegrion skulked up ahead, regarding her with gloom. 

"If you have aught to say, please do so." she told him smoothly, not pausing in her step as she walked past. 

She was plainclothed and bloodied, Kale thought for a moment one might mistake the woman for a misplaced, battered servant. Out of place, perhaps not, as her slick passing demeanor sorted her well among the estates, the political labelry, the façade-portraits on the mansion stone walls. 

If Kale had a problem with ‘nobility’ in the place, it wasn’t Ecurius he scorned. _Okay, I’ll play your game._ Gliding into step as Ebri breezed past, the mercenary engaged. No doubt she would pace such not to come side by side, no doubt she reserved her advantage to end the conversation as soon as she reached her destination. _Well, what could I expect? I don’t have an appointment. _

"I could very well say the same thing." Kale controlled his tone, reminding himself he was talking to a woman who had it All Figured Out. "Because I’m wondering when we all signed onto your personal truth crusade." Kale watched the back of her head carefully, ready to meet her eyes should she deem him worthy enough to turn about. "And why you feel your business should come at our expense." His light infantry boots clicking even rhythm on the stone floor, Kale phrased thing in a way the woman would expect from a plain mercenary. 


She kept her eyes forward, and rolled the words around in her mouth. "Do you object to the truth, then?" 

_Oh, gods,_ Kale rolled his eyes. "I don’t seem to be the one having trouble grasping reality." He began to get frustrated, but recalled to mind the droning professors, the heedless commanders, the countless arrogant merchants and statemen he had encountered before. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the fresh rain air that filtered into into the hall, wild and new, smoothed out by the stone wall’s solid stillness. Any other evening, it would have been a pleasant experience. "Truth?" 

"I’ll tell you what I’ve _seen_," Kale began, pressing a half step closer, wondering if the woman enjoyed speaking while her target simply watched her back. "Assuring me of your skills, you alone engaged, to your folly, an enemy far your superior. This night, certain of your handle on ‘truth’, you make accusations that are only safe if wrong. At the least you cost business, at the worst you cost lives," Kale stated the facts that he knew. 

"All I want to know, Immarian, is that in all your exclusive service of your far-off god, did you ever consider the service of this crew? You know, the ones that patched you up after you were beat down to a sodden mess?" It would be hard to put a cocky spin on that last one. 

"Your vision is colored by your needs and desires, of course. Like most, you see what you wish." Ebri answered calmly. If nothing else, this one was worth watching. He had the guts to question, and that was dangerous. "The enemy we encountered was far superior to any one of us alone. What you call folly was a calculated risk, Amegrion. Of all of us, I considered myself to be able to withstand the mage longest, to the least ill-effect, in order to delay his summoning of further foul beasts. And had you joined me, your leader and several others would have died. Perhaps you will ask me again if I have ever considered service to this band." 

"As for this evening, I stand by my words, for I believe them. But if you objected, or felt that I was a risk to your _business--_" Ebri invested the word with the sordidness of profit that neglected the concept of morality. "--then you might have repudiated me or my words at any time. But consider: what did you know of the man, really? And what of our mission? Would you really walk unknowing into what might be a trap? For mercenaries can be bought, sir, and they can also be _sold._" 

"As an Immarian, I already have the reputation for distrusting the authority of those that rule: therefore, I was best suited to question. The risk was small, and the punishment would have fallen upon me alone." 

The young mercenary became more and more angry at the woman’s words. Amegrion. She even used the family name, to brag how much she knew. 

At the last he rounded on the woman, to face her eye to eye. The woman was crafty, and deadly, he would have to be careful that this remained just a conversation. "I didn’t _ask_ for your ‘risk assessment.’ You feed me garbage about how little I know about my business, then tell me your risks are small? You don’t know stroke one about the trade, yet you are making decisions that put us all at stake. Wolf and I might not know everything, but experience shows that you know _very_ little." 

"And don’t try to impress me with your ‘bloody sacrifice for the team’. Foolishness does not substitute for valor. I’ve had _real_ soldiers give it all for me, and not one, _not one_ had the arrogance you show me tonight." Real anger began to show around the seams. He looked levelly at the woman for two breaths. He knew better than to think he could intimidate her, but his resolve was nonetheless solid. 

"If you think the risks we take are unwarranted, you are free to go at any time. But should you decide to stay--should Wolf find leave for you to remain-- you are going to do without your calculated risks. You can cut your teeth on mage duels and sparring with nobility on your own time." 

Cooling down a bit, Kale softened. "Look, this doesn’t have to be a showdown. But if you are going to work with us, what I need is some assurance that you are not going to tangle us in some personal crusade. I nedd to know you won’t cause more trouble than you’re worth."

Of a sort, this was reassuring: Kale was convinced she knew as little as an Immarian should. She blinked, and shrugged, tilting her head as she looked up at him. "You distress yourself unnecessarily." The words were cool, neutral, and informational. 

"I neither care for your opinion of me nor need your approval. As I have said, I walk Immar's road. His road happens to be yours for now. I have no personal crusade, whatever you may think. What do you know of faith, Kale Amegrion? Little, apparently. I will tell you. To have a goal in mind beforehand, or any overarching zeal and purpose, a crusade, you would say-- would detract from my experience of the journey. Had I a goal, or any point to prove, I should be distracted from the lessons I would gain along the way. It would be antithetical to my purpose entirely--" Ebri's mouth formed into a cold little smile. "I have no especial care for you or any of your 'crew'-- other than that I have for any sentient, good willed beings on life's road--" 

"And that care is not insubstantial." she said at last. She made her eyes placid and cow-like, unthreatening. It was important to let him have the sense of victory, or at least of having had an effect on her. "And for the last, you must decide: how much trouble _am_ I worth? It is a curious question." 

My, but the woman was slick. Kale corrected his cynical observation from before: Ebri surely _did_ belong in the courts with the politicians and royals. She deflected questions like stone parapet, and behaved with overreaching assurance. 

The woman seemed to soften a touch, but he could not get any handle on what she could possibly be thinking. She was some manner of insane…-- a critical case of arrogance. 

"How much are you worth?" Kale repeated as he was drawing a conclusion. "I can answer that one right now. A sharp blade, a listening ear, a watchful eye... you’re worth that five feet of line you can cover should the chips come down. You’re _not_ worth another episode of the foolish antics that I’ve come to expect from you. I prefer to remain alive and in one piece, and if your presence becomes a liability to that, then you’re clearly not worth the goldshare that is your place. You’re not some stray dog that can just wander where she pleases, and we’re not a gypsy band weak to taking in pets. "

"You speak of lessons as though you can learn them. You don’t care for my opinion? Fine. But you can either perform and stay out from underfoot, or you can hit the Traveler’s road." It was ridiculous. When had Kale ever talked like that? 

"My blood is worth nothing less." And _that_ was the truth.

Pressing her lips together, Ebri simply nodded ackowledgement, and turned and walked on. _There is a power found in yielding,_ she recalled an early lesson. The mercenary could have the last word. She continued upon the way to her chamber. 

And finally, she was silent. _Why does she never say anything I want to hear?_ He wondered as he took a step back, easing the distance between them as they disengaged. If this was her one moment of meekness, Kale certainly wasn’t going to ruin it by standing up in her face. 

Meekness? Kale didn’t hold his breath. But at least he could hope the woman got the message. 

More importantly, he considered as he shouldered up to the cold stone wall, that she would make changes sufficient to keep from becoming the disaster he feared. Hope, there was still hope. 

"Cheer up, boyo," Kale murmured sarcastically to himself. "At least you’ve got your health," He finished in an ‘old sage’s chestnut’ tone that poked irony in the cold air. Sore legs kicked an awkward scuff on the floor, and the mercenary finally turned and headed to a deep, dreamless sleep.


----------



## Carnifex

As the party disbanded and true night fell across the landscape, various members went about their own businesses in the late hours of the day.

Up in his room, Burl unrolled the contents of the message canister, the hawk - perched on the bedpost - peering around the room with fierce eyes, its glare sending Spike scurrying for cover behind his master. Within was not just one piece of parchment, but in fact three. 

The first was simple writing parchment, an ink message written in beautifully flowing handwriting across it. _As promised, the hawk. Write the prices of the goods we requested on the back of this piece of parchment, reattach it to the hawk, and let her free through the window that she might return with it to us. The other scrolls are arcane; gifts from your patron we believe you may find useful - Tewlcroghen _

Having scribbled down the prices on the back of the parchment and reattached it to the hawk - which promptly winged its way out through the window - Burl had time to examine the other scrolls. The first was in familiar necromantic formula; a spell as yet beyond his mastery, but not by much, an incantation designed to siphon away the life-force of another to reinforce his own, a spell of _vampiric touch._ The other scroll was completely different; Burl's _read magic_ revealed its contents to be a spell completely unknown to him, _Moonblaze_. It was well beyond his capabilities to use as yet.

Then it was off to prepare salves with Wyshira. There, in the gloomy lab, they mixed and concocted the ingredients that Burl had purchased. With so little time and but the two of them working on it, by the time they were too tired to continue they had prepared only one of the salves, but it seemed to have worked. The morning would tell, of course, when it had cooled fully, but the early signs were promising.

* * *

Sebastion, out in the stables, worked diligently away to repair his long-suffering armour from the battering it had taken during the fierce battle with the cult. The methodical manner of carefully and slowly going over his equipment was soothing and absorbing, so much so that the faint movement he saw through the entrance of the stables in the gloom outside was something of a shock. 

It was Wolf he could see. The man seemed to be simply wandering the grounds, perhaps lost in thought, and before long he had passed from Sebastions view. The mercenary hadn't appeared particularly sleepy, even though as he worked Sebastion himself found weariness descending upon him and eventually he fell asleep in the warmth of the stable. 

* * *

Though sleep came quick and deep to Melisande, it departed with as much haste as it appeared, and in the cold hours before dawn she woke too restless to find it again. After some tossing and turning she sat up and lit a candle. The fire in the bedchamber had burned low; she put another log on and waited for the flames to grow bright again before unwrapping herself from the warm blankets and getting dressed. 

She considered going down to Lord Ecurius' library but then felt shy in case someone accosted her. The Lord had been displeased with his "hirelings", guests though they were, and might not approve of them snooping about his manor in the night. Instead she lounged on the window seat to listen to the rain. Her mind wandered long on the paths of her journey up to present; when soon the inky blackness reminded her too closely of Shadow she moved over to sit by the hearth instead. Here she turned her mind to more refreshing subjects than Ak'mun'tep's troubling words and demons in the dark. She was pleased with the outcome of her latest spell, for instance. The thaumic wave had been effective against monstrosity, man and dragon-kin that day. Soon she was toying with similar thaumic rays, but less bloody ones. 

Rather than create an energy burst, she tapped into the bright star that lit her mind's landscape to fuel a kinetic wave this time. Aiming this at a fresh log in the basket by the hearth she felt it catch on the object and hold; slowly, as if teasing a fish from a river on the end of a line, she lifted her hand and tugged gently--and the log followed. Smiling to herself she carried it through the air on a magic string and placed it on the fire. Transmutation, it was true, came easy to her. How she would love to know Ak'mun'tep's spells! 

But there were other lines of inquiry, ones she had been thinking on as well lately. For Transmutation was but a step away from Illusion, and the two schools shared many of the forms and lines of magic-working. She had always searched since childhood for a way to alter the blueness of her skin at will. The minor, ungracious spell she did have could only change her to one major color, so that if she aimed for average pinkish-tan she ended up with hair, eyes, clothing and even equipment all different shades of "skin" and this looked even more bizarre than blue. Yet here in Naseria where the chief god was blue and his favored priests tattooed to his likeness, her skin was not so much a thing to hide. No, it would be much more helpful to not be seen at all than to be seen another hue than blue. With a spark of mischief in them, her eyes turned to the sleepy blob lying in a puddle by the basin a few feet away. One of Pierre's heads eyed her back but settled in to sleep again, perhaps a little too trusting. 

Mel thought for a few minutes, chewing her lip. If you could make a path for light to go _through_ instead of bounce off--there was room in astral space even within the solidity of a body... Gingerly she yanked out one eyelash, then hopped up and pulled a wad of the mastic caulking that sealed the window frame and returned to her seat by the fire, fiddling with it in her fingers. 

She tried twice and failed. Once, Pierre went as shiny as a lamp, and the second time he went fuzzy at the edges. The third time he vanished. 

Mel leaped up and clapped her hands in delight, which stirred Pierre, though he hadn't any idea what had happened to him. "Pierre, Pierre, you're invisible! I've made you invisible! Pierre? Oh no, you're still there, aren't you? Hop around! Speak to me!" 

The flapping of amphibious feet, accompanied by caustic and almost verbal cursing in her head, eased her fears. A moment later the water in the basin plopped and stirred seemingly all on its own. Mel made a dispelling gesture and found her toad, sure enough, floating angrily in her washing-water. 

"Don't be mad at me, you sour old thing. _That_ is going to come in handy for sure." 

* * * * * *

The morning found Wolf in the common room of the guest wing bright and early, looking as if his nights rest had been the most restful of any of them. The combination of fresh bandages and healing brought a new breath of energy to all of them though, wounds recovering well from the previous days exertions and battles. The veteran had the various goods they had acquired the previous day spread on and around the table. 

"Morning all, he said by way of welcome to each as they entered the room. "I've talked to Ecurius earlier this morning; discussed a few things. He's dealing with the events of yesterday for us, and this lot," he gestured to their acquisitions, "is going to stay in our possession; Ecurius has taken the books and letters we recovered but he's willing to make it available to any of you if you want to look at it, though we wont have much time since I'd prefer to leave before too long. I also presuaded him to once again employ his divinations for our benefit, to find out just what all this stuff does."


_Here's the list of stuff, as identified by Ecurius and explained by Wolf:_

Elaborate ivory wand from Cancer: _Wand of Mage Armour_, 36 charges remaining.
Cancer's potion: Potion of Cat's Grace
Monk's potion: Cure Moderate Wounds
Monk's ornate but non-magical silver bracers - someone can try and appraise these if they want.
Monk's magical hand-straps: _Ki Straps_, which increase the saving throw DC of a monk's stunning attacks by 5 (IIRC - I'm working off memory here and will check stuff when I get home, as I'm currently working off a uni computer).
2 potions from the Dragonkin: Cure Light Wounds
Strange and exotic Dragonkin mace inlaid with gold and lapis lazuli: _Heavy Mace +1_
Golden Dragonkin Earring: +10 enhancement bonus to Listen checks.
Silver Dragonkin Ring: _Ring of Protection +1_
Dragonkin jewellry: Non-magical, can be appraised for value.
Kaelos's red gem amulet: _Amulet of Dragon's Toughness_ Grants +12 hit points to the wearer.
Normal flintlock pistol recovered from slavers.
Yew arrows tipped with lapis lazuli: _Arrows +1 of Shock._ There are 37 of these.
Black Steel Longsword: Wolf identifies this as being of a particular type of metal called Carthagian blacksteel. Particularly fine balance and edge.
Brown-Black Powder that radiates magic: Death's Heart powder, made from the heart of a particular type of undead. Empowers any necromantic spell that it is used as an additional spell component for with a bonus to the DC. 10 doses available.
Crystalline Javelins: 6 _prismatic javelins_ - magical javelins which when thrown energise into a bolt of a particular type depending on a d6 roll: fire, lightning, cold, acid, sonic, or Force.
Scrolls from the desk: Fireball and Summon Monster II
Potions from the desk: Cure Light Wounds and Invisibility
Vial of noxious substance: Some sort of poison.
Box of gems from Cancer's desk: Can be appraised.
Box of gems from Ak'Mun'Tep: Sapphires + lapis lazuli, can be appraised.
Box of spices from Ak'Mun'Tep: Magical - _Gehennan Spice._ When a dose is taken it gives the recipient a bonus of +10 to Spot and Listen checks as it taps straight into their nervous systems and boosts their senses to greatly heightened levels for ten minutes, as well creating a sense of well-being and calm. 10 doses in the box.
650 gp's in coin.


----------



## Carnifex

And the Moonblaze spell can be found here:

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=742681#post742681


----------



## Maldur

Wooohooo, more more !!!


----------



## Horacio

Maldur said:
			
		

> *Wooohooo, more more !!! *




What LEGOhead said!


----------



## Carnifex

As requested, here is more 

As he stood looking at the items as they were described, Burl’s eyes were drawn to the brown-black powder, known as Death’s Heart. He had remembered reading about it, but just for the moment couldn’t remember what it did exactly, but he did know that it could be added to necromantic spells, and there seemed to be enough for ten applications. He would bet that this wouldn’t be of any use to the others.

Wolf seemed to have smoothed things over with Lord Ecurius, one way or another. Melisande felt relieved. She was fresh and bright that morning--frankly approaching radiant with excitement and cheer--but had this time done her hair in more practical fashion, braided only at the temples. Brimming with her new spells she planned to show them off, but the heaps of fascinating spoils on the common room table distracted her utterly. (There would be time. And the new spells had _endless_ possibilities as fun surprises for her companions, she thought.) 

Burl seemed to be coming back to the same few items she too had been most interested in. With the Fire-Serpent Rod already in her possession, she felt no need of another wand, but it was true that if the two of them would be going armorless they might each take some defensive enhancement or other. 

"Oh Burl, I completely forgot to help you with your salves last night; I hope it went all right without me. Look, this Death-powder and these scrolls of Fireball and Monster Summoning are perfect for you..." She struggled a moment, trying not to sound stuck-up about having her own inner source of magic rather than a silly old book. "I don't want the wand either, really, if you're going to take that. But I wouldn't mind the Ring of Protection or the Amulet, and one of the Curing potions. My goodness, I owe you money too," she blurted upon seeing the stacks of gold. She waited, however, for the others' claims before reaching for anything.

Wyshira joined the others gathered around the table spread with the spoils of the previous day's victory. To see it all in one place like this was quite impressive. She hesitated to handle most of the items, standing back away from the table instead, but she watched as Burl examined several things with obvious interest. Of all the items there, only the crystalline javelins drew her eye. Wolf explained that Ecurius had identified everything for them, and when she asked specifically about the javelins, he described how they worked and called them _prismatic_. They appealed to Wyshira even more, now that she knew their nature, and she reached out with delicate fingers to take one of the bright things up in her hand. 

The javelin flashed and sparkled in the light pouring in through the windows, and Wyshira noted that it seemed to weigh nothing at all. "I'd like to have these," she announced enthusiastically. 

* * *

Whatever else might have happened during the past few days, Sebastion found his morning drill easier than he remembered. There hadn’t been many opportunities for practice for its own sake, of late, but he had benefited more from putting that practice to good effect, it seemed. 

As he’d suspected, the goods were on offer to them the next morning – to the victor the spoils, as it were – and he joined the others in their appraisal as he listened to Wolf list the virtues of various items and substances. Most of them were, at the least, beyond his use if not completely beyond his understanding, but others raised a note of interest. The lightning arrows that had been fired at them, for instance, seemed something of note, and the ornate, decorative mace… 

_But they’re magical…_ he reminded himself, still unsure just how far he could trust such a fickle practice. _In friendly hands it’s one thing, but… I have no idea who might have enchanted these. What if it turns on me? What if the magic fades? A magical mace, of course, is still a mace should the magic be lost, but a finely wrought sword can never turn on its owner, and I could use a good, one-handed blade for mounted combat… _

Nevertheless, his fingers ran over the last, fading, yellow remnants of the crushing blow that magical mace had laid into his ribs, and his eyes sought out the red gem that had hung about Cancer’s throat. 

”That, uh… that _Amulet of the Dragon…_… how does that work, exactly?” he asked Melisande, quietly, hoping no-one would overhear.

"Well," Mel began, taking a long breath, "the actual execution of an object like this requires years of study, but the principle is simple enough. It probably contains a small sample taken from a real dragon as a focal point; most likely a bit of protective scale or an organ of metabolism, such as the liver or thyroid. The enchantment process is not something I've studied much, but the outcome is that the amulet channels some vital thaumic energy from the focus to the wearer so that the wearer is endowed with a very small but significant quantum of dragon 'toughness'; in other words, you could resist more serious wounds. Take what that mace did to you yesterday! You might not even have passed out. Although it was probably more comfortable that way, come to think of it. Still, handy if you plan on becoming a warlord." 

She ended on a bright smile, finding herself distracted once again by the sweet, earthy scent Sebastion seemed to exude particularly in the morning. _Where does it come from,_ she puzzled, _and why is it so interesting anyway? _ "Why, you smell like hay!" 

Listening to Mel made Burl think about what she was saying, “Mel, what you say makes sense to a point. I could go along with you about the dragon. However, I would believe that it gains it’s power from necromancy. Take for example a spell on a scroll I just received." Burl paused a moment, _whoops there I go opening my mouth without thinking. Hopefully they won’t notice,_ then continued, "this scroll contained a spell which takes the energy from another being and transfers it to the caster or at least that is what I think it does. Now doesn’t this leave you to believe that the amulets magic is derived from or at least in some form from necromantic energy." Burl loved talking to another mage about the fine arts and this was the first time he had been able to engage in a learned discussion.

Desperately grateful for this opportunity to eschew the topic of Sebastion's odor, Mel turned quickly away to listen to Burl. 

"Why yes, I think you're right! I was unclear on the mechanics but it must be some sort of transfer of vital force--why didn't I think of necromancy? Ninny, I've worked in a Manipulator's lab for long enough! Of course, these days I _have_ been trying to put that icky mucking about with corpses out of my mind.

"I mean--not--you know--I didn't mean _icky_, per se, just not my cup of... ichor. Ah ha.

"And don't worry, I figured out you were a _necromancer_ a long time ago. I mean, ghoul dust? Come on. Although you do seem less snot-nosed than the ones I used to work with. You should have--oh, I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?" 

_Oh, this is just wonderful. Someone who can understand my life’s work._ thought Burl. 

“You then can possibly understand the problems that a necromancer like myself can have. Look at this example. Think of the good that can be had by taking a dying person. A person who has no hope of recovery and using their final life’s force to make something like this amulet. They will die anyway, we just speed the process up a little. Someone such as Sebastion or yourself will benefit greatly by their death. This is just one such use for my art." Burl is positively glowing as he relates to his craft. 

Sebastion tried to listen intently, but the continued way that Melisande kept wrinkling her nose was starting to make him a little paranoid, and he almost missed the point of what she was saying to him. 

"Will I grow scal... Hay?" he said, as she suddenly changed tack. "Well, probably, I spent the..." he began to respond, pointing towards the red amulet that Sebastion was holding in one hand. 

"... gains its power from necromancy." Unseen by the two academics, Sebastion lurched slightly, almost flinging the amulet to the table in his haste to get it out of his grasp. 

"Necromancy!" he almost yelped, startled at the idea. _First it kills you, then it makes you 'tough'. Some gift... _
"... I figured out you were a _necromancer_ a long time ago... Sebastion backed away hurriedly, his eyes widening even as his hand scrabbled on the table for the hilt of the black-bladed sword, warily watching Burl with a new concern. 

"No, Sebastion will not be hanging some dead person's spirit round his neck, thank you very much. Dead people belong in boxes, in the ground, or burnt on pyres, not stuck in bloody gems. You leave me out of it..."


----------



## Carnifex

Interrupted by the clatter Sebastion caused by tossing the amulet, followed by his outburst, Burl had to quickly tried to assuage his concerns.“Sebastion, you miss my point. The amulet would have used the dying life force of a dragon, not a person. Who could argue about using such a creature’s energy? Not I. Beside, I could very well be wrong in what I am saying. Mel could be more accurate.” 

_I keep forgetting myself with these people. Kale, Wyshira and Wolf understand that I mean them no harm. But these others haven’t been with me long enough. I must remember to not to speak out about my profession with just anyone._ thought Burl.


"Why yes, he _does_ carry the aroma of hay." Ebri spoke up in reply to Melisande's earlier statement, having just walked in to the breakfast table. She chose a hard roll from the basket of assorted baked goods without much interest. "That, at least, is a wholesome smell, quite welcome within city limits, I find." She cast her eyes across the assembled items on the table, lifting the vial of poison to view it closer in the light. "And certainly more wholesome than _this_." Turning it this way and that, she watched how the fluid moved, how the light refracted. She mused casually, "I wonder if it has an antidote...? I should like to study this, if no one has an objection." 

Of the other items on the table, some were of considerable interest, though she was cautious about expressing too great an anticipation for them. For one thing, she had and preferred to have little means of carrying anything other than was necessary on her person. For another, the Immarian tenets she was supposed to profess precluded the accruing of large amounts of _things_. Mementos of journeys, small and of small value, were acceptable. And she wondered how she might choose the monk's items without casting doubt upon herself. _Not that these others have a sophisticated understanding of such distinctions. And they have seen the way you do combat. _

"I should very _much_ be inclined to argue whether any being's life force should be used in such an item. A dragon is a great and terrible beast, but it is free in itself. Why should we have any right to chain its energy? How is that different from using that of a person? It seems to me the principle is the same, and such rationalizations merely justifications to increase one's own power at the expense of another creature..." She ended the comment with a raised eyebrow, but a not unfriendly smile. If they thought her prone to expressing unfavorable opinions, she might as well reinforce the notion of last night. And the discussion would distract from her personal appraisal of the items. And she was curious as to what they might say, she admitted. Philosophical discussion was something she had missed dearly since leaving the monastery. 

As the others stared, she deferred quietly to Cord. "Elder brother, what of these things would you wish to have? I would not take something you would prefer to use, and might better use than me..." In response to Ebri's question, Cord replied, "I feel I could make good use of the straps, for certain..."

Wyshira had watched as Melisande and Burl put their heads together and babbled on about the enchantment process and _necromantic energy._ Burl was so completely absorbed in the discussion, eyes shining with professional fire, that he didn't even notice when Mel inadvertently insulted necromancers in general, evidently recalling the ones she'd known back home. _Snot-nosed!_ Wyshira thought, snickering into her hand. No, Burl was nothing like that. And seeing him now, who would guess at his preoccupation with death. He spoke with passion and obvious intelligence about his theory, gesturing expressively, his features so full of...... of _LIFE_. Wyshira smiled to see him so. 

But poor Sebastian! When he heard the word _necromancy_ used in conjunction with the trinket he was admiring, he dropped the ruby amulet like it was a fire that burned him. Wyshira sympathized. She herself had been disgusted, even horrified, at Wolf's description of the Death's Heart powder, and had been dismayed at Burl's interest in the substance. Ebri made a good point about the rightness of using any being's life force in a magic item. It was not something that Wyshira had ever thought about, not having run into many magically enchanted items before. If necromantic energy _was_ used to empower an item like the Dragon Amulet, did the process steal some of the creature's soul somehow, preventing it from reaching its appointed afterlife? 

This line of thought somehow made the small pouch of brown-black powder even more repellent to Wyshira's sensibilities. She touched Burl lightly on the arm and whispered to him, "Don't take the Death's Heart powder, please!" 

Burl was surprised by this sudden comment. “Why is everyone concerned about the draining of life force as an item is created. This happens when any item is created whether it is through necromancy or through a priestess’ god. When you eat bread, are you not drawing on the life force of the wheat? The wheat is no more and the energy created makes bread. What about when you eat a fish at your evening meal. Does that not draw upon the life force of the fish? The magical ring before us. When it was created, it drew upon abjuration energy of the creator. So it is with all magical items. Their abilities drain energy from someone or something. Life force has cease in order for mankind to continue. Necromancy just harnesses the life’s power earlier than other types of magic.You are my friends and companions. I would never think of using my powers on you to your detriment. You will have to trust me on this.” 

Wolf raised an eyebrow at the bizarre conversation and reactions bouncing back and forth, but that was the extent of his emotional response to what he was hearing. "Interesting theories, but Ecurius did explain _something_ of the nature of these things while he was divining their uses. I think Melisande's explanation is closer to the truth than Burl's. The amulet simply makes the wearer quite a bit tougher, by imbuing them with something of the nature of a dragon's tough flesh, but though doubtless it needed some interesting components in it to make, it's not necromantic. Transmutational, rather, I reckon. Besides, who would dare wear an amulet that was made with a bit of a dragon's soul? What do you think the reaction might be of any dragon who found out, eh? No, this ain't some sinister life-drainer. There's no-one's soul in there." 

"As for the Death's Heart, I for one would rather our wizard was carrying something that could make his spells a bit nastier, rather than not, Wyshira. Lord Tarravus said it is made from the powdered heart of some undead guardian - sepulchural lurker or something, not a beast I've ever come across. That is all it is. I'm sure our patron would have mentioned any possible dangers if they existed. I've had enough run-ins with arcanists over my years that I believe him on this." At least Wolf seemed confident of this fact. 

Wyshira glared suspiciously at Wolf; she hadn't expected her whispered comment to Burl to be overheard by anyone. To Burl she said, "A magical item made by a priestess of Ishrak is imbued with the power of the goddess, but only if the Storm Lady wills it. The creation of the item does not 'drain her life force', at least, not in any significant way, and certainly not against her will. 

"I don't pretend to understand the arcane arts, and would not debate with you about any of it anyway. I just..." she glanced over at Wolf again, almost apologetically. "Well, the Death's Heart powder feels _wrong_ to me; I don't care *what* it does for our wizard. 'Made from the heart of an undead guardian'......." Wyshira shuddered. "But you will do as you must, of course," she went on, her shoulders stiffening slightly and her tone of voice taking on a more formal note. But just when Burl thought that she might really be upset by the whole Death's Heart powder conversation, she added softly, "Burl, I _do_ trust you. I know that you would never willingly harm any of us." 

She set the prismatic javelin back down on the table, and stepped away from it. She would wait for Kale and Cord to make their claims before taking anything. And as for the gold, she would be content with whatever Wolf saw fit to pay her. "Well, if we are going to be leaving soon, I should start getting ready. Wolf, will we be stopping in town for rations and supplies before we go? 

"I'll be in my room; just send someone to get me when it is time."


----------



## Horacio

Great update, as usual!


----------



## Carnifex

"When I eat fish, the fish is already dead..." Sebastion muttered, probably unheard, as the discussion continued. Nevertheless, the attraction of the amulet was far more obvious on the back of Wolf's words, though he was forced to wonder if the old mercenary was simply calming the waters with what they wanted to hear. 

What didn't change, though, was the fact that Burl was a _Necromancer_. Who knew what strange rituals he was preparing - _healing salves_ he'd been saying, but who were they to know? If they were healing salves, did they suck their power from somebody else that had had to die to provide it? 

Avoiding the salves, under those circumstances, made taking the amulet seem a worthy exercise, and he returned to the red gem with a cautious step. With the gem and the sword he figured he'd done well from the deal as he stepped away - as much from Burl as from the Trove. 

"Who here can use a bow?" he asked, desperate to move the conversation away from any more revelations about Burl's magical practices. "Those arrows could be well spread around..." 

Kale held his tongue as the news of Burl's death magic filtered its way across the room. Early morning, spoils in a pile, new comnpanions, and a task soon to be underway... a chaotic mix of events that promised to be at the very least interesting. Factor in new party acquaintances, and the near future looked downright packed. 

_Hope we have enough time to loot the tower,_ Kale thought as he listened. 

Suspicions began to alienate Burl from the others, and Kale wondered if it migh be warranted. The man seemed well-intended enough, but then the young mercenary knew what paved the road to hell. Still, so many traffiked with power beyong their understanding, even Ebri's contact and Melisande's magic, and Wyshira's trusted patron... even Wolf's connection to the barbarian god Fenris. Taking his lead from Wolf's inclusive attitude, Kale leaned toward cautious acceptance. 

Besides, the mage was quite useful. "Burl," he said during a lull in the necromancy discussions. "You know a bit about magic, the alchemies... and you have a fancy for the gems." They were all skills or experience, not revelation of some kind of avarice. "Before we discuss the spoils any further, why don't you make an inventory? If we are all agreed, we can then portion the goods according to your best appraisal." In a mercenary band, it was a mistake to leave any doubt to who owned what, even considering what seemed to be good intentions on the parts of all. 

Sebastion held up the dragon amulet for the second time. The red gem in its center did not glow like when he and Kaelos were consumed in Cancer's cruel fire magic. It was satisfying, to say the least, to see those fell enemies finally eliminated. "Sentimental value, that one," Kale said as he too fielded his interest in the amulet. "I prefer Kaelos' trinket to all the others. But it is the prize of the bunch. Sebastion, I would like to deal with portions of the rest, perhaps more potions or gold for yourself, as that stone could really round out my ensemble." He finished deadpan, his batting and shirtsleeves still brown and hinting of the charsmoke he could not scrub out.

Clutching at the chain of the gem, watching the light play across the facets as it slowly spun before him, Sebastion tried desperately to forget what he'd been told about how it worked. 

He couldn't. 

It was magical, deeply magical, and at first he'd thought his revulsion stemmed from its - possibly - being necromantic and steeped in the souls of dead creatures, Wolf's assurances notwithstanding. 

Beyond that, having surmised that was not the case, he thought perhaps the simple fact that it was magical was a barrier, but the arrows intrigued him, and had he not already laid an as yet unchallenged claim to the sword he would have willingly put himself forward for the mace. 

What it came down to, he realised finally, was him. The arrows, and their magic, changed themselves, and perhaps the target they struck, likewise the mace. The gem, though... 

The gem, should he wear it, would change him. The magical nature would intertwine with his own, and who knew what that might do to him, in the end. 

He tossed the gem, underarm, to Kale, and bent to look through the pickings for a scabbard for the blade. 

"You take it. I'll pick up some armour on the way out of town." he muttered. For some reason, it didn't lessen the frown that creased his forehead.


----------



## Carnifex

Glad to get out of the arguments with the others, Burl took Kale’s advice and went about appraising the gems and other items which he had some knowledge. After making notes, Burl turned to the group, “This is the best estimate of the items as far as I can tell.” 

Burl's quick estimate of the value of the silver and gems put the jewellry from the dragonkin at probably between one and two hundred pieces of gold; the box of gems from Cancer's desk, including many richly red-hued stones, at maybe one hundred and fifty; the box of lapis lazuli and sapphires from the seer, despite the small size of the individual stones, must be worth a significant amount and Burl could guess at at least five hundred pieces for it, if not more; and the silver bracers probably about two hundred and fifty.

Wolf watched the back-and-forth claims impassively, indicating he'd take the dragonkin's enchanted mace since no-one else seemed to have shown any liking for it. There wasn't much left now on the table to be split; the sheaf of arrows, some potions and the pistol. He pushed the sheaf in the direction of kale and Sebastion. "You two can both handle a bow, can't you? Might as well divide these up between you as you see fit." Then the mercenary picked up the pistol by the barrel and held it out in a general offer to those gathered. "Anyone want this? Fairly well-made pistol, we've got plenty of powder for it at least though we'll need more shot." 

Smiling despite himself, Sebastion found himself eyeing the pistol with a careful gaze. He already had one, of course, though he'd not had the opportunity to use it yet. They weren't magical, he'd been assured - not that the prospect of magical missiles bothered him - but there was something... clean... about them. Without magic, without the dangerous associations that might go with the art, they could fling death a distance. 

And they looked good, too. 

"I have to look for shot for the other one," he reasoned, quietly, reaching for the pistol, "might as well make it the set."

Wolf nodded. "Now, we really should be off before too long, but some of you probably still have one or two things to attend to in the city. I propose me, Kale and Sebastion head in to pick up anything you want, because we can be done fairly quickly and sending in someone with unusual coloured skin would draw unneeded attention - no offence to you blue-hued ladies but it's the way things are."

_No fair,_ thought Mel, but then when was being blue ever fair? She'd gone down into the stinking bowels of the city to help Kale scratch a certain dangerous itch of his, and no one had commanded her to stay out of sight _then_. Not when she was useful, oh no. Now she had her own business--catching up with Sandslipper and visiting the Temple of Naskha, though she could not have explained why this seemed important if anyone had asked--and Wolf was suddenly concerned about stirring up trouble with her hue. 

The ring of protection, though its silver band and white gem looked pretty on her finger like the moon in a summer night sky, was little comfort. She had so much wanted to go down to Tarravus. She looked over at Wyshira for some support. 

"No, you _wanted men_ just go to town incognito without _us_ to draw attention," she muttered with a long sigh. "Please check in on Sandslipper for me while you're in town. I'm very worried; she wasn't herself during the trip and she looked awful when we got here. And pick up some more acid for me from the alchemist's if you have time. You can take the gold from my share." She turned with a shrug to those who had volunteered, or been assigned, to confinement with her.

Burl, hearing the mention of heading into town, asked, “Wolf, do you think you should sell off these baubles or do you think it would be better to keep them in their more portable state? If we do sell them, might I suggest that if we are to divide the proceeds among us that we also set up a share or two for the betterment of the group. That way we could make purchases from this fund such as provisions or healing magics.” 

A thought intruded into his mind, his familiar putting forwards its own idea. _Food for me! _

“Oh, by the way. If I give you a small list of items, would you please pick them up for me in town.” Burl proceeds to write a small list of some grains and other minor items, handing it to Wolf. 

_There, does that make you feel better Spike? _

Melisande, still unhappy at the fact she couldn't head into town, looked over to the necromancer. "Well, Burl, it looks like I'll have time to help you brew up some more salve before we go. Then I hope to have a look at Lord Ecurius' library if he doesn't mind. Wyshira, will you join us?"

Kale looked to Sebastion as he picked up his second pistol. _Good Gods,_ he thought with a smirk as he regarded the rural fighter. For some reason, he filed away the picture, as though for some reason, years and years from now, he would remember this as some sort of beginning. I was there... 

It was a time for odd feelings, in any case. The amount of wealth and power piled before them, it was a bit intimidating to a young mercenary who not so long ago had dreamed of nothing more than a full purse and clean battle kit. Resting the amulet on his chest before diving the cold gold and jeweled item below his shirt, Kale felt an odd and deep power rush through him. Black swords and pistols and magic amulets... and insane enemies and fireballs and elder gods. 

"Melisande has a point," Kale began, looking to the woman, wondering if she would be amazed for being listened to. Filtering through the pouting, Kale found a valid point in her comment- the three men were recognizable, even if not as much as blue girls, the men would need to be discreet. 

"At the least, Sebation, you can conceal your pistols, and we'll scrounge a scabbard to hide that Carthagian blacksteel. " Oh, it was a beautiful kit the fighter had, odd two-blade sword and all. Kale didn't really envy him, however, the mercenary had his own tricks. 

Wolf's new mace could also be disguised a bit- Kale never imgined he could reach infamy so quickly, but nonetheless, it felt already that teams of eyes were already on the looking for a certain mercenary band... and their bloody ridiculous suicidal hard-charging woman-charming young swingsword. 

_That's the spirit,_ Kale thought as he primed himself for deceit and deception. Quickly, he reviewed their options for disguise.


----------



## Carnifex

Wolf shook his head. "I never said we'd walk in toting dozens of shining weapons, Melisande." He drew a long-bladed hunting knife from his boot to show her and then sheathed it again. "Just the bare minimum for self defence; since, like you say, otherwise we'd hardly be inconspicuous either. I'm sorry, but your skin _does_ make you stand out far more than another man in a crowd. But I'll see what I can do about getting you acid; anyone else want anything, just give us your lists."

"I think we're going to have to leave Sandslipper here; we can't take her with us if she's so ill she needs the attendance of physicians in the city, and I'm sure Ecurius will make sure she's looked after alright. As to the gems and jewellry I think we should perhaps sell them somewhere outside the capital. Until then, I'll carry them." 

"Right. Let's be off."


Wyshira rolled her eyes at Wolf's 'blue-hued ladies' comment. She caught Melisande's look, and returned it with one of her own that said, _"You'd better just get used to it. I have."_ She said nothing out loud however. 

The truth was, she didn't really want to go with them this time anyway. She'd much rather spend her remaining time in Tarravus here in comfort at the Lord's estate. She would help Burl do what he needed to do, and chat with Melisande. Of course she'd worry about Kale and Wolf (and Sebastian too, although not quite as much). She might even later regret that she hadn't insisted on going along, especially if they were late getting back or something. 

_But you know, one can only stand being discounted and ignored for so long, and then..... well...... _She shrugged mentally. _They'll be fine, I'm sure. _

_Um, almost sure....._ Already she could see the wheels turning in Kale's head, although he seemed to have quelled the blatent twinkle of mischief that usually shone in his eyes. Hopefully he was only working out ways for the three to stay unnoticed while they did their shopping. He had a flair for that sort of thing, she had to admit. When he wasn't rushing headlong into trouble. 

Maybe she should insist, afterall..... 

_No. They don't need, or want, me with them. That's that! _

"I could use some rations and a few extra waterskins for the trip," she answered Wolf's query. "We can never have enough healing potions, if you want to get some of those too. 

"Just.... you know, be careful," she added, with a meaningful glance at Kale. Then she joined Burl and Mel on the way to the laboratory. 

Sebastion nodded, reversing the blacksteel blade to check the edge, and eye the line of the cutting surface, checking it for nicks or abrasions for a moment as he listened to the conversation about him. Melisande spoke up, and though her voice was filled with sarcasm it was the sadness that he caught, as he looked up. Walking over, slowly, he held the sword at his side as he spoke quietly to her. "Listen, if you could get hold of a fair sized cloak and hood, you can come with me. No-one will be paying you that much attention with me to look at - being Huronese and all..." 

Mel opened her mouth and closed it again. With her wide, startled eyes she hoped she didn't look too much like a fish, staring at Sebastion Cornell in amazement. Was he teasing her or did he really mean to bring her along? Why in heavens? 

"What? A cloak? Yes, I could get a cloak. Wait, I'll--" 

But then there was stern old Wolf not a few paces away (had he overheard?), and she realized that a heartbeat of hesitation could cost her this opportunity. In a blue flurry she rushed out of the common room and attempted to flag down a servant. 

In the aftermath, Kale could only have opened his mouth slack, then closed it. Forgoing any action, then, the mercenary simply thought briefly on his slight disappointment that the sword swingers would not have a chance to go somewhere on their own. It wasn't as though the three had much in common. Wolf's trail-rough leather met Sebastion's pant and armor trimmed for riding. Kale himself seemed like a guy on any street. A street from some other world, of course, where simply walking down the street would warrant a chain shirt and a thick cloak. 

But as it was, they all had a bit in common of the group, if only in the weight of hardwear they would have to lay down for this trip. 

Uncertainty creased Kale's face, as he considered bringing the blue woman along. It was best for her to stay here... but he did not really care for playing it safe. And yet, unnecessary risks were just that, unnecessary. Well, Wolf could clean this one up, in any case. Unbinding his baked sword scabbard, Kale lay on the table his blade that had three times been immolated in fire, and thrust more times into any enemy of the time. It was no pleasure to leave the blade, but of course, Kale was far from unarmed. 

Walking over to where Wolf stood, Kale worked his gear over, adjusting for a more 'benign' look. A dagger he made visible at his belt, if only to quell the questions, why an armored man would walk about unarmed. Not unarmed, of course, just discreet. 

"I think I know just the place to find what you're looking for," Kale said to Sebastion after a moment. The mercenary regarded his hay-scented contemporary, wondering if he should be bent out because Sebation was ruining the 'guy's run to town'. How was he going to talk to the man with Melisande around? They never seem to function properly when together. 

'Properly'. Kale marveled at himself, his mind tattering on like some court lady, upset at two guests using the entree fork for the salad. They fight well together, and not against each other. If the woman can stay hidden, she could certainly be help in a scuffle... provided, of course, her mouth didn't make things worse.

Smiling gently, Sebastion watched Melisande dash off, pleased that he'd at least managed to guage that decision correctly. Perhaps, while they were out, she'd let him buy her a pastry somewhere and they could sit and talk about something unimportant, something... 

He stopped his train of thought abruptly as he realised Kale was staring at him with a strange look. 

"What?" he asked, looking down at himself to see if he had his shirt untucked or something. "What is it?"

Kale inclined an eyebrow at Sebastion's question, just before realization. The fighter must have thought Kale was staring at him. 

"Mm? Oh, nothing of import. So, to the city with us?" Kale said, knowing they would at least have to wait until Melisande returned before they could be on thier way.

Wolf did his usual minimum-exertion method of showing his doubt about what was being discussed - he raised an eyebrow quizzically. "I don't think you're going to have the time to go about concocting alchemical mixtures; we should only be a few hours at most. This is _just_ a short trip to tie up any last minute business and acquire needed supplies, we're not going on a grand city tour or anything." 

He looked exasperated as Melisande scurried off to get a cloak. "She's going to go into the city wearing a cloak and hood? Sure, it might conceal her face; but now the storm's lifted after last night it's fine sunshine out there. Wandering about all cloaked up is going to look _odd_." He gave a helpless snort. "Well, she can come if she wants, but it's not going to be an enthralling trip. I want to be done as soon as possible so we can make a good distance east before nightfall."

* * *

Wyshira followed Burl out the door of the cozy little guest sitting-room they'd occupied. She turned her head briefly to note Melisande's hurried exit right behind her. She saw that the blue sorceress had caught hold of a passing servant and was begging the use of a hooded cloak. _So she's going to town afterall,_ the priestess mused. _I guess that means that Ebri Zol will be going too.... _

Which of course meant that only she, Burl, and Cord would be remaining behind. She hadn't seen Cord yet this morning, but he seldom had any trouble finding her if there was something he needed. 

She hoped that Burl wouldn't want to spend the whole time working in the lab. Not that she minded helping with the salves. As a matter of fact, the process was rather interesting, if completely different from the process her mother used to make potions. But the lab was definitely not her favorite spot in Lord Ecurius' dwelling. Wyshira thought she could still smell the bitter tang of some of the components they'd worked with the night before. 

If the weather cleared and if there was time, maybe she could convince the necromancer to wander the gardens in search of healing herbs with her. _Even better if the weather_ doesn't _clear_, she thought with a smile, although she doubted that Burl would agree with her. Too bad that Mel would not be staying with them. Wyshira thought it likely that the young woman would appreciate a rain-fresh garden almost as much as she would. 

She was disappointed that she and Melisande would not have the chance to talk again. She had been collecting quite a store of questions for the sorceress. _Why this interest in the Nephians and the Great Prophet? What was an Immarian cleric doing with a metallic talking skull?_ There were so many hints dropped about the other party's adventures on their way to Tarravus. Wyshira was just bursting with curiosity. 

Burl had stopped at the door to the lab up ahead, and had turned back, waiting, watching her approach. She hurried to catch up. 

As his touched the handle to the lab, Burl had second thoughts. 

“Wyshira, when we worked on the salve last night, we weren’t rushed and still I almost ruined them. Today we are in a hurry to get to it and I’m getting a bad feeling about hurrying. What would you think if we didn’t work on it today?” 

When she told Burl that she hadn’t wanted to work either, Burl asked, “Well, why don’t you lead the way and I’ll follow you.” Wyshira led the way out the door to the garden. Burl followed until he found a large rock to the left of the path which when he scrambled on it, he sat watching her. Wyshira made her way around the many beds occasionally bending and picking. When she did pick one, she would call out to Burl, “Look Burl, Orn leaves. If I brew these and then a person drinks of it, it will cure some diseases. A pity there isn’t more of it.” She continued calling more exotic names that Burl had never heard, “Vysok Tabak….Spider Leaf….Ashgar Nut” This went on for over an hour, Burl thoroughly enjoying watching her. 

Finally she stopped before a berry bush growing next to a pond. Burl thought it had something to do with the pond, knowing her natural affinity for the water. However, it was the berry that had caught her eye. 

“Burl come here and take a look at these berry.” Burl slid down the rock, hurrying to her side. Seeing her holding a hand full of small berries, Burl asked, 

“What is it? It looks rather like a blue berry.” 

Wyshira continued, “It does Burl, but if you look closely at the leaf, you will see this is a Borgin Berry. What makes this so different is that this berry is usually found growing on sea islands, but here it is. The berry is used as an anti paralyzation remedy. Oh well, it has been fun.” 

Burl and Wyshira continued their walk.

* * *

Meanwhile, the rest of the party entered town to go about their business...


----------



## Broccli_Head

hey carnifex just wanted to give you a friendly bump to encourage you to get caught up!


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## Carnifex

Thanks!

Well I'm only 3 threads behind now, so I'm getting there 

I'll be updating the House Rules thread with stuff for the Naskharite religion soon, probably followed with more Manipulator stuff


----------



## Broccli_Head

Carnifex said:
			
		

> *Thanks!
> 
> Well I'monly 3 threads behind now, so I'm getting there
> 
> I'll be updating the House Rules thread with stuff for the Naskharite religion soon, probably followed with more Manipulator stuff  *





And maps! right? I wanna see maps...


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## Carnifex

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> *
> 
> 
> And maps! right? I wanna see maps... *




If I can find someone capable and willing of doing maps, you will have maps  Else it'll just be my bad pencil scrawlings on a blank sheet of paper


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## Carnifex

I've just posted two spells specific to the religion of Naskha up, Rainbow Robes and Naskha's Laughter. They can be found here:

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=751538#post751538


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## Carnifex

Hmm, I wont get many updates done over the next coupla weeks, it looks like. I seem to have a lot of work to do  Nonetheless I'll try and get the occasional one done 

Edit: Having said that, I'm now working on an update  This next bit may get a bit confused, since I wanted to avoid getting too bogged down in going into the city and gave the game a kick onwards a bit to get 'em on the road again...


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## Carnifex

Ebri Zol announced that she too would be going about the city, as she had plans to seek the bookseller once more, he being one of the few bright spots and a haven of repose in this fetid nightmare that was all too common an example of _city. _
And so, while she did not walk with the others, but went about her own tasks, she _trailed_ Melisande, blending into the crowd some distance back, shopping casually, and watching as she walked in her cloak with Sebastion. The soldier would protect her, Ebri felt certain , from ordinary harm. 
At Karbal's she would relate the tale of their experiences below the city, and ask for more complete information about the slavers' operations and the cult of Gilamesh as related to their plans. She would relate as well their future plans to loot the mages' tower, and get his opinion of Ecurius. In addition, she would report on her use of the new weapon and thank him for it. 

* * *

Outside in the open air, Sebastion felt a little more at ease. His cloak was flung back, letting the breeze ruffle through his tousled, sandy hair and catch at his cloak. The air smelt different - used - here, not the clean, crisp mountain air with which he'd grown up at home. 
For the first time, really, since he'd left, he began to miss home. He'd thought of his father, and the familiar comforts of the stable and the foundry, but now he wanted to be clear of the oppression of the compression of the city - but not before he'd made use of it. 
Stepping close to the cloak swathed Melisande with a slight smile he set off, the sheathed two-bladed sword swinging lightly at his side like a traveller's walking-staff. He'd acceded to the pretense of anonymity by leaving the black-bladed sword behind, as though his features were going to pass unnoticed in the city. 
"Kale, where was the armourer you hinted at - if I need any adjustments made, we'd best head there first." he said, as they reached the gates of the compound. "It'll give us a chance to get the rest of the requests, and perhaps something to eat, before we head out." 

* * *

It wasn't long, then, before Ebri decided upon a dire need to reenter the city as well. Kale looked sidelong at her, frustrated that despite her new magic earring, her hearing was as bad as ever. Another calculated risk no doubt, to contivert Wolf's wishes, just to continue bookshopping at the local stall. 

In a rush, Kale regretted he had caved in to Melisande's youthful exuberance, her desire to come along. Then Ebri smoothed her way into the enterage: if the woman walked into Naseria Palace, she would sit in the king's lap and assume the big gold chair was all for her. And certainly, would have a perfectly logical excuse for her decision. Obviously, it was the only chair available in the room... and wouldn't it be rude if she was made to stand? 

So the inconvenience fell on the party. Kale tried briefly to get moving before Melisande returned from her cloak hunt, but in the end it would seem they would move out together. 

But if disapproval was clear in coming, accomodation made its quick counterattack. Wolf had acceded to the women's gestures, if reluctantly. In the future, Kale would have to be sure to amplify Wolf's blood-won advice, obviously an inclined eyebrow from the grizzled warrior was not enough to deter the women from their shopping missions. 

Greater wisdom did not deter Kale, either. He had some new duds to pick up, and he did not intend to head to the alchemists' tower without them. Yet, on the way out the door, the young mercenary lifted his sword from the table. Rigging back and cross-holstered, the blade disappeared beneath his cloak- insurance, at least, for the trouble that always seemed to come. Picking up the unclaimed curing potion from the table, he considered flashing a 'What me, worry?' look to Wyshira before his sour mood spoiled any opportunity for humor. If his look to the priestess said anything, it was 'Here we go again.' 

Slowly accepting the things he couldn't change, Kale focussed instead on how the crew could minimize their increased risk. Responding to Sebastion's suggestion, the young mercenary planned for minimal exposure. "Ladies, we can take you both to the bookshop. Melisande, I can find you acid where I am going, and Sebastion, you and Wolf can go prospecting for armor." Kale had become painfully familiar with the streets surrounding his destination, while Sebastion would be hard-pressed to become overpowered or lost with Wolf around. And the women? Out of sight, out of mind... safely stored away. 

Along the road, Kale took what opportunity he could to talk with the Huronese swordsman. "That double-blade looks a killer while mounted. How effective is it in an offhand strike?" Manners of shoptalk flowed from time to time. Melisande no doubt was none too interested, but the young mercenary was intrigued by the unworlded man who handled himself so skillfully in battle. Skill tempered with experience, perhaps the man could avoid the doom Kale feared for Ebri and anyone around her for too long. 

Brief respite it would be, to visit Gimfin's incredible shop. He'd have to be sure to check if the man had a prosthetic brain, what to replace the unit of Kale's that was no doubt malfunctioning. It seemed a debacle, walking 'discreetly' as they did. 

_Maybe the gnome had time to work on something new and interesting..._ was sole consolation for the city trip. 

* * *

The few hours the band had in the city were enough for them to deal with their varied needs. Sebastion was able to find an armourer with few problems; Melisande found her acid too, never realising that Ebri was shadowing her from close behind. 

The armour, despite Sebastion's assumption, proved not to be any cheaper than at home, and his purse wouldn't stretch far enough to make the improvement worthwhile. Leaving the smith's with a slight pall about his sense of adventure, he followed the others back through the streets, veering off here and there to fetch things and all the while he talked quietly with Kale about tactics and techniques - professional discussions. The others were in discussion with a trader at a shop-front, discussing acid or something just as beyond his knowledge, when he turned to see a large crowd gathered round a paddock. The horses were tied off to the hitching rail of the shop, and Kale was close to them to keep an eye out, so Sebastion took the time to survey the stock being paraded for sale. 

There was the full range, from sway-backed old mares fit only for the soap factories or the paper mills right through to good breeding stock and a racer or two. He watched a few heavy breeds pushed through, fifteen hands and more each with long coats and deeply curved backs, wondering what they'd be like as chargers, when it appeared. 

It was still little more than a colt, bandy legged and without the bulk across the shoulders of an adult, but the ribcage was deep and straight sided and the eyes sparkled with wit. The youngster designated to parade him obviously knew little about horses, as he sawed away at the tether, and sent the colt skittering this way and that. Most of the watchers, of course, saw fault with the horse, but Sebastion knew enough not to judge harshly, and managed to put in a few good bids before the count stopped. 

When they returned to the manor to finish their packing, Sebastion appeared more relaxed and happy, though whether it was for the visit to the horse-market or simply the fact they were leaving the city was unclear. When he made his slight detour, however, and reappeared leading the colt on a tether, the reason became obvious. 

Black coated, in the main, with a few grey patches on the withers, he started his training almost as soon as they were out of the gates with simple following exercises, and Sebastion felt at home for the first time in a long time as he worked.

At the gnome artificiers, Kale picked up the masterfully crafted suit of chain that Gimfin had made for him, a vial of the acid that the gnome used for etching metals, and furthermore the short fellow showed him something he'd been working on after their last conversation; a spear fixed with a charge of smokepowder, though he had not time to test it out. 

Ebri's report to Karbal was quick and concise, the Collector nodding gravely as he heard her tale of slavers and the dragon cult. He congratulated her on admriable work in expunging them, another threat to the Nephian cause removed. On the plans of looting the arcanist's tower, the Collector listened very carefully and promised that if he found out anything new about the tower he would endeavour to have her informed.

With their affairs in town finished, Wolf's urging to be quick having had its effects, they were able to make good distance that day. Having picked up those left behind at the estate, they had ridden out, heading eastwards. 

* * *

Over a few days they covered much ground. It hadn't been long before they had left the heartlands, the domain of House Tarravus, and entered into the rougher, hilly lands of Merlihr where woodlands became thick forest and the way became harder. The eastern and southeastern reaches of Naseria were the lands of House Merlihr; in the direction they were heading, Wolf knew there to be some larger Merlihr settlements in the foothills of the Sarokeans, where the trade from smaller mining communities came in. 

The people of Merlihr subsisted largely from agriculture, though here in the east the noble family had many mines which plumbed the rich seams of metal ore beneath the earth, providing a steady flow of raw materials to arm the warriors of Naseria. The actual capital of the ergion was to the south of the path the party would take; the citadel of the Iron Hawks, right on the very reaches of civilisation, was closer to where they would wander but nonetheless there were no plans to go directly via that place. 

All the time as they travelled the Sarokeans stood proud on the eastern horizon, the highest reaches of the range glittering with snow and ice even now, in summer. Soon they would have to wander amidst those mighty peaks themselves. 

The heavy forests of Merlihr provided Burl with a longing he hadn’t felt since he had ventured out on his own away from the safety of his home with Raymond. He now knew however that he could never return except for short stays. His new travels were showing him a world he either couldn’t remember from his youth or he had never seen before. The men and women he was traveling with were now becoming his family, his friends.

* * *

Kandathra was the name of the small town they stopped in at, probably the last settlement of any size they would encounter now. Here they were in the foothills of the Sarokean mountains; the forests of Merlihr had petered out some miles back and instead it was scrubby land they traversed now. Kandathra was walled with a wooden palisade, yet with a fair number of buildings clustered within. Tall wooden and metal constructions at one end of the settlement indicated it had grown up around a mine, though now the apparatus seemed quiet and unmoving; perhaps the mine had given out and now this town in turn served as a focus point for other nearby mines. 

The night closed in as they settled around a table in the town's single tavern, full of sombre men drinking quietly.

* * *

Burl had seemed nervous almost as soon as they passed within the town gates. He confided to Wyshira that the place reminded him of the town he had been in that had been sacked by orcs, and where he had been taken prisoner by the Pendarmes. Wyshira turned to the necromancer, sympathy softening her bright green eyes, and took his arm. "Burl, back then you travelled alone. Now you have friends with you. You shouldn't worry so much!" She smiled reassuringly as they took their seats at one of the large, oaken tables. 

Settling into the seat in the inn, Sebastion felt a little saddle-weary, but generally satisified with the day's events, and sat back to eat his meal as he started to plan the colt's training in full, visions of charging into battle behind a couched lance flowing through his head. 

* * *

_Next update: Melisande and Wyshira effectively summarise most of the campaign events so far _


----------



## Carnifex

Right, that last update signals the point at which the game roughly returned to normal  In the aftermath of the slavers cult things had all gottena  bit bogged down with divvying up treasure and doing stuff in town; now the story returns to adventuring!


----------



## Carnifex

The mining-town alehouse was somber, but after this much hard travel (directed by the severe and ascetic Wolf) Melisande and Wyshira both had come to appreciate such small comforts as a table to eat at. They were content enough for that. Wyshira, as was her custom, sat sipping a glass of cool mountain water from the fresh streams of the Sarokeans; Melisande, whose palms burned with gold pieces since the destruction of the slavers' cult, had ordered a pitcher of expensive wine and was quite doing it justice. Though much had been exchanged on the road, Wyshira still had questions about what led the other party of unlikely mercenaries this far; and her first concern was for Sandslipper. 

Mel paused with the wine glass halfway to her midnight-flushed lips at mention of the earth genasi. "The more I think about it the more I worry. The priests at the temple of Naskha were friendly enough, but they simply would not let me in to see her!" 

"Why not, do you suppose? What happened to her anyway, before you arrived in Tarravus? She didn't seem well." 

"As it turns out, according to the healers, she'd been sick for a long time. At first they thought she'd picked up a nasty bug here in the north, but they discovered before long that it was some sort of desert disease she probably had since she left Myrmecia." 

Wyshira shuddered slightly and took a long drink from her glass at Melisande's mention of the desert. "What brought her North? I understand that she carried a package for Lord Ecurius. Was that why you came also?" 

"Oh, the package. At first I thought that was what was making her sick. She was strange about it, and then there were the scorpion-assassins we ran into in Corvus with their mind-bending attacks. She got the brunt of that. But no, I had nothing to do with the package, luckily enough. I was just defecting from Carthagia." 

Wyshira's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Scorpion-assassins? How terrible! It sounds like you had a rough time getting to Tarravus." She said nothing for the moment about Mel 'defecting' from Carthagia. That seemed understandable enough. 

"And that's not all! What we went through... You remember what I told you about the gnolls and the fleshtearer? That was only the first time I got gutted. And that was only the first time I caught wind of this weird Shadow thing." 

Mel leaned forward, speaking in low tones, more for effect than for discretion. "After I was wounded I went to sleep in the druid's glade, and a Shadow demon visited me in my sleep. It gave me some useful things but it also gave me a pendant with a strange symbol--an eye on a pyramid--and after I put it on I couldn't take it off again! It was scrying on me." 

Wyshira looked for a sign of the pendant. "Where is it now? How did you get it off?" 

"Eventually, a Cerulean priest of Naskha dispelled the charm. Ebri has it now." Mel shrugged, forgetting how worrisome the pendant had been. "And then, as if that wasn't enough, we all got caught in the middle of a war and were driven into some kobold-infested caverns. There were tombs bearing the same eye symbol in the caverns--and these I found out were connected with some sort of 'angels of death'--the Azrael--who shepherd souls into the spheres of the dead.”

Wyshira was reminded of Burl, oddly enough. Melisande went on, barely pausing for breath. 

"They in turn led to the cult of the Great Prophet, whose symbol the eye on the pyramid turns out to be. And the mimir told me about a sect that might have been associated with the Great Prophet--the Nephians, they're called, and they're legendary assassins. 

"What the connection is--and the connection with me of all people--is beyond me." 

"A Shadow Demon! No wonder you've been asking so many questions about Shushurek and the Nephians." 

"All I've been able to learn about Shushurek is that he may have been involved in the war that put an end to the Elder Gods. That's why these cults give me the creeps. If the Great Prophet has some connection with me, then what do I have to do with cults of the Elder Gods? It's all very creepy. Oh, heavens, I just realized Ak'mun'tep mentioned it too: Shadow." Mel shivered. She downed the rest of her wine in one gulp and poured another glass from the pewter decanter. "I don't mean to alarm you or anything," she smiled. 
"Strange things seem to be happening everywhere. Nothing so mysterious has happened to us," Wyshira glanced quickly at Burl, then went on. "I told you about our battle with Sahuagin pirates on the Azure Sea already. Then we met Burl in Iril. We had a little trouble with Toranites in Halstath, but we got away." 

Mel's expression darkened at mention of Toranites, but she did not interrupt. 

"We ran into a terrible coven of werewolves that took over a town on our way to Tarravus. We were trapped in the Temple and they surrounded us there. It was a horrible, bloody battle, but we finally managed to bring the Master Werewolf down. 

"That's were we met Cord. It was a long journey to Tarravus but we had few problems after that." 

"Are you sure you wouldn't like some wine? It's quite good," Mel offered. 

Wyshira made a face, but allowed Mel to pour a small amount of the heady liquor into her glass. Mel obliged, more than happy to share. In fact, she was feeling more than happy in a general way, after her third glass. 

"Cord says that he has been sensing some kind of 'corruption' in the land," Wyshira continued. After a couple of sips of wine she bent her head closer to Mel. "It was funny what Ak'mun'tep said about that..... " 

Wyshira looked thoughtful, remembering the jackal-headed seer. "He said that Burl was linked to the corruption, but only in a circumstantial way. I still wish I knew why the Toranites were after him...." 

"Burl?!" Mel glanced around at the necromancer and then lowered her voice. 

"What's he got to do with all this? Why would Toranites be after him? He's not Carthagian, is he?" 

"I- uh, no, I don't think so. He was raised in Cryosia." Wyshira suddenly realized that she may have said too much. She lowered her voice even more, hoping that no-one at the table was taking notice. "He was the one that the Toranites wanted though. And there's someone else after him too, I think. Some hooded assassins in Iril. I can't imagine why. But I really shouldn't have told you any of this." 

"More assassins?" Mel looked upset enough to drain another glass, which she promptly did. "Between the Nephians and the Scorpion-people in Corvus I had hoped we'd heard enough of that sort." 

"We haven't seen any sign of their like in a while though. I wonder.... could it have been Nephians who attacked Burl the first time? I remember something now.... Shortly after we escaped from the Toranites in Halstath, we heard these strange whispers in the night. It sounded to me like shadows whispering nonsense...." 

Mel shuddered. "And more shadows... I wonder if this whole thing is not a coincidence at all--including our meeting at Lord Ecurius' residence. Whether by the design of the Truth-Seekers or by someone else, our forces have been joined, and we don't know why or what our role is. I can't help get this feeling something is happening and we're in the middle of it..."


----------



## Carnifex

I've asked my players to give me stat blocks, and here's the first one. I present... Melisande!

Melisande, female aasimar Sor4: CR 4; ECL 5; Medium-size Humanoid (aasimar); HD 4d4+12; hp 22; Init +2; Spd 30 ft; AC 12 (+2 Dex); Melee unarmed strike +0 (1d3); SA light, spells; SQ resistances, summon familiar; AL NG; SV Fort +4, Ref +3, Will +3; Str 10, Dex 15, Con 16, Int 17, Wis 8, Cha 18. Skills and Feats: Alchemy +7, Concentration +11, Diplomacy +4, Knowledge (arcana) +8, Knowledge (nature) +6, Scry +5, Spellcraft +8; Spell Focus (Transmutation), Empower Spell. SA-Light (Sp): 1/day, aasimars can use light as cast by a level 4 sorcerer. SQ-Resistances (Ex): Acid, cold, and electricity resistance 5. Sorcerer Spells Known (cast 6/7/4): Open/Close, Read Magic, Detect Magic, Mending, Ray of Frost, Mage Hand, Change Self, Magic Missile, Reduce, Invisibility. Equipment: Pierre (two-headed toad familiar), Vial of Shadow, Fire Serpent Rod, Holy Emblem of Immar, Holy Emblem of Naskha, Silver Ring of Protection +1, 1 Vial of Acid, Short Spear, Light Crossbow.


----------



## Carnifex

One advantage of a town such as Kandathra was that, as a nexus for several mines, it was where merchants seeking to purchase ores and the rarer exports of Merlihr, the gems and jewels hewn from the rock, tended to come; thus it was that Wolf was able to find such a merchant, a fellow from the westmost human province of Naseria, the lands of House Thrazan. After some negotiation the mercenary was able to barter the gems into coinage, and returned with his gains to share them amongst the band.

* * *

For Ebri, the sight of the mountains along their road had been more welcome than she was willing to admit. How she longed to be back there, where the air was clean and cold and clear. Where everything was clear-- Her brethren did not choose to live in mountains simply because they were inaccessible and remote, though that was a convenient consequence of the decision. The location was a symbolic reflection of their place among the rest of mortalkind: those at the top, who aspired to climb above the rest, to reach the true pinnacle of being. 

She smiled without pretense, listening to Wyshira and Melisande with interest as they bandied theories about her order. _Legendary assassins..._ She chuckled. Legendary they might be, but it meant --or should mean-- little. _We do not do it for fame... _

"You know..." she mused, when their words had fallen off, "... I have heard it said that if you think you see a Nephian, go to sleep soundly, for that's when you're safest..." Ebri laughed. "The meaning, of course, is that the Nephians, if they even exist, are so skilled that you would never recognize one...."

"That sounds exactly like something a Nephian would tell you," Mel chirped. Her mind felt buoyant. Maybe it was the wine. 

"The more they're visible the less they're seen," she added, tipping her glass toward Ebri with grin. 

Wolf sat at the rugged wooden table, beer mug clutched with both hands as he listened with interest to the exchanges between Ebri, Wyshira and Melisande. Around them the tavern was humming with the usual low talk of such a place, full of men tired from a day's work out in the sun and merchants tired from a day of haggled exchanges. Also as usual, the armed band was attracting its fair share of glances, the blue women especially, though there was no hostility in the air. They could feel safe enough here. 

After Ebri had regaled them with what she had heard of Nephians, Wolf gave a wry smile. "Speculating on shadowy assassins is all well and good, but where we're going there'll be much more practical dangers. The Sarokeans are full of all sorts of things that can catch the unwary by surprise. There're some orc factions and goblin tribes, along with bandits and renegades from various places, since the mountains provide a refuge for that type of scum. Dreadspawn tribes too, and I've heard there are some enclaves of undead from the Dread March still hidden in the range's furthest reachers. Not to mention the various wild animals and Manipulated monsters like chimerae. What that Unyielding One said in the temple of Grumand, about troubles underground, that worries me too. Worse things might be coming up into the area. So be on the watch for real dangers as much as Nephians about to jump out on us from the shadows; and only the gods know what we'll find at this tower when we get there. I've heard nasty tales of what gets loose when a wizard dies and little experiments go awry."

By the time Wolf began to describe the various hazards that the party could expect to run into in the Sarokeans, Wyshira had slurped down the entire glass of wine that Mel had poured for her. Although the last sip had tasted better than the first, it still produced a small, inadvertant shudder as it slid down her throat and collected in a warm pool in her stomach. She felt oddly flushed and all aglow, and found herself smiling whenver she caught someone's eye at the table. The unfamiliar spirits seemed to have loosened her tongue, too. Instead of sitting back to listen to the ebb and flow of the conversation as she usually did, she joined in freely. 

"Dreadspawn! Oh I hope we don't run into any of *those*. I remember my father used to tell dreadful stories about hordes of them lurking in desolate places." 

Wyshira also remembered that her mother's normally serene countenance had darkened like mounting storm-clouds when she'd caught the wandering mercenary telling her wide-eyed daughters such stories. The adventurer's tale was cut suddenly short, and Wyshira never found out more about Dreadspawn. She did know a thing or two about ordinary undead though. "We ought to get some flasks of holy water before we head out. I'll go look for a temple after supper. Ebri, do you want to come with me?" 

Listening attentively, Ebri sipped at her watered wine--it was safer than pure water, though the water here was certainly better than in the city-- and suppressed a smile at Wolf's distinctions. _And what does that make you?_ she wondered. 

She raised an eyebrow as the devotee of the Storm Lady invited her along. _Holy water._ The concept was almost offensive, yet there was no denying that the stuff was useful and did have some merit in combat. Why it did, exactly, was a matter of debate among her community, but practical observation of its effectiveness could not be dismissed out of hand. For her part, she held to the theories of the water being charged with the transformed magical energies of the user, some inherent life force that counteracted the undead thing, in line with most explanations of how magic that relied on superstitious and fantastical beliefs worked as it was clearly observed to do. For while Ishrak, Immar, or any other of the gods most depended on slavishly were obviously fantasies, or at most grossly elevated spiritual entities, human _belief_ in such fantasies was clearly a powerful thing indeed, in every case that she had seen. 

_Perhaps that is an answer to the riddle..._ she felt the glow of a glimpse of possible understanding,_ perhaps we create the shared illusion of reality by our continued belief... _

"I will come, certainly." she answered Wyshira gravely, thinking _and maybe I shall gather three red feathers and 6 peach pits for a protective talisman, too_ "Thank you for asking. I was considering going myself, in fact, but it would be safer to go together." 

Settling back in his chair, savouring the slightly nutty flavour of his second sweet jar of mead of the evening, Sebastion felt the weight of the coin pouch at his belt with a sense of irony. If he'd had this before they left the city he'd probably have bought the armour he wanted with it, and missed out on the colt. 

The young horse had taken well to training, though he still didn't like the scent of Sebastion's blanket across his back as they travelled. He was too young to ride, just yet, but preparing him to recognise a rider's scent was a start. After that, he decided, he'd move him on to coming to a call, and kicking on command. If he mastered those quickly enough, there were other tricks to think of, but that would most likely do for now. 

Returning his mind to the conversation, he listened to Ebri and Wolf talking of assassins and the like, but kept his mouth shut. Assassins - skilled, Nephian or otherwise - were cowards. He knew this in his heart, but knew as well that if he tried to explain it Ebri would just twist the words around until they meant something else. It didn't change the meaning, just the words, as though they weren't what they said at all, but just an illusion of meaning. 

Still, there was much to be cautious of in the coming days, even if Wolf's prognosis proved to be pessimistic, and he declined the offer of a refill as he slowed down, and prepared to make the jar last the rest of the evening.

* * *

Ebri turned out of the darkened alley back into the dust of the street. The day was startlingly clear, the air thinner, making the everyday sights seem sharper.

_The mountains......_ she thought with a smile. She allowed her outward self to look pleased as well... it was just as well... The cleric of Ishrak would be more at ease with a pleasant and jolly companion. She sought the sea blue figure through the straggling crowds of the market, knowing that the marauding bully she'd left trussed in the alley would not be stirring any time soon. 

_There..._ The woman stood fascinated, gazing off at a far off vista of a waterfall, cascading down through a mountain pass. 

"Wyshira--" she called, well before she got to her, making more than enough noise not to startle. "Have you located the temple yet?" 

Wyshira turned, her eyes searching the crowd for the owner of the voice she'd recognized. Her gaze settled on Ebri at last and she smiled a greeting. "Yes," she replied, pointing along the road to an intersection with another winding, cobblestoned street. "There's supposed to be a Temple to Naskha down that way." 

"Excellent" Ebri beamed, giving her best impression of enthusiasm. "Shall we walk, then, or would you care to feast your eyes some more? It is a sight, indeed. Definitely worth noting on my Register of Exceptional Destinations." 

Wyshira arched an eyebrow. "Register of Exceptional Destinations.... I'll bet you've collected quite a few entries for it in your travels." The water priestess sighed somewhat regretfully and began to walk along the dusty street. "How long have you been on the road anyway, Ebri?" 

"Oh, any number of years.." Ebri said airily. "It has been so long now, I try not to count the time, only experience each day to the fullest. I record the destinations for those who may come after me, and as a service to the public, who do not wander for their livelihood. And how long have you served the Lady of the Storm?"

"Why, all my life, of course. My mother trained me and my sister from the time we were old enough to polish the silver ewers and sweep under the altar!" Wyshira seemed almost surprised by the question. "Did you not feel the call of Immar from the first?" 

_A hereditary priestess, then..._ Ebri felt her veneer wear a little thinner. Hereditary religious types she felt were particularly like passive sheep. _Not even the guts to choose for oneself the path of spiritual comfort... _

"Perhaps..." she shrugged. "Perhaps Immar called me only when I was ready to go... " In truth, she had no idea what the call of a god would be like to the superstitious mind. "After all, it would be unsafe in some instances for a child to travel." She welcomed, though, the chance to interview this woman more closely. It would provide excellent insight, and she could use that in her continued charade. 

"Well, there is water in my veins, as my mother used to tell me! What else could I be but a Water Priestess?" Wyshira laughed. "But truthfully, I never expected to be the one to leave home and take up the road. I always thought that my sister was better suited to a life of adventure." She was silent for a moment, and Ebri could hear the swish of her robes as they walked along. "I've missed the mountains. And the cold, clear streams. I am happy that we are going that way now." 

"Indeed. I too love the mountains. And I confess, the city was not to my liking. But you must agree... so much foul and turgid water in that place. I'm sure it cried out to you. And to be moving as well. Though I have not known you or your companions long, I feel that I trust you-- " That was, of course, the proper and expected thing to say. "--but I would welcome anything you could tell me about them I may not have guessed as yet.  I confess to be a bit mystified by Kale Amegrion..." Ebri grinned. 

"Kale is...." Wyshira paused, thinking. "Well, he......." She stopped, at a loss. "Kale doesn't let anyone get too close to him. He's very resourceful. An easy companion on the road. He's what I would call a reluctant hero." 

"I would hope that all of us would be reluctant to be heroes. In my experience, being a hero frequently involves death..." Ebri joked. "But he does seem eager for profit, and to do his job well... All of you are excellent at your chosen professions, I have observed. That is rare, I find." 

"Everyone does everything for profit of one kind or another. Kale is just more honest about it than most." Wyshira grinned back at Ebri. "Yes, Wolf and Kale are good at what they do. I can't say that I've had much of a chance to observe Burl at his chosen profession. I don't think he ever intended to be a mercenary. He'd be happier working away in a lab somewhere, I'm sure!" 

"That surprises me," Ebri admitted. "For you seem to be quite solicitous of his needs. I should have thought you were companions of a great while." 

"No, not long. We've barely know each other for a few weeks. But it's my role, to be solicitous," Wyshira said, as if that were explanation enough. 

"But I was wondering the same thing about you and your companions. How long have the three of you been together?" 

_You play a role as well...?_ Ebri nodded as if sympathetic. She supposed she could not fault the woman entirely. Healing and succor were at least positive additions to their shared reality. 

"Some weeks, now. We met in the aftermath of a battle, strangely, as if the gods had brought us together in a clearing in the woods, all converging on the same point. We were trapped in a cave, and savaged by dreadspawn beasts. Perhaps the direness of the situation forced a common bond between us..." That was the word that would be most effective..._bond._ "We bonded, yes. You would have appreciated our means of escape. We swam through a pool and out through a natural water conduit."

"They are quite excellent companions..." She did not add the phrase _but unsophisticated._ "I am used to travelling alone, but I find their company quite welcome. Certainly Sebastion's blades and Melisande's spells are useful in a hostile encounter. Though we try as a rule to avoid them." 

"Melisande told me about the Shadow Demon that visited her, and the amulet that it left her. She said that you have the charm now. Would you let me see it?" Wyshira's eyes were bright with curiosity. 

"Certainly..." Ebri paused, looking significantly around them. "But perhaps it would be better to examine such things in a more protective, perhaps even ritually sanctified location." Ebri nodded at the looming facade of the temple up ahead, and hitched up her robes as they quickened their pace. "She felt that it was watching her. Who knows but that it may still watch us? Yet I could not let her throw it away without knowing its true nature. Perhaps that is the fault of my order: curiosity." 

"I am curious about such things too," Wyshira admitted. "I wonder how they work, and if I could learn to use them. But even more curious to me in this case is: Why? Why would a Shadow Demon want to watch Melisande? She thinks that the Nephians or the Great Prophet have some kind of interest in her. And yet, she seems to have no idea why." 

They came under the arches of the ritual building, and passed through a small and weakly planted garden. Spying a shaded alcove with a bench, Ebri pulled the other priestess towards it, then paused thoughtfully, searching for the amulet in her wrap, as if hesitant to say something critical. "Melisande is a powerful worker of magic, of course... but I fear her grasp on reality is not quite so sound in other realms. I am uncertain myself what may be real and what is a figment of her imagination. But in this case, it matters little... whether the danger is real in fact or not, it is still a danger to her so long as she believes it exists. That the Nephians would interest themselves in her -- assuming they are anything more than fables and rumors at all-- I find extremely hard to credit. Yet who knows? Her blue color is unusual, but I do not see why it should make her valuable to them. She seems in more danger of tripping and breaking something more tangible than Nephians..." The amulet came shining into the light, dangling like a pretty toy. _Which is what it is... merely a symbol, a toy for others' eyes... it has no meaning to those who serve the Purpose..._ "Here. I would treat it cautiously, but perhaps you may discern something we have not. And then we should seek the holy water we came for..."


----------



## Horacio

Great update, as usual!


----------



## Carnifex

I'm very busy at the moment, but hopefully I'll be able to get another update done tomorrow, as well as the stat block for Burl


----------



## Carnifex

This next update shifts time along a bit to the next day...




A few ales, a few idle tales, a good night's sleep... and the crew was on the trail once more. Naturally, Wolf was up first, even as Kale rose before dawn to be ready for the day. Their morning exchange was a practiced one by this time, Wolf inclining his eyes as the younger descended the stairs, Kale far past the point of being surprised that Wolf was up an ready before him.

As the day progressed the roving party moved on once again, leaving beind now the borders of the province of Merlihr and plunging eastwards into truly wild lands, the majesty of the Sarokeans. Mighty peaks rose up and deep vallies gouged their way down; with summer in full force the sun beat down upon them as they walked the ill-defined paths down wooded slopes and over barren rises. Before long all they could see in any direction was mountains.

To their south Wolf pointed out what must have been the rising towers of a huge fortress, the bastion of the Iron Hawks, the frontier legion of mage knights. During their travels, they could well come across the Iron Hawk patrols, and it would be wise to be respectfully wary should they do so. The Iron Hawks had an especially strong reputation of being as tough as the mountains they watched, guarding the ways into eastern Naseria that a foe might choose to take.

The rough terrain made progress slow; descending into another of the myriad vallies filled with thick wood, then up onto a rise with a few scrubs, then down a long gully, which grew into a rocky, barren ravine scattered with sandstone debris from the rocky walls to either side. The walls of the ravine were pockmarked with caves and water-worn impressions; doubtless flash floods caused this place to become a raging torrent rather than the dry, hot pathway it presented at the moment.

Wolf rode at the head of the party column, hand shielding his eyes from the sun and Cord at his side. The ranger seemed to be referring to the dwarf often, the monk aiding the mercenary with his knowledge of mountain lore and accumulated wisdom. Wyshira rode along near the center of the line of horses, her spirits soaring as the party climbed into the mountains. The difficult terrain didn't bother her, although she had some trouble at times finding the best way for her horse to proceed. But she herself always felt sure-footed on the rocky paths.

High adventure! Now this was like in storybooks. Melisande knew about mountains of course, of which there was ample supply in Carthagia, but journeying through the wilderness of them on a mission for a Naserian Truth-Seeker with a loyal band of companions-in-arms--! Except for saddle-sores (oh yes, and the morning after in Kandathra) Mel felt generally ebullient. Even weathering such inconveniences as heat, mosquitoes and outdoor plumbing was a pleasure in a character-building way; it would not really be adventure without hardship. And with experience she much preferred a handful of small discomforts over being disemboweled.

Yet what Melisande left behind her--the foreboding of shadow-demons, assassins' blades and dragon-cults--seemed like an unimportant series of misfortunes in a much grander story which she now felt unfolding with every (painful) roll of her mount's steps. This was the real thing.

She felt quite content to let the brooding Wolf trouble himself over orcs, goblins, bandits, renegades, dreadspawn and miscellaneous Manipulated menaces while she "adventured", alternately chattering, mulling over new arcane forms and pressing new varieties of alpine flowers in her notebook.

Mel sensed that some sort of barrier had dropped between her and Wyshira, and she spent more time with the water genasi and Burl, who (oddly enough for a necromancer) was turning out to be one of her less grim companions. Sometimes she felt like she might want to talk to Sebastion Cornell a little more, but he was too busy teaching his horse tricks and besides she felt strangely shy, even vaguely expectant, since he'd invited her to come down to Corvus city against Wolf's advice back then, so she tried to stay out of his way.

Gazing down the ravine ahead of them, scattered with especially large boulders of yellow-orange sandstone and a handful of dark shards of black rock, Wolf suddenly signalled a halt and hushed for silence.

Below the faint sound of the breeze flowing over the desolate ravine and bird-calls distant in the air, a low rumbling could be heard, a crunching noise of obscure source. Casting their gazes around, no explanation seemed immediately evident.

The noise had attracted Sebastion's attention at the same time as Wolf's raised arm, and he eased the reins in, drawing the colt in tighter to lay a comforting hand on it's nose. Hearing sound grew louder, slightly, though no more distinguishable, he dismounted quickly, hitching both sets of reins against one of the low bushes nearby. Easing the scabbards on his sword, he moved forward to stand before Melisande, reaching out gently to ease her horse back as he did. He reached his reins up to her, not trusting the uneven surface to horseback combat, and moved up to flank Wolf and Cord as the noise drew nearer. Careful and completely silent, Kale merely reviewed in his head the possible routes to higher ground, ruling out all but the ones he could marshal the entire crew should they need to move.

It was with surprise that Melisande found Sebastion siezing the reins of her horse the moment the rumbling began. She hadn't been too alarmed by it at first; it almost seemed natural that mountains would rumble when real adventurers approached: forboding and doom were all part of the story. But the sudden tension in the air infected her (as well as her nervously dancing mare) and she put her notebook away. Perhaps it wasn't so natural. Perhaps it was better to pay attention to such sounds...

"You know what?" she said to Sebastion, trying to pat her mare on the head and calm her down, but not sounding particularly worried herself--in fact speaking in the same light tone of idle chatter as usual. "I think we should head upwards as quickly as possible. If there's been rain east it could be a flash flood. You get those, in mountains in summer."


----------



## Broccli_Head

alright! almost caught up...

little do they know, right?


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## Carnifex

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> *alright! almost caught up...
> 
> little do they know, right? *


----------



## Carnifex

A new stat block up today, this one for kale along with his thoughts and requests for aid  The reason I'm posting all this rather than Kale himself is that he seems to be having problems with his account at the moment  Here's his stuff...



Here he is- that crafty troublemaker... 

Kale Amegrion: Male human Rgr1/Rog 3; CR 4; Medium-size humanoid; HD 3d6+6 plus 1d10+2; hp 29(41); Init +4; Spd 35 ft.; AC 18, touch 14, flat-footed 14; Atk +4/+3 (brine blade, flail) or +6/+6 (2 darts, within 30ft); SA sneak attack +2d6; SQ evasion, uncanny dodge (Dex bonus to AC); AL CG; SV Fort +5, Ref +7, Will +1; Str 14, Dex 18, Con 14, Int 14, Wis 10, Cha 14. 

Skills and Feats: Animal Empathy +4, Bluff +8, Climb +4, Craft: Traps +4, Disable Device +10, Disguise +4, Gather Information +5, Hide +8 , Intimidation +6, Jump +4, Listen +5, Move Silently +8, Open Locks +10, Search +7, Sense Motive +5, Spot +5, Tumble +9, Wilderness Lore +4,Dash (adds +5ft), Point Blank Shot, Track, Ambidexterity, Two Weapon Fighting, Favored Enemy: magical beasts, Languages (Common, Orc, Dwarven), Precise shot 

Possessions: Brine Blade (short sword +1, other powers), Onyx Ring (Darkness 1/day - Shushurek, other powers), Amulet of Dragon's Toughness (+12 hp), 1 smokestick, 5 tindertwigs, potion of CLW, potion of invisibility, masterwork chain shirt, artificer-crafted explosive spear, vial of acid, flask of smokepowder, shot for spear (5), caltrops, packet of lye, 50' rope, small grapnel, waterskin, cloak, twine, soap, cloth, needle and thread, baldric, 2 daggers, light flail, etc, etc 


--Soon to be added to the list: boots of madd skillz, and creepy candle of everburning (stay tuned to the story hour) 

I have to say that playing Kale has been a lot of fun.  I am a powergamer by background, and although that urge has been tempered a bit I admit I have a lot of fun playing a char trying to take advantage fo every opportunity.  This is neat for Kale, because he fights the good fight, but obeys none of the rules.  I've tried my very best to have him never fight the same way.  Seldom have I done the same thing in any two combat rounds during the entire game.  Which is cool, because although I imagine Kale looking pretty graceful or fearsome in battle as he improves, the whole idea is for him to look wierd and unpredictable, have his enemies second guess him, or guess wrong.  If I do a prestige class, it's got to be something like 'lucky bastard', or some other sort of idea that stresses cunning in many things, as opposed to just prowess in one-on-one combat.  He never, EVER desires to be in a stand-up, gentleman's fight. 

Things have been pretty busy and serious lately.  Maybe after the latest events there'll be a chance for Kale to unwind a bit.  He likes having chicks in the camp- good targets for ribbing, Wolf never seems to react too much. 

So what do you guys think Kale's next level should be?  It's almost certainly rogue, though I may increase ranger a bit.  I think what I'm going to do is increase rogue to 6th lvl, then branch out to something.  We'll see if Kale can become the prototype 'lucky bastard' (Carni, what do you think?) 

As far as his fate in the realms, I don't know.  He's not straight-laced enough to do anything like be a Wave Hawk or super official official, but I imagine it not being outside his perview to somehow represent something bigger, if only in a subdued and less up-front way.  Like the behind-the-scenes ass-kicking diplomats or messengers who really get the job done, quitely. 

I also like how the story is rounding out, that everyone seems a bit special, but Kale's just an odd mercenary.  Wyshira and Ebri are preistesses of their faiths, Mel is special blue, Seb is the son of a mighty warrior, Burl is... well, we're all finding that one out, Wolf is Wolf, etc.  Dunno if being Amegrion means anything, but Kale's learning to resent his family more, now that he's able to start defining himself without their help. 

What do you guys think?  Do you suspect Amegrion is dirty or worldly, practical and boring, or cool and vital, if only Kale would learnt o grow up and get with the program?  We may find out soon: Kale's heard rumors that there's been a bloodless coup in Corinthia.  Rumor has it Iril upset the king, Kale will be curious for his family, if they're all right, though they always seem to land on their feet (virtues of learning to survive as a small house...) 

Anyway, I like all your guys' input on the story hour- why don't you post some theories or 'I wanna sees'?  Any character input?  Rock.


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## Wyshira

*Wyshira's stat block*

Wyshira, female water genasi Clr4; Medium-size Humanoid (water genasi); HD 4d8+8; hp 24; Init +3; Spd 30 ft; AC 13 (+3 Dex); Melee light mace +5 (1d6+2); Ranged javelin +6 (1d6); SA spells, turn undead; AL CG; SV Fort +6, Ref +4, Will +10; Str 14, Dex 16, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 18, Cha 10.

Skills and Feats: Concentration +6; Heal +8; Knowledge Religion +4; Spellcraft +6; Dodge; Iron Will.

SA–Turn Undead (Su): 3/day, Wyshira can attempt to turn undead creatures. She can turn undead with no more than (1d20+2)/3 HD. Each attempt, she turns 2d6+4 total HD. Undead with 2 or fewer HD are destroyed instead.

Cleric Spells Prepared (5/5/4):

Equipment: Scrolls (Augury, Dispel Magic, Water Breathing), 2 Potions of Cure Light Wounds, 5 sharkfang javelins, 6 Prismatic Javelins, 5 Lesser Eye Charms (1 use Detect Magic), 6 vials of holy water (Nashkha).


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## Carnifex

I've just put up the Cerulean One prestige class on the House Rules thread; please, go and take a look and comment!  It can be found here:

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=768727#post768727


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## Broccli_Head

Like the write ups and check out the prestige class. I like Kale...I think he's still my favorite. I like brash and spontaneous and definitely enjoy his improvisation.


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## Horacio

Today stats blocks... cool...


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## Maldur

Thanks for the view on Kale and Wyshira!

Keep it up , I am A great fan of your game 

*seething with jealousy* 

Keep this comming


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## Carnifex

Lisa, thanks for putting up Wyshira's stat block 

Here's Burl's:
Burl Overton, male human Wiz4: CR 4; ECL 4; Medium-size Humanoid (human); HD 4d4+12; hp 26; Init +6; Spd 30 ft; AC 12 (+2 Dex); Melee quarterstaff +3 (1d6+1), or dagger +3 (1d4+1/crit 19-20); Ranged dagger +4 (1d4/crit 19-20), or light crossbow +4 (1d8/crit 19-20); SA spells; SQ summon familiar; AL LN; SV Fort +4, Ref +3, Will +4; Str 12, Dex 14, Con 16, Int 19, Wis 11, Cha 10.

Skills and Feats: Alchemy 11, Appraise 6, Balance 2, Climb 1, Concentration 10, Diplomacy 2, Disguise 1, Escape Artist 2, Forgery 4, Heal 3, Hide 2, Jump 1, Knowedge Arcana 11, Listen 2, Move Silently 2, Ride 2, Scry 9, Search 4, Spellcraft 11, Spot 2, Swim 1, Use Rope 2; Improved Initiative, Scribe Scroll, Spell Focus Necromancy, Spell Penetration, Alertness (familiar).

Wizard Spells Prepared (4/4/3):

Equipment: familiar (hedgehog), backpack, bedroll, winter blanket, scroll case, light crossbow, dagger, flint & steel, vial ink, inkpen, sheet paper, belt pouch, quarterstaff, sealing wax, signet ring, spellbook, torch, potion vial, waterskin, wand of mage armor, Death's Heart (10), scrolls: fireball, summon monster 2, vampiric touch, moonblaze, .


As a note, Burl is specialised in Necromancy.


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## Stinky

*Test*

So I'm trying to post again (this is Kale)

Thanks, Brocco, for your vote for Kale as King.  I think he rocks, too- in combat he's gotten very lucky, and provided he charms his crew he'll be really poised to play the scoundrely wild card guy for posts and posts to come.

It's hard, I have to admit, both coming up for ways for a clever guy to fight, and to remember that while sometimes things are serious business for Kale, he's also out to have a laugh.  Wish me luck!


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## Carnifex

Carnifex said:
			
		

> *
> So what do you guys think Kale's next level should be?  It's almost certainly rogue, though I may increase ranger a bit.  I think what I'm going to do is increase rogue to 6th lvl, then branch out to something.  We'll see if Kale can become the prototype 'lucky bastard' (Carni, what do you think?)
> *




Rogue levels are always good since the class keeps getting abilities throughout that are worth having, but on the other hand mroe ranger levels would make Kale a meatier fighter, something the group is not massively strong in if you don't count the NPC's. After all, Sebastion is more of a finesse fighter than a brite strength fighter, Ebri is a monk/cleric and thus while a competent fighter hardly a meat-shield tank, and Wyshira is more of a light-armour spiritual cleric than a plate-mail skull bashing cleric.

Of course, I have yet to see what theRuinedOne proposes as a character concept  The group could be about to get a lot more interesting... 

As for Kale being a prototype 'lucky bastard', what makes you think there haven't been lucky bastards in the campaign world before?


----------



## Maldur

Carnifex said:
			
		

> * He's not straight-laced enough to do anything like be a Wave Hawk or super official official, but I imagine it not being outside his perview to somehow represent something bigger, if only in a subdued and less up-front way.  *




I could definately see Kale ending up  as asomething like a wavehawk. Traveling round to kick evils butt!
Kale is smart enough to know that an orginization behind you is usefull. How strait-laced are Wavehawks?

ok Maybe not a wavehawk perce, but something similar


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## Carnifex

Maldur said:
			
		

> *
> 
> I could definately see Kale ending up  as asomething like a wavehawk. Traveling round to kick evils butt!
> Kale is smart enough to know that an orginization behind you is usefull. How strait-laced are Wavehawks?
> 
> ok Maybe not a wavehawk perce, but something similar  *




If he *did* want to join the Wavehawks, Kale'd need to pick up some magical training - the Wave Hawks are mage-knights, after all  I wonder how long it'd be before he managed to a) burn down a laboratory or b) burn his spellbook


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## Maldur

Carnifex said:
			
		

> *
> 
> If he *did* want to join the Wavehawks, Kale'd need to pick up some magical training - the Wave Hawks are mage-knights, after all  I wonder how long it'd be before he managed to a) burn down a laboratory or b) burn his spellbook  *




ok, maybe not the wavehawks, but there probly is some non-mage equivalent.
Its the task and the responsability (the mission) that I can see kale fit in with.

But Kale could be in a more tech/dirty fighting version of the hawks.


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## Stinky

*Ahem...*

About burning the lab down, I may point out, mister hooty snooty DM, that the lab would be burned down or blown up all around him: Kale's not the one with the love affair with fire.  And if you reply, referring to some self-immolation in Adbar, I would point out that the whole frickin village was at stake, and tons of chicks were watching.   No such motivation for burning down a lab.

But all that notwithstanding, I always have a mental stopwatch going when Kale enters ANY room- how long before the place blows up/burns down/is immolated in vengeful hellfire?

It's a no-go on the WaveHawks- I decided at character creation to keep Kale magic free.  Even with ranger levels, I doubt he'd advance to lvl 4 ranger, and if he did, I'm not pumping his 10wis to start getting spells.  Magic has to remain a mysterious asset/enemy that has to be sought out outside himself...  Clever technolgy is cool, though.

The blades seem a cool organization, what with Wolf and Kerekes and their really loose structure, and their tendency to kick Gilameshlte's a$$.  Plus, they sound pretty corinthian, and although Kale doesn;t have strong ties to his home country, who knows?  And even family reconciliation might be in the future, as far as I know (Carnifex may have other plans).

Dirty fighter, all the way.  He'll need to learn skills and sneakies, and still be able to fight a bit.  Rogue is a cool class, but I don;t know if he has to improve his sneak attack, etc so much after 6th lvl.  I like things like Improved Feint and Exotic WP- light chain and hook (whatever that's called in DND parlay).  He already has the chain and hook, now all he has to do is learn how to get nutty with it, a la Jet Li.  Add some madd potions and sleepy poisons, and things will get pretty interesting.  

A 6th lvl rogue with improved feint.  Drool.

Die hard fans will note that Kale pumps his sense motive and bluff every level, and spot and listen almost every level.  Gather info's important, etc.  Disable device and pick locks are just hobbies, but they have to be good hobbies, if only for street cred.  LIttle bit of disguise, little bit of wilderness lore, little bit of diplomacy... "at home in any land" is kind of the idea.

Well, I'm only 200xp from leveling up, and we'll get a little more rogue expertise out of the deal.  11 skill points.  Rogues rock.

But I'm still not exactly sure where Kale fits in the group- and I guess that's just where I want him.  Wolf is his sort of security blanket, and if he is killed (as DMs are want to do), it'll be a sad, confusing time for our hero.

In the meantime, I have to keep asking myself the question: WWKD?

And I couldn't say I know the answer for every case, but in general it involves breaking or avoiding the rules (the in character rules, not the game rules =)  ), flank attacks, or fire.


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## Maldur

Forgot about them blades.
They seem about right, allthough they might be a bit more "dark" then how I see Kale 

For the hooked chain, You could think about the spiked chain, or look through OA?


----------



## Carnifex

The bright sun looked down on the puzzled band of adventurers below as they paused in the broad ravine. First thoughts were of course of potential rockfalls and suchlike, but a few moments more to assess the situation revealed the sound did not appear to be getting closer or further away. Just a constant... rumbling, almost crunching, the direction of the sound hard to place in the ravine. 

Cord looked confused, even the elderly dwarf apparently unsure as to what was causing the sound. Wolf squinted to peer at the rocks further down the ravine, stepping forwards a few paces more with Kale to get a better look at one of the large chunks of black rock. 


But then they realised it wasn't a rock at all, but the charred, blackened form of a person; perhaps a man or elf or orc but to be honest the huddled, scorched remnants were beyond any stage of being recognisable as a particular species. They looked at the other black rocks too, and with the new knowledeg they had it was terribly clear; the place was littered with burned bodies. 

Wolf gave a quick outtake of breath in shock, but not at the bodies. "Look at the boulder in the middle of the ravine; it's moving. Get yourselves ready..." 

And indeed the central boulder of sandstone was moving, shivering slightly in time to the rhythmic rumbling of rock; and now, suddenly it was moving far more, sprouting rocky tentacles from its surface that snaked out and blossomed into eyes upon their tips, even as the entire boulder shifted and began to lift off of the ground. The myriad small eyestalks, each gleaming with fiery orange pupils, snaked round to fix on the band before it. The rocky-hided bulk of the creature, now that they knew it as such, suddenly seemed to gain more definition; a wide gash that opened up into a mouth full of blunt, large teeth gnashed away onrocky sandstone debris from the ravine, trails of ground dust spilling out onto the ground as it chewed, the sheer strength of its jaws pulverising the stone and causing the faint rumbling which now tailed off. Another gash further up - a central eye, though held tightly closed. All in all, the massive sandstone orb must have been some ten feet wide. 

"Beholder," Wolf whispered, in genuine fear, "but not like any I've ever seen..." 

But now for Cord it all seemed much clearer. "Solar beholderkin. A mountain species... I have heard of them beore but never encountered one myself. They are not as vile as the others of beholderkind but are lazy and prefer to just bask in the sun. But I fear we may have intruded on its territory like these others before us," and he sniffed in the direction of one of the charred bodies to indicate who he was talking about. 

That toothed mouth stopped chewing now, instead spitting out some chunks of rock, and then the beholder spoke in deep, growled common tongue, it's dry voice almost as low as the rumbling of an avalanche. 

Some more pathetic bipeds come to disturb me, eh?" 

It hovered up to some ten feet in the air, shifting its bulk a little closer to the band. "Let me take a closer look... no, don't even think of running or trying to attack me, idiots, or I'll burn you to cinders." 

The eyestalks writhed so that as many as possible of the ten appendages could view the party. "Hmm, ah, eh. What do you have to say for yourselves, little things? I should just reduce you to ash now for disturbing me." 

"We should prefer _not_ to be cinders, rather..." Ebri replied smoothly, standing up from her crouch and clasping her hands before her. She smiled in a pleasant, composed, cheerful manner. 

"Ebri Zol, priestess of Immar. What a vista! Such clarity... We hoped to enjoy the mountain sunshine ourselves, actually, but if we're disturbing you we'll simply move on..." Pausing, she took a moment to look amazed and impressed at the sheer size and strength of the beholderkin."If we're disturbing you, of course we'll leave, but might I ask first, what manner of excellent beholderkin are you? I have an obligation to record my observations of extraordinary and powerful creatures that I come across in my travels, and you do seem... exactly that."

_Dm's Note: Ebri kicks in with those Bluff and Sense Motive checks _

Hooking his thumbs into his belt, Sebastion assumed what he hoped was a relaxed pose, resting his palms on the barrels of the pistols Kale had so carefully shown him how to load properly. "Presumably you were expecting company?" he added to Ebri's commentary. "You, surely, were aware that we are limited to the bottom of the gully, unlike you." 

Beholders Burl had heard of but, thankfully, never seen. Great evil creatures that inhabited the underworld he had been told. _What would one of these be doing out here,_ thought Burl as he tried to inch his way to a position to see it. When he did see it, he stepped back, loosing his footing a bit. As he reached out to catch himself, he found his hand on a black charred rock, but not a rock, a charcoaled skull. 

Quickly his hand went to his mouth stifling a cry. Burl looked for a boulder to hide behind. Finding none, he could just stand there, waiting to see what would transpire. As he listened to the others bluffing their way, he was so very envious that they would have the personal courage to stand up to such a very dangerous creature. Slowly his hand reached inside his pouch feeling for the wand that he knew was inside.


----------



## Horacio

Great update, Carnifex!


----------



## Carnifex

Now that I've finished all my essays for the term, I should have the time to do some more updates


----------



## Horacio

Three days and still waiting for that update


----------



## Carnifex

Well, I'm off to Newcastle today to buy the d20 Modern book  I'll do an update when I get back


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## Horacio

Carnifex said:
			
		

> *Well, I'm off to Newcastle today to buy the d20 Modern book  I'll do an update when I get back  *




d20 Modern is a great book, you will like it


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## Carnifex

Well, I now have d20 Modern 

And here's a short update:

The beholderkin, central eye still closed, scowled at Sebastion and Ebri. "I couldn't care less where you pathetic abberations are limited to travelling, but you disturbed my meditation and _that_ irritates me. And as for calling me beholderkin, my species is the true beholder species and the others are what you should be calling beholder_kin_, the poor relations of my kind." It was clearly not happy, its pupils seeming to be getting slightly brighter.

The rock-chomping beast floated arrogantly toward the party, while the dead rock walls of the ravine offered little hope of escape. The thing was irritated and egotistical, and Kale could have mistaken the thing for any manner of supernatural bully... but for the genuine fear in Wolf's voice when he identified it. 

Taking two slow steps back, Kale hardly had to feign fear as his hand inched toward his weapon, then fell to his side as his will seemed to surrender completely. Hope, it seemed, was tiny at best, although if the beholder had known how many times the young mercenary had embraced the cruel trial by fire and survived... no, even that wouldn't give the thing pause. 

It was just as well the monster considered them all puny and worthless... and then Ebri spoke up. Fighting back a curse, Kale couldn't believe the woman, who could talk that smooth, condescending tone to the very sorcerer king of Naseria, with nary a concern for how treacherous her footing. But flattery, at least. And feigned, for the woman didn't care any more for the thing than the dirt underneath her soles, 'obligation to record' notwithstanding. Hopefully, the many-eyed thing did not see with as much muddled clarity as Kale learned to regard the woman. 

Sebastion added his own short questions, and Kale wondered what the thing would think, being interrogated by a grip of worms. He also wondered why he was geting so judgemental. _I_ do _get kind of pissy when I'm about to die... Time to dive into the mix myself, I guess. _

Swallowing loudly, Kale spoke without taking his eyes off of the huge beast. His hands made no move for anything. "I've heard fearful tales of powerful beasts called solar beholderkin. I see the legends are... all true." Let the orb imagine what Kale's nonexistant legends said. He was sure the ego-puffed monster could come up with some great stories. "Whether or not you were expecting company, sir," How does one address a giant rock-ball? "You certainly aren't to be bothered by us. We were clumsy to have walked into your place, our small eyes not expecting to find a being of such power." 

He paused a moment, hoping he could answer his party's questions for the beast. Being asked petty questions may be insulting to one with a 'swelled head', much better to have a fearful representative answer in one's stead... the beholder was far too important to have to introduce himself, or be subject to the scrutiny of little pink ants. The crew were little ants, and despite the thing's bluster, they may all be squished just as easilly. Carefully, Kale continued. 

"I won't waste your time bargaining for our lives- we clearly are of no use to a being of your stature. But I would ask for the priveledge of offering tribute. I have something... that may just make up for the bother we've been." 

Hoping for interest, he waited for a reaction from the giant beast. "Clearly, you could just fry us all and recover whatever puny treasure we posess. But this, what I speak of, has never been made before." Voice and action, Kale began to get a little more animated. Interested that his plan might actually work beyond the bluff, what was far more important was that he sell the idea. Buy time, buy time. A small trickle of sweat ran down between his shoulderblades. 

"Though men may have ambition, we lack your power. Back east, it's not even possible what we can make here today." Weighing suspense against the being's obvious impatience, Kale decided to bring his sale to a close. One final pitch. "Tolerate me for a short while more, and you will be able to extend the warmth of the noonday sun... effortlessly." Hopefully, that last word would make all the difference.

Kale's words seemed to stave off its immediate anger, curiosity flickering across its bizarre expression. "Tell me what you have in mind, and make it good."


----------



## Carnifex

It may have seemed throughout the conversation with the Beholder that Melisande simply sat calmly on her snorting mare and listened. This was not the case. She was tetanized with fear. Oh yes, she'd seen them in books; there were even bits of them (eyestalks were a favorite) floating in jars in the lab. But there was nothing like standing face to face with this huge, bloated eyeball aberration. That it spoke in human tongue made it all the more hideously _wrong_--and reminded her in terrible ways of the power these beings were said to possess. 

This was _not_ how she planned to finish her grand adventure. 

There were sparks before her eyes as her trembling body slid stiffly from the horse and began to scramble, awkwardly at first and then with more speed and the agility lent by terror, up the wall of the ravine to the nearest semblance of a hole to hide in. 

Pierre, for once, was in perfect agreement. 

Sebastion heard Melisande's feet hit the floor as she slid from her horse, but kept his attention fixed on Kale and his ridiculous ruse. If it weren't ridiculous, then he was definitely travelling with the wrong group... 

The second footfall caught his attention, though, and by the time he turned to see Mel running away, she was on to her fifth and still going.

_She'll be a sitting duck out there on her own... _

"I'll go get her." he muttered, loud enough to be heard without disturbing anything, and then started stepping sideways until he was sure the big floating eye wasn't following them. 

_Damned creepy looking thing _

"Hey, Mel'" he hissed, as he followed here. "Where you heading off to like a startled rabbit, hold up there." 

"Of course. For how could your _kin_ even compare to your greatness?" Kale asked rhetorically in reply to the beholder's question, waving a hand idly as he tried to keep the monster's attention. The thing's incredible watchfulness left little chance for distraction, but Kale hoped to monopolize its attention. 

That was, of course, until Melisande slipped to the ground and made a scrabbling break for freedom. Turning to look despite himself, Kale's heart dropeed as he feared the entire situation would collapse. A strange concoction of fear and anger prickled his veins. He feared for his life, but his temper heated against the beast who held Melisande hostage in fear. But the ruse had to succeed. Kale continued with a short imperious tinge. 

"Scared witless," Kale pronounced broadly, turning back to the beholder with redoubled effort to the sale. "And _I_ would run, too, but that I'm inspired by your power." 

The mercenary made a few casual steps to the left, and a small dismissing span of his hand. He continued with interest. "Forget about us- mere riffraff. What you have here is an unique opportunity, to have something no one else has." 

Memories unbidden came to Kale's mind. _"The opportunity, boy. You're not selling cakes or canvas or caravans- you're selling opportunity."_ Yet another strident lecture of childhood, the determined voice of his father always putting in global terms Kale's simple desire to to make a bit of spending cash. All he really learned was how to avoid rolling his eyes too blatantly, though something about the present situation left him wishing he'd payed more attention. More than a month away from Iril... his family could be up to anything, and Kale would hardly know one way or another. He'd wanted it that way for so long. Yet just then, in what could very well be the end, the mercenary was left with second thoughts. 

_I'll just have to make the sale... _

"For hundreds of years, dwarves have used their hearthstones, desert raiders their sunovens... but no one has had their own sunheated lair. Only _your power_ can craft this work. Forget about these... distractions. I'll warm the days for you. It would be a _profound_ priveledge. And all I ask is that I can leave here, and never come back..."

Wyshira didn't know *what* Kale was up to. She was, quite possibly, just as curious as the beholderkin to know what the audacious rogue had up his sleeve. It didn't surprise her though that he alreadly had a plan working, while she was still trying to process the information before her. 

The huge, rocky sphere was like nothing she had ever heard of before, let alone encountered. She recognized that it had an affinity for earth, and that is somehow wielded fire as a weapon. A deadly weapon, judging by the blackened and charred lumps that littered the ravine. She shuddered as she imagined the creature's central eye suddenly flashing open and shooting a line of fire directly at her. 

The sound of shifting stones nearby caught the priestess' attention, and she turned to see Melisande scrabbling up the side of the ravine in a panic. "Mel, no!" Wyshira called out softly, but it was too late to stop her. She looked quickly back at the beholderkin, then began to walk toward it as calmly as she could manage. She wanted to give the beast something besides the fleeing sorceress to focus on. She only took a few steps, not enough to seem threatening - she hoped. She was ready though to cast a spell if any flames erupted in her direction.

As Melisande started to scramble away in fear, the beholder barely seemed to take any notice, only a single eystalk swivelling round to focus on her fleeing form. The others remained focused on Kale, the beholder apparently still interested in what he had to say. 

Even as Sebastion began to move after Mel and Wyshira started to step forwards, the pupil of the eystalk pulsed searing white, and a beam of scintillating energy lanced out. It caught the aasimar on the flank, knocking her to the ground as the smell of cooked flesh filled the air. All she experienced was an overloading feeling of pain before she blacked out mere seconds later, reduced to a smoking heap. 

The eye swivelled back to focus on Kale. 

"The only reason you're all still alive is because I might have a use for you, and I'm intrigued as to what _this_ one has yet to say. Remember that. Oh, and you might want to go and help your friend over there, she's probably still alive, but don't any of you try running either," it growled in an irritated, rocky tone. The sandstone-hued abberation's central eyelids seemed to open a little, letting out a fan of light as if in place of an eye there was almost a small sun there, before closing shut again. A barely veiled, wordless threat.


----------



## Broccli_Head

Aaaaarrgghhh! Crispy Blue Mel!

reading it again reminds me of how mean and cruel you are C-fex


----------



## Maldur

ZAp crisp!

the power of beholder is scary!!


----------



## Carnifex

Me, mean and cruel? 

*smiles sweetly* 

Anyway, here are four monastic 'Stance' feats from the campaign, in the House Rules thread:

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=797410#post797410


----------



## Carnifex

Hi all!

Now I've actually managed to dig my SH thread back up  I'd like to apologise to all who read it for not posting for ages. I've been working on a product for Horade Publishing, called _Steam & Steel: A Guide to Fantasy Steamworks_, and once I've finished writing that I'll be back to the story hour with a vengeance  Things to look forwards too - 

 - Kale trying to bluff his way out of the current situation against the solar beholderkin

 - A vicious battle with a pack of ghouls that seem to be mind-linked...

 - The discovery of the site where a noble warrior of the past lost his battle against the Great Necromancer

 - A visit from a divine emissary

 - A battle with bandits and Red Talons, and the arrival of a Black Knight of Zhatan

 - And the introduction of a new character, Cazamir Jan'Zhat (theRuinedOne  ), a Huronese monk/psion, and his encounter with the Ironjacks (a source of inspiration for _Steam & Steel_  )

So stay tuned, for the characters of Acrozatarim will return!


----------



## Carnifex

As a side note, we may well be regaining Meg'anna, the mute druid, to our cast of characters


----------



## Meg'anna

It seems as though they just cant get rid of me. I've had a bit of an extended vacation, and now I'd like to get back in with Carnifex and the cast and crew. So now it becomes a matter of _when_ does Meg'anna show up?


----------



## Maldur

Meg'anna said:
			
		

> *It seems as though they just cant get rid of me. I've had a bit of an extended vacation, and now I'd like to get back in with Carnifex and the cast and crew. So now it becomes a matter of when does Meg'anna show up? *




wooohoo more characters!


----------



## Carnifex

Yes, the Acrozatarim story hour is back!




_First a chicken, now a rabbit! Well, I'm going to be an _alive _rabbit, unlike the rest of-- _

* * * * * * *

Wyshira had barely taken her first step when the beholderkin attacked. An eyestalk quivered, there was a searing flash of white light, and Melisande fell to the ground, sending a miniature avalance of stones and scree sliding down the side of the ravine along with her smoking body. 

Frozen by shock for one brief moment, Wyshira could only look on with her mouth hanging open. Then she recovered, and raced to the blue woman's side. She had already begun a prayer of healing by the time she reached her. 

Burl was there ahead of her, and the water priestess groaned inwardly when she saw the necromancer throw dirt on Mel's wound. She nudged him aside as she finished chanting the last words of her spell ,and finally lay pale blue hands on the blistered and blackened skin of Melisande's side. Cool energy welled up and then flowed outward through her fingers into the sorceress. Wyshira sighed with relief to find that her friend was alive. She reached for her basket of healing herbs clean and linens. 

Someone was standing over her - Sebastian, probably - and without looking up, she ordered him to give her his cloak. "I'll try to make her as comfortable as I can. Yes, she's alive. Above all, we must do everything possible to keep her calm." Then to Melisande: "It's all right. Just stay quiet now. Here, chew on this. It will help with the pain." She tried to keep her tone soothing as she handed the sorceress a few sweet-smelling leaves to put in her mouth. She couldn't completely hide the fearful concern in her eyes however.

* * *

"Noooo!" Kale shouted as he futily raised a hand for the beast to stop. Unchallenged, the searing beam tore over Kale's head, and as he turned he watched Melisande be burned to the ground.

Shock quickly met fury. The beholder floated there, terribly, and for whatever reason the only thing Kale could think in his fear and anger was to attack the thing. Futility it seemed, couldn't outweigh the fact that the beast simply had to be destroyed. Anger seethed just under the surface as the tenuous, wobbly cardhouse of Kale's dealings threatened to be toppled by a sweep of his own hand. His fingers nearly quivered with withheld fury and fear.

Breathe. He could hear Wyshira rush to help. Breathe. The familiar smell of cooked flesh tinged Kale's nostrils. Breathe. The beholder remained where he was, pronouncing just as magnanimous as before.

Forgetting what was behind, the mercenary stepped out to a sand patch near the boulderfield. He hated every minute of it. For whatever reason, his thoughts turned to Melisande's peculiar toad, always wallowing in that pocket of hers. For all the wrongness of the moment, he had no idea why he stuck on the woman's odd little familiar. No time for idle thoughts, he refocussed his mind on the task at hand.

"Cooked glass panels, laid in an arc-" he spelled out to the beholder, as though describing an island retreat. "Not the furnishings or shelters of humans. No gaudy posturing like the works of those crazy Iron Hawks. No crutches like the weaker creatures." The weaker creatures, whose nearby tower the beholder likely knew. Kale didn't mention the creation would be simply a giant version of a desert raider's cheap sun oven. Of course, they used obsidian chunks, instead of dark glass... but such details weren't exactly relevant to his objectives.

"You don't sit in it, but it will be your throne. It will capture the sun's heat while you meditate. And all you need is sand," Kale waved to his feet, "and heat," indicating the large eye that he wanted more than anything to pluck out on a pikestaff.

"So shall this work begin?" Kale's proposal was almost at an end, though there was still the issue of how in the world any of them were going to get out alive. "Forget about these distractions," he said as a near afterthought. "We humans, as you've seen, are an excitable lot. Send these folks on their way, and this can get done all the sooner. You'll be back to your meditations before you know it."

* * * * * * *

Mel came to in a blaze of searing pain. Swimming images of Burl and Wyshira hung over her. The necromancer and the priestess. Not a good sign. Where was she? What happened? She squeezed her eyes shut again, as if blocking out the light of the sun would soothe the burning. 

"Ouch," she gasped, and then memory returned most unpleasantly. 

Struggling briefly to try to bring herself onto hands and knees and crawl away, Mel realized that lying face up on sharp rocks was preferable to moving right at the moment, and settled back down moaning with agony. 

Wyshira was saying something but through the roaring of pain in her mind Mel could make no sense of it, except that she wanted Mel to eat something, which she did even though she didn't think chewing on anything could possibly dull the slicing knives that seemed to be working on her side as if in the hands of a skilled Huronese chef. 

And then through it all a yet more frightening thought occurred-- 

_Pierre! Answer me, please! _


----------



## Carnifex

Sebastion stood, rooted to the spot, as the healers skidded past him to do their work. His vision still had spots dancing across it where the beam had narrowly missed him, but he saw none of it. 

What passed across his vision was the strangely reversed colours of flesh being burned away under the searing white light. 

_Too damned slow!_ he snarled at himself, spinning on the spot. His hands were resting on the pistols again as he turned to face the creature, eyeing it as Kale desperately tried to talk. 

_Anger is the enemy. Aner will get you killed. Anger is to be feared._ He kept repeating the lesson as he stepped across between the rocky Eye-tyrant and its last target. 

_Kale's going to fail..._ he realised, somewhere deep down inside. _And when he does, the Nine Hells are going to come through this ravine like a stampede. _

Sebastion intended to be ready.

As Burl began to apply his healing salve to Melisande, Wyshira stopped him, telling him to save it for another time. As he watched the priestess as she began to help Mel, Burl had a passing thought, 

_We are most likely going to die here and now._ Reaching over to his pack, Burl loosened the cover over Spike’s pouch whispering “Spike, slowly get away from us. If we survive, I’ll come for you.” Gently Burl gave his familiar a soft shove out of his pouch. 

Slowly Burl stood, picking up his pouch. Turning back toward the creature, Burl slowly moved away from Mel and Wyshira, his hand deftly but calmly moving back into the pouch grasping the wand of lightning. 

_At least, I will be able to give it one good shot before it takes me out,_ he thought.


----------



## Carnifex

Eleven sandstone eyebrows furrowed at Kale's words, the beholder floating menacingly in the air. That alone was somewhat unnerving, that something so alike a ton of rock could just sit there in blatant defiance of gravity, born aloft by unknown manner, but the knowledge of the sheer power that beholders were reputed to have was another reason to be nervous. And now it had demonstrated that legendary power by striking down Melisande with a single glance. 

* * *

Under Wyshira's ministrations that little way off, Melisande came back to conciousness; moments after the beginnings of her frantic panic she felt Pierre's terrified conciousness connect back with hers. The way she had fallen as she ran, the poor toad was trapped underneath her, and mightily vexed by it from the tones of his thoughts. Nearby Spike scurried into one of the myriad of little caves and erosions into the ravine walls at Burl's insistence, though the diminuitive hedgehog clearly wasn't very happy about it. 

Those clustered around Melisande couldn't help but notice that several of the eye tyrant's eyestalks were watching them cautiously. 

* * *

The great mouth of the abberation opened again to reveal the blunt rock-teeth, teeth that could shatter stone into pulverised dust. 

"Your offer intrigues me... but how can you provide what you offer? Tell me now the truth, whether you can provide or not and how, or I burn another of your companions. And don't think I'm going to let any of you go running of anywhere... that serves me no purpose other than... perhaps you want to trick me? To ambush me or run to others?" It snarled angrily, causing the entire ravine to rumble with the reverberations. "You tell me now. I may still have a use for you disgusting little horrors even if you're lying... but I don't like being lied to..." 

Kale noticed, out of the corner of his eye, the difference between Wolf and Sebastion. From the tension in Sebastion's frame, the readiness, the man must have been fighting the urge to either run or fight. Wolf lacked that readiness, but not from practice with battle, Kale could tell. The veteran apparently seemed to think, from his body language, that fighting or running away were not options worth even thinking about, and was leaving it in Kale's hands to get them out of the mess. Now there was a pleasantly reassuring thought...

* * *

"I seem to recall it was you egging me on," Mel retorted crossly to the waves of amphibious admonition issuing from her crumpled pocket, and then whimpered in the throes of her burns. Maybe running away wasn't the best idea after all. Even Pierre's bruised right head had to admit it. 

Mel opened one eye as the huge voice of the Beholder rumbled up the ravine. She focused on Kale's back for a second and then shut her eye again to block out the whole scene. 

_I can think of a worse idea. _

"What's he trying to do?" she whispered to Wyshira. "Oh, never mind. Can you hand me my canteen? And do you have anything else for the pain?" In her desperation she had already swallowed the herbs the priestess had given her. The scalding, itching, stinging sensation all along one side would soon become intolerable and she feared she might cry. 

“Don’t worry about it Wyshira. I’ll get it for her.” Reaching over Burl picked up the canteen, handing it to her. He then got back up, moving away slowly from the two. While not trying to catch the eye of the beholder, Burl wanted to at least move a bit away from the two. 

Stopping, Burl could only wait to see the final outcome of Kale’s ploy, whatever it was.

With Burl's help, Wyshira continued to tend Melisande. Another prayer, another spell, and more soothing relief flooded into the burned sorceress through the priestess' cool hands. 

"Keep drinking the water," she encouraged her patient, while using water from her own skins to clean the wound. She tried hard to focus only on Melisande and her injury, but bits and pieces of the conversation between Kale and the beholderkin kept intruding on her concentration.

_Forget about these distractions...Send these folks on their way....._

Kale was bargaining for their freedom, for their *lives*. Wyshira hoped that he knew what he was doing. 

_Tell me now the truth...or I burn another of your companions..._

Wyshira had seen what the creature could do with just one of its eyes: it had burned Melisande to a blue-black crisp without even trying. What if Kale made it really angry? What could the beast do with all ten-plus eyes firing at once?! 

And then the beholdkin said something else: _I may still have a use for you disgusting little horrors even if you're lying..._

The monster wanted them for something? Not for food, obviously - it ate rocks. But what then? Wyshira tried to imagine all the things that a big, rock-orb creature living in this barren ravine could want the party for. _It must want us to DO something for it,_ she concluded. But what? 

Meanwhile, she prayed fervantly for Ishrak to guide Kale in his dealings with the beholderkin.


----------



## Maldur

Great stuff, but I switched to reading your game when it is played  so I wont be bumping this thread that often


----------



## Carnifex

While making an oversized sun oven for the beast was a tenuous proposition at best, it was the only play the crew had, the only bid for time to keep them all from ending up like Melisande. 

That was, at least, until a new development arrived. The beast was playing the role of exterminator, right up until he bacame curious, ever ready to fill that need for ego or posession. Kale relaxed inwardly as the beast no longer viewed the mercenaries as mere vermin. 

As the beholder grumbled on, it became clear his eleven yes now viewed them as... marginally useful vermin? Kale thought hard on what the beholder might be thinking, as the rules of the encounter quickly changed. He would not be tricked into bids for time, distraction, or ambush. Most of the few remaining doors to freedom were sequentially closed by the irritated monster. 

Oh, how Kale yearned for Sebastion to be freed to seek help from the Iron Hawk Tower. He had never made firebrick or cooked glass before, and despite their ease of make with a big enough heat source, the whole ruse was hardly worth betting lives. 

"Your offer intrigues me... but how can you provide what you offer?" it mouthed with that terrible maw full of blunt rock-grinding teeth. The time for fast talk was behind them. Kale dared his eyes to meet the gaze, outnumbered. There was no place to be arrogant, but his body protested as he made his desperate bid to seem worth more than the rocks this thing chewed day and night. 

What was it his father had said about bargaining? And to think that with all the martial trianing, formal and experience that Kale had gone through, all boiling down now to the merchant's lessons he should have learned so long ago. Amegrion was a small house in Iril, and Kale was its black sheep. Somehow, the house managed to survive its enemies and avoid being absorbed by those more powerful... the young mercenary had a few seconds now to learn the lesson. How could they avoid destruction, while still wriggling free from the beast's power? Kale's mind raced, but there was so very precious little room to maneuver. 

Wolf, at the least, seemed confident, or at least resigned to his efforts. Of course, wolves, and their patron Fenris, were never afraid of the impossible cause. Wolf knew very well that he could be stuck down where he stood, yet he waited, expectant, patient. 

"I am no glassmaker." Kale stated matter of factly. There was no sense of confession in his tone. "My interests are elsewhere. But let's just say that I've been uniquely... motivated since we stumbled upon your lair. Believe me when I say I have no need or desire to lie to you," Which incredibly, was the truth. Exaggeration and vagueness where necessary, but he had never at any point lied, and remained just as dedicated to finding a way to free his companions. Not that it mattered, though: the gig was up. 

"Sun ovens are made with dark rock or glass." Kale avoided a lecturing tone as he explained his idea dismissively. The monster was clearly not going for it, yet the mercenary was still risking precious capitol to insure that the thing could not call them liars. Somehow, the murderous beast would think less of them if they were caught untruthful. It was no matter, of course. The monster already knew what he had planned for the crew, and the best Kale could do was meet it on the best terms. He steeled himself and calmed his hands for what was next. They could no longer be lowly worms in the blessed sun-orb's dirt: they had to be of some measure of quality and value. Kale knew the crew posessed these things by the crate, though convincing the beholder would be a difficult prospect indeed. What kind of errand might he have for a band of two-legs? How would he insure cooperation? How would they find to break the rules? Wheels within wheels, the bargain went on. And as they stood in the sun-scorched ravine, the last bits of currency the crew had were evaporating quickly away. 

"While making clear glass is quite an art, I could wager decent cooked-glass panels could be made right here from sand and heat." Impurities bubbled the glass, and when seared too long without a swipe of the dross, caused the stuff to turn dark and opaque. Useless for windows, but plenty able to warm a huge rock-beast. 

Of course, the beholder wouldn't care for these details. He already knew what he wanted from the beings trapped before him. Kale would feed him enough to prove his honesty (without saying he honestly wanted the thing's body impaled on the Iron Hawk tower, of course), briefly answer his questions, and wait for the beast to choose. The beholder was too greedy by now, Kale determined. Whether or not he made the oven, some other errand was to be done. 

So instead of risking lives on his glasscooking abilities, they would just have to go straight for the prize behind the veil. "Where we do not have the great power that you posess, we learn to improvise." Drawing back from the particular 'sun throne' idea to the ridiculous but necessary notion that spawned it, Kale waited for the beast to react. Thoroughly filling in any information he may wish, it was a waiting game to have the other side decide. 

Gambling for their lives, the crew had very little to bring to the table. A notion of integrity, and the idea of a choice between favors were the only things that could speak of any real value. In the end, they were 'adventurers'- those odd short-lived folk of the stories who strike out and seek the needful things. Capable errand-runners, while hardly the title 'adventurers' would recieve in the stories, was a much more descriptive term. They were just what this thing was looking for. Kale intended to stretch this truth for all it was worth. 

_Now, how in the world do we deal in a way that gets us out of here, on one piece? _For the beholder had no regard for the safe return of his vassals, only that his errand be completed. _We're assets, not cannon fodder,_ Kale repeated to himself as he regarded the beholder, hoping perhaps by will that the thing would agree. 

As Kale continued with his weaseling speeches, Sebastion lost track of exactly what it was that was being suggested. He knew a little of glass-making - he'd watched the glass-blower in town a few times - but not enough to contribute directly to the conversation, and standing ready to shoot was doing no-one any good. 

_So what to do. Combat is not our first option, so what is... escape? _

With that realisation in mind, he slipped hands free of his belt, and turned to where the healers were at work. 

"I think Kale is coming to the end of his little charade... we'd best be ready to move." he muttered, quietly, as he slipped his arms under Melisande and lifted her gently from the floor in preparation. 

The beholderkin listened to the last parts of Kale's explanation, inexplicably occasionally giving odd huffs and snorts that sounded more like the rumble of a far-off earthquake than anything else, looking down on the comparatively diminuitive human before it with baleful eyes. It paused for a little whileafter he finished, then eventually spoke once more. 

"Glass... cooked from sand into reflectors... an interesting idea. Perhaps one I will consider in my future meditations. I think it'll take too long for you vermin though, and you aren't the right slave-species to be very skilled at it. An interesting idea but not for _you_ to do. No, something more in your meagre capabilities, perhaps." 

It bobbed and several eyes changed direction to point at a small cave-mouth a little further down the ravine. 

"There were falls of water a few weeks back, and they poured down to wash through all these caves. At the bottom of the ravine I found some.. pieces of rock, heavy with mineral deposits, broken chunks of stalagmite washed down. They tasted good and were rich with metals." 

"They came from that cave, washed out. I can smell the mineral tang coming up on the breeze, mixed with the other smells from under the earth. Unfortunately the entrance is too small for me to get into, and I cannot reach them down there. If you small things go in there and get me some more of those rocks as a present... then I will leave you to take your noisome passage down the ravine and leave - leave fast, too. Or the alternative is I'll incinerate you all." 

Finally, Burl had been able to make some sense out of Kale’s ploy. He had been enticing the beholder with tales of them making a solar oven for the creature. 

_Of course_ thought Burl as he looked around at the abundance of sand in the ravine. _But, the creature is right, it was a bit beyond our capabilities. Although, if we could find materials to build some moulds, we could utilize the creatures own abilities with fire. All it would take is some large stones which could have a block carved out, filled with the sand and the beholder could heat it to crystalline form. After it cooled the blocks could be stacked into a rough oven. _

Burl had let his mind wander a bit, but was pulled back to reality at the suggestion that their live would be saved if only they could provide it with some specialty rocks from the small cave. Looking toward the cave entrance “That sounds reasonable. Our lives for a few rocks.” sounded Burl, but secretly he could see them becoming permanent miners for the beholder as he developed a taste for the mineral rich rocks.


----------



## Carnifex

It really was amazing, the power Wyshira channelled. It washed over Melisande's burns like fresh, cool water, rinsing away all but a memory of the unbearable pain; soon Mel found she could breathe properly and was not, after all, about to weep. She stayed put though, still too stunned and afraid to move. _I'll pass out if I try to stand,_ she rationalized, although the real reason might have been that malevolent, dread-inspiring voice and the aberration from which it issued, the sight of which may very well make her pass out from fear. 

Kale seemed to be holding up his side of the conversation better than she expected, though. It only occurred to her around then that he was trying to buy time, not really bargain with the monstrosity, and she was appreciatively re-evaluating his practical sense (not that Melisande possessed much of a yardstick by which to judge), when a cool shadow passed over and she found her surprised self bundled up suddenly in a pair of strong but careful arms. Sebastion's voice reached her through the roar of waves (among them embarrassment, gratitude, and a multitude of other ill-defined emotions) breaking against the blue rocks of her heart. 

_Now I really am going to pass out, _she thought. _I was already in shock. What's he planning to do, outrun another blast from the Beholder with me over his shoulder? Or, _she reflected cynically, _throw me down as offering to the beast? Stone-eater though it is, it may not turn up its--nose?--at some fresh chicken-brains. _But this was unfair and she knew it. The situation was hopeless either way and this was no time to disparage a kind gesture. Really very kind, come to think of it. 

Feeling furtive, she began to let herself enjoy the moment for what it was worth. Hadn't she always wished to be held in a man's arms but once before she died? And while she might have chosen different circumstances (and postponed death), would she have chosen different arms? Lord Ecurius' good looks passed through her mind with a brief and quite bland flash, and disappeared. 

Nevertheless-- 

The guilt of her secret enjoyment pierced through whatever sweet clouds blue Melisande might have been floating upon and she began abruptly to struggle. 

"I'm all right--I'm fine, thank you--You're very kind but I'm quite healed now--" 

* * *

Sebastion felt, suddenly, somehow, _right._ This was what it was about, this was the point. It wasn't in the actual slicing and dicing, nor the luck that seemed to be following his throwing axe of late... 

It was draping the damsel in distress across your arms and carrying her from danger into safety. This was what he wanted from life, this was making a difference, judging the angle so he could turn his body into the path of any danger that came her way. 

Keeping an eye on the floating orb, therefore, and picking his way gently across the rocky surface towards the horses, he was somewhat surprised when she started to struggle against his grip. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. 

"Hold still you bloody stupid woman!" he hissed in her ear. "I'm trying to save your life here!" 

And he was. He had... *A plan.* It wasn't much, as deceptions went, but it was a plan, and he'd feel better if she were away and out of danger. Twisting slightly, he eased her feet to the floor and took a few steps away 

"Uh, hey!" he called, loudly, trying to attract the things attention. "She'll be weak after... after that. She'll probably just slow us down in the caves. Why don't you let her on her way while we go in?" 

The beholder's mouth broke in to what must only have been an unpleasant smile. "Why, I have a better idea. She can... stay up _here_ with me while you go down under the earth. That way, you will have a... motivation to return with all haste from getting me my minerals..." 

Melisande opened her mouth but she had no idea what she was going to say. Pleading her own uselessness ("They won't come back for me," came to mind) only meant trying to push off hostage duty on someone else, which of course she would never dream of; and she could think of nothing at all to respond to Sebastion Cornell. His behavior entirely eluded her powers of intuition. Bloody stupid woman, I'm trying to save your life? Speaking of stupid! Was this some kind of ludicrous heroism he was building into that Warlord persona, risking himself for the least of his companions? She didn't much like the role that put her in. 

She stared at him for long enough that he could fill in whatever blanks were left by her own speechlessness, and then heaved a long sigh of resignation. 

"Well," she said at last with as much dignity as she could scrape back up, "go on, go find some rocks. I'll just wait here." And with that she turned to face the bloated eyes of her fate.


----------



## Carnifex

Just as a side note, I have decided to do a definiet update *every Tuesday* barring unforeseen circumstances, plus additional updates on other days as and when I feel like it. I've started to put the Tuesday update on the games events calender here:

http://www.suryvial.com/

It's really neat, because by signing on you get notified by email of upcoming game events - like Mortality radio chats, games events, and other things (including reminders that this SH is updated every Tuesday! - via email, and you can set it so that you get emailed at a regular period of your choosing (weekly, monthly, etc).

Go on, check it out!


----------



## Carnifex

Relief washed over Kale like the sheen of sweat that had waked on his brow. Finally, he could see a path to success against their incredible overmatched foe. The beastly orb would not get what it deserved, but when the crew was miles away, their clean escape would insure that they would get no more than they deserve from the cruel thing. 

"A load of these special rocks _would_ be fitting tribute," Kale concluded, knowing that if the large rocks had found a second exit out of the caves, so could they. Escape was finally at hand. Of course, they would have to leave the horses behind, but that was a small price to play. 

Yet, Kale wondered how Sebastion would feel, leaving the colt behind. It may be tough, but man was level headed. Anyone could be level-headed enough to reason a way far distant from a beholder... 

"She'll be weak after... after that. She'll probably just slow us down in the caves. Why don't you let her on her way while we go in?" But apparently, fighting farm boy was not level-headed enough for them to all make a clean getaway. 

Kale's jaw clenched as he awaited the response from the beholder. Options and plans splintered as the mercenary anticipated his response.

"Why, I have a better idea. She can... stay up here with me while you go down under the earth." Kale couldn't contain a grimmace, which while the beholder's attention was on Sebastion, the mercenary had no doubt a few eyestalks could still see. 

The best he could hope was to play the look off as mere fear for the blue woman to remain in the beholder's frightening presence. _Damn it! Damn it!_ Yet, there was nothing to be done. 

"Of course. We will bring what we can find and carry. We'll simply picket our horses downwind and out of your way," Did beholders eat flesh? Kale didn't even want to risk their transportation to the monster's fickle feelings. Much less risk Melisande, who proved at times to be just as jumpy as a city horse. 

"Melisande could stay out of the sun, in the cave over there," he casually inclined his head to a grotto to his left, to a cave that looked comfotable and hopefully deep. If worse came to worst, maybe they could still scam an Iron Hawk rescue of the woman trapped in the cave. Likely not. Mentally, he began to consider the proper detachment he should have had for the woman, from the start. She could likely die, and the best thing for Kale to do would be to walk away. 

Walk away. Run away. Whatever it took. Anger welled in his gut again. Whatever it took. 

Grabbing some rocks, just like the thing said. That might free the woman. _Don't bet on it._ They had stumbled into range of this thing once, it would be beyond foolish to do it twice. 

Melisande flowed down from Sebastion's arms, fussing with her clothes and minding her composure. Still guarding her wounded side, realities had yet to set in. "Well, go on, go find some rocks. I'll just wait here." 

All Kale could do is incline an eyebrow. He narrowly resisted gaping at what the sometimes-demure woman had just said. Try as she might, her voice did not carry well any kind of boldness... only a fool could be bold before that beast. For some reason, Kale began to feel quite sick. 

"A load of the rocks you described, all we can find and carry. We'll deliver them to the surface. We'll then take our lives and our mounts and make quick passage out of your ravine." Kale concluded, looking for assent from the thing. 

Movement signalled preparations to move. Feet began to shuffle again in the grave-dead ravine. Melisande would need water, the horses shade- gear and morale was to be tended before they were off. There was also the issue of illumination once they were underground, but first, something the beholder had said peaked Kale's attention. 

Possibly of some value, he dared a question. "It's curious what we might find down there, with the odd smells you mentioned. I wonder, what could make the other strange smells you had talked about." He could answer if he chose, but the talk of the earth's sickness made the mercenary wary. Anything they could learn before heading underground...

"I'll stay with Melisande." 

Wyshira's voice sounded small in her own ears. She hardly believed that she had spoken up at all. A chance to escape the dreadful presence of this rock monster (if only for a short while) and she was going to pass it up? Why? 

"I wouldn't be able to carry much anyway. You won't need me in the caves........" 

Her words trailed off. She avoided looking at the beholder, or anyone in the party, except for Mel. The blue woman was surprisingly stoic in the face of this horror. Even after having had half of her flesh burned off by its mere glance. 

She seemed calm and capable, for the moment. But Wyshira remembered her panicked attempt at flight up the sides of the rocky ravine. And she just couldn't imagine leaving anyone behind ALONE with the creature. 

A simple “No” escaped from Burl's mouth. “You can’t put yourself at risk. Please come help us.” pleaded the wizard. Knowing that Wyshira would do what she felt best, Burl now resigned himself to the fact that they probably were soon to leave the ranks of adventurers, becoming instead common mine slaves. He knew that he would never leave the priestess behind without a fight.

The aasimar really was going to be brave until Wyshira made her impossibly generous offer. True sympathy and loyalty were new to Melisande. She kept her back turned to the others but it was pretty clear from the sniffling and shoulder-racking sobs that she had lost it. 

If only she could gain control of her voice, she would tell them not to let Wyshira stay! They might need the priestess more than anyone else, no matter what she said. No one had any need for a chicken-brained blue sorceress, but Wyshira's healing surely would be vital to them if not now in the caves, then at least some time--some time when their adventure had led them on and they had forgotten the Beholder and the unfortunate hostage they'd had to leave behind. 

Kale's words echoed hollowly: "A load of the rocks you described, all we can find and carry. We'll deliver them to the surface. We'll then take our lives and our mounts and make quick passage out of your ravine." That sounded very nice, but not even Mel had so many illusions. She did not mistrust her companions--most of them might even rally enough to suggest they go back for her, she hoped--but it would be suicide, and for what? To rescue the weakest link? There were enough level heads in the group not to let that happen. She was going to have to get herself out of this all alone, or not at all.


----------



## Elemental

Since you showed an interest in my SH, figured it was the decent thing to do to look yours up.

Wow. How did I miss this before? I'm up to the fight with the werewolves, and I love the writing quality. I'll offer more detailed comments when I'm up to date.


----------



## Maldur

Elemental, as Im following the game as well as the sh, I can only say. Carnifex is a great DM, and he is very lucky with his players 

They all seem to have the nack of playing an online game, as well as pretty good writing skills.

Im not gonna spoil anything, but in a few chapters, there will be some really awesome roleplaying


----------



## Carnifex

Cheers for taking a look, Elemental  And as Maldur says, I really do have to be thankful for the very high quality of the players I have


----------



## Carnifex

“I can provide us with light for a bit, but it would be best to for Mel to provide us with some to start if she can. That way I will be able to help if the need arises once we are inside the cave,” said Burl to the others as he prepared to go inside the cave. hE took off his cloak, folding it up and putting it into his backpack. _No need to get it damaged inside the cave,_ he thought. 

As he followed the others into the cave, one last thought passed as he walked pass the entrance into the near darkness, _The last time we went underground like this, we came back with a large amount of gunpowder. If only we had brought it. It might have proved a blast to the beholder._

Mel wiped her eyes on her sleeve and tried to hold up long enough to imbue the tip of a crossbow bolt with arcane light and hand it over to Burl. (Or was it arcane? The thought had come to her that the forms of the spell were unlike any other she knew--the light simply seemed to emanate from a mind-window to a vast, unattainable place...) 

But as she gave Burl the brightly shining bolt another idea occurred to her, and she lifted from her deepest pocket the Fire Serpent wand. "I'm sure I won't be needing this," she said, with a miserable attempt at a smile. "The activation word is '_agemon_'. It only works once a day and better in the daytime, so use it wisely. And... be careful..." She sobbed again a few times before getting hold of herself more or less. 

Wyshira wouldn't let herself look at Burl; she was afraid that if she did, and saw deep concern written there in his eyes, that her resolve would weaken. She simply shook her head in response, and moved to stand next to Mel. 

The others prepared themselves to go into the caves. Wyshira took one of her shark-fang javelins and cast _light_ on its tip, then handed it to Kale. It flickered and glowed faintly green, as though she had caught a bit of light that welled up from deep below the surface of the sea. "It will last a little longer than one half of an hour," she told the rogue. Then she gave him both of her potions of healing, and two vials of holy water. "Just in case," she said with a shrug. 

_All right, this is it. They are leaving, and..... I -- am staying -- with Melisande. _

In spite of her best efforts however, Wyshira felt herself wavering. Burl was looking back at her rather forlornly as he walked away. Was he thinking that she had let him down? She thought of the unknown caves, and how dangerous they could turn out to be. The rest of the party might really need her down there! Even Melisande was telling her (between sobs) that she should go on with the others. 

Wyshira was almost convinced that it was the right thing to do. 

Except she knew those reasons were just excuses. And because of who and what she was, it was impossible for her not to put herself in Melisande's shoes and imagine how she must be feeling. Watching all her friends go...... Being left alone with that horrendous _thing_. Wyshira was touched, and filled with compassion. There wasn't any room left for fear. 

She turned her back on Burl and the others to focus her attention on Melisande, and try to comfort her. 

"Wyshira, please--go with them. They'll need you more than I will if there's trouble." (In other words, if there was trouble with the Beholder it would be over with before it started and no priestess would be of any avail.) "You're a dear, kind soul but I'd feel much better if you were with the others. After all--I'm relying on you all to come back alive and rescue me..." At this she lost control once again and plopped down on the rocks under the unnerving gaze of many eyestalks to weep.

"No you wouldn't," Wyshira said, putting an arm around the sorceress' shoulder. "We'd both feel much better if I stayed here with you. They'll be fine. We'll be fine. It will all work out."

To every person Kale looked, turbulent emotion were covered by some mask or another. His mind railed at reality, striken by the same conflicts of his mates, even if he knew exactly what they would have to do to escape the beholder with their lives. Even sure as he was, though, watching as Wyshira sat down with the sobbing sorceress, he was sure that they situations like this that turned logic on its head. 

_We'll be back for you both,_ he would liked to have said. 

With the beholder and his collateral left above ground, it was time for the unwilling miners to venture down beneath the earth. Within the mouth of the low cave, bright sunshine turned to shadowy gloom; warmth to damp coolness around them.Here, within the sandstone cave, walls all orange and yellows stained with black and brown, a faint breeze filtered up from the darkness ahead, the passageway dipping to take a definite downwards angle before twisting and turning to block further sight. 

A faint scent on that breeze, something malodorous, wafted past them. All was strangely quiet after the ravine, claustrophobically calm. 

* * *

Outside, Melisande found the gaze of the solar beholderkin more or less directed entirely at her. Apparently the hulking boulder was scrutinising the sorceress quite carefully, moreso than it had deigned to do previously. 

"You are blue. I was unaware this was a usual colour for your lesser species," the beholder questioned, apparently quite uncaring of how fearful she might be to be at its mercy.

Having once absorbed the brunt of the Beholder's annoyance (and feeling too crushed to be testy) Melisande sobbingly answered the beast in the politest way she could think of, wishing she had Kale there to coach her in the subtle art of kissing whatever it was Beholders sat on. 

"Yes sir, it is unusual, sir. If it bothers your eyes I can change it. Temporarily, at least. But if you're asking for an explanation I'm afraid I only have a couple of feeble hypotheses to offer, not being nearly so wise as... as greater, er, species like yours." 

Flattery: hadn't that been what Kale used? Suddenly Mel was on roll, thinking she'd hit on the right approach. "But you sir are a wonder to beho--to see! I mean, I suppose I should consider myself lucky to be your hostage." Trembling and runny-nosed she forced her terrified eyes to examine the dusty bulk of the creature with something which hopefully looked like admiration. "Tremendous! Magnificent! Why, if your lore and wisdom match your aspect at least I shall die happily enlightened by your discourse." The converse of this, of course, was the that the Beholder could be nothing but bored by Melisande's own discourse, which unfortunately continued in a slightly shrill pitch of panic. 

"You can't possibly be interested in why we are blue. But I feel I _must_ know more about the mighty Solar Beholders, so that at worst I can die wiser, or at best I can more amply describe your, er, superlativeness to my folk--inferior worms though we are!"

The rumbling voice of the beholderkin grated on Wyshira's nerves. _Why does it care what color we are?_ she wondered suspiciously, while trying to appear relaxed and at ease for Melisande's sake. 

Meanwhile, the sorceress seemed to have gotten it into her head that a honeyed tongue and ingratiating manner were the keys to keeping the monster placated. Wyshira began to worry that Mel was laying it on too thick, but didn't know how to stop her. She nudged her gently in the ribs, but that was evidently being too subtle. She could only hope that the creature thought so highly of itself that it would not think to doubt her friend's sincerity. 

* * *

Sebastion cursed his lack of foresight, clenching his fists at his sight as the bloated tumbleweed exerted its bullying influence once more. 

_Damn!! Why didn't I see that coming... isn't this just another battlefield? Think, stupid bloody stable-boy... think. _

There wasn't, however, an obvious solution as long as they sat beneath the beady eye - eyes - of the creature. It was foolish, of course, for him to have divided the group at all, but he'd wanted to try and get Mel free of this. It was, also, frustrating to think he'd not seen the obvious evasion afforded to the buoyant orb. 

But most of all it wasn't fair. 

"It's not bloody fair!" he muttered to himself as he turned away, grasping the reins of the horses as he eased them into line for Mel to look after while they were away. "It shouldn't be like this... it shouldn't." 

Trekking down towards the mine, he was in a foul mood, scowling at the floor and the surroundings as he tried again and again to work out what he should have done differently, and why he hadn't. 

And then, given the situation in which they found themselves, he turned the frenetic thought to what they were going to do when they came out...


----------



## Carnifex

As a minor aside, I will be posting up the stats for the solar beholderkin as well as a particular template that you will see in action over the next few updates  before too long.


----------



## Carnifex

Six figures were clustered together slightly hesitantly in the gloom of the gave, a jutting javelin and bolt casting light over the scene as the adventurers looked with none too much eagerness into the darkness before them. Wolf was down on one knee, hunched over to look at the ground closely and sniffing the air. 

"Tracks. This sandy floor picks 'em up pretty well - looks like something comes in and out of here regularly from the way its all kicked and scuffed up. Can't tell what though, but there's that smell on the air." He stood, straightening back up again, eyes gleaming in the steady light of their magical sources. "Be ready because we might meet something that isn't too glad for our company. Sebastion, Kale, you two head the front with me; Cord, Ebri, stay behind us for support and rearguard and keep Burl protected in case anything decides our wizard looks a tasty snack. Stay alert, speak if you see anything out of the ordinary, keep weapons to hand." 

* * *

Now only the wychlights gave them sight, except for the blind Cord to whom there was no discernible difference. The elderly monk moved with his usual confident grace down the sandy tunnel. The air was heavy with cold damp and the path irregular and twisting, all illuminated in the pure white of Melisande's innate magic and the watery hue of Wyshira's prayer. Occasional patches of some sort of moss or fungus sprouted in out-of-the-way corners. 

There as still that faintly unpleasant smell on the air, Cord making comments about its growing strength as they ventured further downwards in the twisting, wandering tunnel. Even the others less sensitive olfactory senses could pick out that the scent was growing in its intensity, until it was unignorable in its intensity some while later.

Here, down in the deeps, they found a cavern. 

* * *

The jagged, cracked floor slanted at some thirty degrees, askew and disorientating. The ceiling matched the skew of the floor, dipping down as well and alarmingly low, only some six and a half feet high. Myriad grotesque statagmites and stalagtites pierced the place, obstructing the view which rapidly diminished into darkness. The further-off growths seemed to gleam in rainbow colours as the wychlights glimmered and reflected off their rich mineral veins.

The entire place dripped with water, trickling away down the angled floor to seep away in the darkness. The foul smell was heavy on the air. 

Somewhere down and to their left, a warm glow like that of a firelight shimmered, though they couldn't see the source of the light with the stalagmites blocking their clear view. 

* * *

Wolf stared suspiciously into the gloom. "Well, here we are, but this is more than just strange..." 

His head moved to follow, to trace a slight shift in the deeper darkness. The others could see it too. 

Something in the slanted cavern that sloped down before them was moving. And something else. And something else... myriad shapes slipping between jutting rock-growths, and that smell growing stronger. It was accompanied now by faint growls, snarls, the gnashing of teeth. Gangly figures crept closer to the light of the band. 

The ring of eyes glittered sick yellow in the gloom.

* * *

"This might just be the time to try out Mel’s wand.” spoke Burl as he reached into his pouch to pull out the wand. Making sure it was the one he wanted, Burl pointed it in the direction of the yellow eyes.

The ceiling of the rocky tunnel was too low for Sebastion's two-bladed sword, so he took up the black-bladed sword he'd opted for from the takings of their last battle, after carefully buckling his large shield onto the other arm. It felt strange not to be wielding his father's blades, but as with shoeing, it was a case of the right tool for the job. 

Reaching the end of the trail, stood with Wolf's obvious unease, the right tool for the job became important again as Burl raised the wand from his last cavern adventure. 

"Hold, Burl." he whispered, not excessively worried as he knew they'd already been seen. "These creatures may wish to parlay... they've shown themselves and not set an ambush. Perhaps they are held here by the Beholder too?" 

Diplomacy, he knew, was the best tool for the job here... but given his last effort at that he left the task to Kale's overly smart mouth.

_Yeah, maybe they want to talk,_ Kale thought as he relaxed before the approaching ring of eyes. Preparing himself, he knew that if the small creatures wanted to attack, they would wait until they were in the best position... and got their courage up. 

Settling his balance and readying himself, he could be glad at least that Burl didn't immediately fly with the fire rod. Ah, mages with their new toys. But that magic may be needed yet... 

Not making eye contact, but still standing tall, the young mercenary regarded the very long odds that the creatures would allow the crew to pass, just to bust off some stalactites from their home. Yet, fear they might respect. Kale's mind turned, wondering how he could get the things to believe they had killed the beholder, or some other fearsome display. In a moment, the fire rod did not seem such a bad idea after all. 

Poised, the mercenary waited a moment as the two groups faced off.

Just as Burl was pointing the wand, he stopped, heeding Sebastian’s words. Maybe, he was too quick to react, but he hadn’t run into too many wild creatures of late who wanted to talk before sinking their teeth into his flesh. Remaining ready to unleash the power of the wand, Burl waited to see who would be their spokesman.

Sadly, the creatures of the cave seemed too hungry to care about diplomacy. 

* * *

There was a moments pause as the two groups faced off, time enough to caution Burl against unleashing the Fire Serpent rod, and then the ghul-pack sprang into motion. Overcoming any residual fear it might have had of the wychlights the band carried, the first ghoul scrambled forwards, the sinewy beast reaching out with yellowed talons to try and calw at the face of Wolf, the foremost of the party; metal glittered as the mercenary brought his bastard sword and heavy mace to bear to fend off the attack but the sheer impetus and berserk ferocity of the undead thing carried him a few steps backwards into the middle of the group. The others swarmed forwards then, until at least half a dozen undead beset the adventurers. 

Ravening claws and teeth seemed the most distinctive feature of the gangly monstrosities as they attempted to tear apart the interlopers; but at the same time an alarming co-ordination about their attacks was evident as they swarmed amongst their foes, as if the entire ghul-pack was instinctively acting as one entity.


----------



## Broccli_Head

Never! Never! Never!  Negotiate with Undead!

When I read this the first time...I was like "attack already!"


----------



## Carnifex

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> *Never! Never! Never!  Negotiate with Undead!
> 
> When I read this the first time...I was like "attack already!" *






To be fair they didn't realise they were undead at first (and the ghul-pack are hardly normal undead, either), but then again, the ring of 'sickly yellow' eyes should have clued them in that things might well get very nasty very quickly. And of course the cleric was spending the time sitting around in the gaze of the beholderkin above ground


----------



## Carnifex

Ah, the boards return once again


----------



## Carnifex

Meanwhile, above ground...

The myriad eyes narrowed suspiciously at Melisande's craven stream of compliments and words, cutting into it like a knife. "Tell me your hypotheses. And you, other blue woman, why are _you_ blue? Tell me these things. Thaumogenetics and biochronicling are of interest to my studies and meditations." 

"Forgive us, if we have been an irritation to you, my lord." 

Wyshira had sensed the beholderkin's annoyance, and this time jumped in to reply before Melisande had a chance.

"I am Wyshira, Priestess of Ishrak," she went on, wondering if the monster had a name for itself, or if names even mattered to it at all. She wondered also how this creature of earth and fire would view Ishrak, the goddess of air and water, and hoped that her words would not anger it further. She tried to project an air of calm serenity, even though she was filled with trepidation under the beholderkin's scrutiny. 

"My blueness is a result of my ancestry - I am Water Kin; water genasi, we are also sometimes called. 

"The tradition in my family says that sometime, generations ago, a water Outsider from the sea came to my foremother and loved her. Since that time, her line has produced many women such as myself, right down to this last generation when my twin sister and I were born in the mountains of Cryosia." 

_Well if the monster hates beings of water, I am in trouble now for sure! _Wyshira realized, but nevertheless, she spoke with pride of her heritage. 

Mel's confusion at the Beholder's apparent immunity to her vigorous praising dissipated by the time Wyshira finished her story; winning the Beholder's favor didn't pose so big a problem if it wanted to talk thaumogenetics! "As for me, the most likely lead I've had was some disjointed information pointing to a celestial origin for my blueness. No one ever knew my father--I mean, except my mother of course!--and she won't talk about it, so I don't know much about that half of my karyotype. I've heard more than once about a species of celestials called 'aasimar' who seem to be blue. There may be one in my near lineage."

"On the other hand, my mum says I'm a mistake," she added with a shrug. "Surely in your meditations you have considered such questions more deeply than we have..." 

She felt her courage slowly rebuilding as she discovered it was possible to have a civil discussion with their aberrant captor. Still at the back of her mind lingered the worry that soon she and Wyshira would have to come up with a plan of escape, without speaking about it openly, because even when the Beholder rested it seemed unlikely it would sleep soundly enough not to spy on them. _I bet it sleeps with one eye open,_ she thought, gazing up fearfully at the many waving eyestalks above. 

_Maybe that's why Wyshira was elbowing me before--we have to find a way to communicate without it overhearing. _

The beholder listened apparently with care and interest to the two women's accounts of their odd ancestry. "I consider many aspects of such sciences in my meditation, but nonetheless specimens such as yourselves are not regular. Besides, the genetics of your mongrel species of bipeds are merely a sideline to greater tracks of thought. At least, from what I've heard, your kin have made vague advances in such things through what you call... 'Manipulation'. And what," it asked suspiciously, "are your kind doing here in the mountains anyway?" 

Mel exchanged a glance with Wyshira. It didn't seem like a good idea to mention the Arcanist's Tower, but the Beholder already made clear how it would react to lies. "Such trifles cannot be of much interest to you, sir, but we were sent by a noble of Naseria to explore this region for items that may be of use to his research in thaumic engineering. 

"I don't know much about that, but I do know a little about Manipulation, since I did an apprenticeship in a lab in Carthagia. Perhaps there is something you wish to learn more about?" She tried to sound very eager and lead the Beholder away from the subject of where they were going, although it was impossible to tell how much importance it placed in the question. Who could guess what went on inside that baleful, betentacled blob? And if its questions were idle, how long would it be before it wearied of talk, and passed on to other amusements? 

Wyshira approved of Melisande's answer to the beholderkin. _It just goes to show that she's not quite the scatter-brain she appears to be most of the time. She really *does* have a head on her shoulders! _

Wyshira listened to Mel and the beholder discuss thaumic engineering - _Really?! Is that what we're going to that tower for?_ - and Manipulation. She was mildly curious about the latter, despite the lurid tales that were told about Manipulators and their labs. It was hard to imagine the innocuous sorceress at work alongside those depraved experimentors. But then again, she'd seen Pierre with her own eyes - two-headed proof that Melisande was (again) not quite what she seemed. 

At length Wyshira's mind wandered, and she walked off across the rocky and broken terrain in the direction that Wolf and the others had gone on their way to the cave. She stood looking off in the distance as if keeping watch for their return. And she was doing that, in a way; although with half her heart she hoped that they had found some way to escape the ravine, and were even now far away, and safe. 

But while she seemed to be watching for her friends, she was also studying every inch of the land for something she had missed before: some way for her and Melisande to get away from the monster; some place where they could hide and be protected. 

She turned back to Mel and the monster after a while and asked, "What happenes if they don't come back?"


----------



## Broccli_Head

The beholder cuts you into pieces and gets to eat blueberries!


----------



## Carnifex

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> *The beholder cuts you into pieces and gets to eat blueberries! *




Well, that's a definite possibility for the beholder to take  After all, isn't it well known that the colour blue is to beholders like a red rag to a bull?


----------



## Carnifex

Back down below ground...


As the line of gnashing teeth and flashing claws burst forth from beyond the light, Wolf stepped forward to meet them, and Sebastion instinctively did the same. Leading with his sheild he pressed forward to stay at the older man's shoulder, then struck over the top of his shield with the dark steeled blade. _Time to see how good this stuff really is..._ he managed to think before the blade connected with something, and the battle was joined.

Growling and springing into the closer light, Kale's opponents came into sight- residual anger from the beholder encounter lent extra force to his attack against the foul beasts. 

Drawing his weapons a moment later, his lip curled in disgust at the coordinated line that crashed against Wolf. The scene now a jumble of erie light and shadow, Kale resisted his deep urge to break off and flank the ghulish beasts. Instead, he stuck to Wolf's right, making sure that the things didn't flank _them. _

After the withering helplessness before the beholder minutes before, the chaos and energy of battle was to Kale a welcome terror- finally, a putrid opponent he could attack and destroy. 

Without even a chance to shake his head at his indecision, Burl finished what he started moments before when Sebastian’s words stayed his voice. 

“Agemon” 

Not knowing the power unleashed by the wand, Burl could only hope that it would at the least cause a distraction to the ghouls. As the others closed ranks, Burl moved close behind Wolf seeking some protection behind his bulk.

As the tide of ghoulish flesh flowed towards them, Kale just had time to hurl the dart he had readied into the mass; ichor spattered as it bit deep into festering flesh. Then vicious teeth bit back, fangs rending into his arm, and at the same time a deathly chill spreading from the wound and threatening to sieze up his muscles even as warm blood flowed from the open wound inflicted on him. The ghoul wouldn't let go, worrying his arm like a rabid dog, its eyes alight with some inner excitement or hunger. On the slippery, sloping floor he very nearly lost his balance, keeping on his feet more by luck than anything else. 

Another of the ghul-pack leapt at the struggling Kale, attempting to pile him down by force of numbers; but as it flanked him Sebastion saw a window of opportunity and his black steel blade slashed out. The fine metal was excellently balanced and wonderfully light, and took the ghoul's head clean off. The corpse collapsed at Kale's feet, dark blood dribbling onto the sloping floor. 

The frenzied ghouls struck out and bit again and again, each wound causing that same deathly chill as they savagely attacked. Wolf was covered in scratches and bites from the undead monsters assailing him, and with flailing arms lost his balance on the uneven floor. Sebastion took a claw strike that gouged down one arm but managed to fend off the worst of both the assault and the cold that threatened to paralyse him. Then suddenly from behind another ghoul reached round with vile talons to grab and tear at him, grappling him and pulling him down onto the ground. He saw the flicker of another ghoul bounding past to throw itself at Cord as the dwarf began to move to Sebastion's aid, launching into a furious flurry of strikes in an attempt to delay the monk. With a sickening tearing sound it bit out a chunk of the dwarf's shoulder. 

The dwarf stood unyielding in his martial stance, face impassive before such a fearsome foe. As the ghoul reached out for another slash he suddenly moved, faster than seemed possible for one of his age, and with a gristly crack caught the blow and broke the undead monster's arm, before following up with an open palm to the centre of its ribcage. Tossing the broken thing aside like a ragdoll he continued towards Sebastion. 

Kale, struggling around with a hungry ghoul savaging one arm, stabbed at the thing with his one free limb and plunged the brine blade deep into the abdomen of the beast. The smell of corroding corpse-flesh rose up in whispy smok from the gouge but despite the grevious damage the accursed thing just wouldn't let go and continued to try and tear his arm off. Burl then activated Melisande's rod, and with a fiery crackle a coiling serpent of flame and ash arose in the midst of the confused melee, sending the combatants struggling away from it. The head rose up, ember eyes glowing brightly as it lashed out at a ghoul that was barreling towards Burl. It's fangs bit into undead flesh and fire leapt up from the wound, causing the angry undead to whirl round and start attacking the fire serpent instead. As the serpent rose its head up to strike out again, it hissed something out, words in the common tongue, to Burl. "Hail Bloodkin, I serve and obey," it spoke sibilantly before once again focusing on the undead ghoul before it. 

Sebastion, caught on the ground by one ghoul and seeing more rushing to pile on, managed to frantically throw off the one trying to tear his throat open and picked himself up off the ground just in time to fend off another of the beasts with his blacksteel sword. He saw movement as Ebri stepped up by him, whispering a prayer and brandishing something in the air, and with a surge of positive energy in the air a number of the fell beasts simply howled and scattered into the darkness, the priestess turning them from the battle. Wolf too managed to pull himself back up on his feet, the pressure on him alleviated by Ebri's turning, and buried his heavy mace in the back of the ghoul still trying to gnaw through Kale's arm.


----------



## Carnifex

No updates from me this week - exams are swamping me


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Fair call, 'Fex.

BTW, have you considered starting a new thread, being as this one has got to ten pages?


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## Carnifex

Tallarn said:
			
		

> *Fair call, 'Fex.
> 
> BTW, have you considered starting a new thread, being as this one has got to ten pages? *




I indeed will be starting a new thread ebfore too long - though not just yet. The campaign is coming to a point fairly soon where it'd be natural to start a new thread - they're about to get to the Arcanist's Tower itself and theRuinedOne's player about to join with the main group. I'll keep this one going till then.

Anyway, I have now finished my 2nd year university exams so I'll be starting updating again


----------



## Carnifex

Right, I'm going to attempt to break out of my lethargy and actually post an update tomorrow! It's too late today, but look for more from Wolf's company soon!


----------



## Carnifex

The short monsters attacked, of course. Biting off a curse, the young mercenary acted after only slight hesitation. 

Growling and springing into the closer light, Kale's opponents came into sight- residual anger from the beholder encounter lent extra force to his attack against the foul beasts. 

Drawing his weapons a moment later, his lip curled in disgust at the coordinated line that crashed against Wolf. The scene now a jumble of erie light and shadow, Kale resisted his deep urge to break off and flank the ghulish beasts. Instead, he stuck to Wolf's right, making sure that the things didn't flank _them. _

After the withering helplessness before the beholder minutes before, the chaos and energy of battle was to Kale a welcome terror- finally, putrid opponent he could attack and destroy. 

* * *

Sebastion had not been on the road long, really - barely a few months - yet already the sudden increase in heartrate and the rush of his own blood through his ears had become familiar. As the line of gnashing teeth and flashing claws burst forth from beyond the light, Wolf stepped forward to meet them, and Sebastion instinctively did the same. Leading with his shield he pressed forward to stay at the older man's shoulder, then struck over the top of his shield with the dark steeled blade. 

_Time to see how good this stuff really is..._ he managed to think before the blade connected with something, and the battle was joined.

* * *

Without even a chance to shake his head at his indecision, Burl finished what he started moments before when Sebastian’s words stayed his voice. 

“Agemon” 

Not knowing the power unleashed by the wand, Burl could only hope that it would at the least cause a distraction to the ghoul’s. As the others closed ranks, he moved close behind Wolf seeking some protection behind his bulk. 

* * *

As the tide of ghoulish flesh flowed towards them, Kale just had time to hurl the dart he had readied into the mass; ichor spattered as it bit deep into festering flesh. Then vicious teeth bit back, fangs rending into his arm, and at the same time a deathly chill spreading from the wound and threatening to sieze up his muscles even as warm blood flowed from the open wound inflicted on him. The ghoul wouldn't let go, worrying his arm like a rabid dog, its eyes alight with some inner excitement or hunger. On the slippery, sloping floor he very nearly lost his balance, keeping on his feet more by luck than anything else. 

Another of the ghul-pack leapt at the struggling Kale, attempting to pile him down by force of numbers; but as it flanked him Sebastion saw a window of opportunity and his black steel blade slashed out. The fine metal was excellently balanced and wonderfully light, and took the ghoul's head clean off. The corpse collapsed at Kale's feet, dark blood dribbling onto the sloping floor. 

The frenzied ghouls struck out and bit again and again, each wound causing that same deathly chill as they savagely attacked. Wolf was covered in scratches and bites from the undead monsters assailing him, and with flailing arms lost his balance on the uneven floor. Sebastion took a claw strike that gouged down one arm but managed to fend off the worst of both the assault and the cold that threatened to paralyse him. Then suddenly from behind another ghoul reached round with vile talons to grab and tear at him, grappling him and pulling him down onto the ground. He saw the flicker of another ghoul bounding past to throw itself at Cord as the dwarf began to move to Sebastion's aid, launching into a furious flurry of strikes in an attempt to delay the monk. With a sickening tearing sound it bit out a chunk of the dwarf's shoulder. 

The dwarf stood unyielding in his martial stance, face impassive before such a fearsome foe. As the ghoul reached out for another slash he suddenly moved, faster than seemed possible for one of his age, and with a gristly crack caught the blow and broke the undead monster's arm, before following up with an open palm to the centre of its ribcage. Tossing the broken thing aside like a ragdoll he continued towards Sebastion. 

Kale, struggling around with a hungry ghoul savaging one arm, stabbed at the thing with his one free limb and plunged the brine blade deep into the abdomen of the beast. The smell of corroding corpse-flesh rose up in whispy smok from the gouge but despite the grevious damage the accursed thing just wouldn't let go and continued to try and tear his arm off. Burl then activated Melisande's rod, and with a fiery crackle a coiling serpent of flame and ash arose in the midst of the confused melee, sending the combatants struggling away from it. The head rose up, ember eyes glowing brightly as it lashed out at a ghoul that was barreling towards Burl. It's fangs bit into undead flesh and fire leapt up from the wound, causing the angry undead to whirl round and start attacking the fire serpent instead. As the serpent rose its head up to strike out again, it hissed something out, words in the common tongue, to Burl. "Hail Bloodkin, I serve and obey," it spoke sibilantly before once again focusing on the undead ghoul before it. 

Sebastion, caught on the ground by one ghoul and seeing more rushing to pile on, managed to frantically throw off the one trying to tear his throat open and picked himself up off the ground just in time to fend off another of the beasts with his blacksteel sword. He saw movement as Ebri stepped up by him, whispering a prayer and brandishing something in the air, and with a surge of positive energy in the air a number of the fell beasts simply howled and scattered into the darkness, the priestess turning them from the battle. Wolf too managed to pull himself back up on his feet, the pressure on him alleviated by Ebri's turning, and buried his heavy mace in the back of the ghoul still trying to gnaw through Kale's arm.

_More of the battle with the ghul-pack next update..._


----------



## AEtherfyre

I'll be looking forward for more storyhour goodness!


----------



## Carnifex

Yay, a new reader 

And here's today's update:

The savage beast gnawing on Kale's arm chewed deeper into the flesh, blood flowing freely in fresh gouts from the shredded injury to spatter upon the slimy floor.Once again he felt the chill spread deeper, and this time it was too much, his muscles simply locking up into useless paralysis. Suddenly the mercenary was defenceless and incapable of moving, and unable to keep his balance on the slippery sloping floor simply fell over. 

Another of the ghul-pack moved to take advantage, but in the cramped confines of the cave, had to brave the blades of both Wolf and Sebastion. Both took advantage of the opportunity and the ghoul toppled, born on by its momentum to collapse at the helpless Kale's feet. The two ghouls menacing Sebastion once again tried to tear him off balance, twice their sharp claws biting into his flesh, once with exceptional force behind it. Hard as he tried, he once again slipped and fell, sliding a few feet down towards the far end of the cave before he could arrest his descent, the ghouls chasing hungrily after him. When he tried to pull himself back up to his feet he found that, like Kale, his muscles too were now locked by the paralysing strikes of the undead, and he lay there helpless in the cold damp. The ghoul faced with the fiery serpent that Burl had conjured circled it warily, unsure of how to deal with a beast made of flame. 

The ghouls that had fled Ebri's brandished holy emblem circled in the gloom cast by the wychlights, which now lay scattered on the floor to shed faint light and strange shadows. Horrifically, as they gnashed their teeth and snarled hungrily, the wounds upon the ghoul intent on devouring Kale's arm seemed to seal up, with similar ragged rents on the turned ghouls opening up instead. "They're healing each other, taking their wounds, the bastard creatures!" Wolf roared over the din of the battle and the snarls of the ghouls. 

Cord quickly raced to Sebastion's aid, the elderly dwarf sending one of the ghouls reeling off with a flurry of hard strikes; the undead itself slipped on the floor, tumbling down a few feet before dazedly trying to get to its feet again. The other ghoul refrained from tearing Sebastion's throat out to instead face the new threat, moving to block any path to its wounded comrade that the monk had already battered severely. 

The fire serpent buried its ember fangs in the circling ghoul, searing into the dead flesh and igniting the foul creature in a brust of flames. The immolating ghoul gave an unearthly screech before collapsing in a heap. From behind the guardian summons, Burl let loose his magic missiles which sought out the already injured ghoul by Sebastion, knocking it from its feet for good. Ebri moved forwards towards the beleaguered Kale, one hand still brandished out to hold back the turned undead and the other lashing out to send the ghoul reeling a few feet, its teeth finally giving up on the mercenary's suffering limb.

Wolf rushed forwards now, seeing that Ebri had distracted the ghoul assaulting his prone apprentice, and instead tore into the ghouls who had fled from Ebri and now skulked around to heal their injured compatriots. Already wounded by their supernatural ability to absorb their fellows injuries, they fell before the veteran easily, a heavy mace caving in the skull of one, and the warriors bastard sword cleaving into the other two.

Then, out of the gloom, something new loomed. A larger shape than the others, bringing with it the nauseating stench that they had already smelt, but this time in such intensity that Wolf coughed and nearly gagged from its foulness; this newcomer ghoulish like the others in the cave but more heavily built and with wickedly sharp talons that gleamed as it stalked in to cautiously eye up the struggling warband before it.

_Dm's Note: Yes, those ghouls were healing each other. The entire pack has a template called 'Ghul-Pack', a special type of undead of which the origins may be revealed later on in the story. Suffice to say that they are effectively a hivemind, fighting with alarming co-ordination and with some other nasty powers too, like the capability to swap damage around._


----------



## Carnifex

_Worse than useless_ was Kale's simple thought as his strength slipped from his limbs. The cave walls slowed, spun, and toppled... and the young mercenary had plenty of time to lay, distantly feel the cool sliminess on his side, and ponder the follies of the day. 

Absently, he imagined his sword arm regaining strength, hoping that he might be able to rush chaotically to the fray once more. 

_Gods- what's that smell?_

* * *

Sebastion hit the ground with a thud, feeling the blow between his shoulder blades as his limbs became rigid and cold, and he lost the ability to move. 

His visage was filled for a brief moment with one of the twisted ghastly faces, before Cord's hand lashed before his eyes and knocked the undead away. 

Snarling mentally, but able to do little more than drool ineffectively into his own ear, Sebastion felt the atmosphere around him change slightly as he tried to crane his eyes around to see what was going on. 

* * *

Of the three remaining ghouls in the ghul-pack, one was injured significantly from Cord's assault; suddenly its wounds diminished as the other two transferred some of the damage to themselves as the other ghouls had previously done, bringing them all back up to fine fighting condition. With the effort of channelling their energies around, they wer unable to concentrate fully on the combat to unleash all their attacks, each instead trying to lay its teeth into its foe. However, Ebri and Cord, both well-trained martial artists, evaded every lunge and bite, and their excellent balance kept them on their feet on the sloping floor. In retaliation they hit the ghouls several times, resulting in two of the undead hitting the floor having once again died, this time for good. The last minor ghoul bared its teeth and circled Cord warily, trying to get back close to Sebastion's prone form. 

The heavy form of the ghast was the most threatening thing in the cave now, and Burl flung his corrosive magic at it, the _lesser acid orb_ striking true. Both globes of acid hissed as they splashed into the reeking form of the ghast, eating through dead skin and flesh, and it stopped in its movements to half-scream half-snarl from the grevious wound. Then the fiery serpent tore into it with glowing fangs, searing its arm and tearing out a chunk. The beleaguered beast roared in agony again; and then its wounds seemed to heal up. Instead, the lone ghoul facing Cord suddenly staggered as if hit by a charging bull, dazed and confused for a few moments before the gaping injuries inflicted by Burl's magics on the ghast mere moments before exploded into existence on the undead. It toppled onto the corpse of one of its fallen companions. 

The newly rejuvenated ghast snarled unpleasantly, baring yellowed fangs as one claw caught Wolf a heavy blow, forcing him back a step. The veteren returned the strike and then some more with his two weapons, but only the heavy mace connected with a solid thunk, smashing a solid dent in the ghast's flank. The sheer nauseating stench was just too much of a distraction for him to really fight effectively, and as the ghast moved forwards the others found the same, having to fight not to just gag and retch. But then Cord and Ebri were there, closing despite their nausea and flanking the solitary beast. 

A few moments later its broken body hit the ground. The fell stench in the air softened a little, though still the cave was saturated with the reek. There didn't seem to be any more ghouls in the cave.


----------



## Carnifex

Oops, it seems that I posted the first part of the ghul-pack battle twice for some odd reason, forgetting I had already done so in a previous update  Ah well...


----------



## Carnifex

Outside, in the rocky ravine, Wyshira had just uttered her question when in the valley below them, a wooded delve with a river running through it, a bright, azure blue light pulsed momentarily. The beholder swung a number of eyes round to peer down the gully they were in, apparently seeing movement at its bottom. "Something approaches," it growled interestedly. 

There was a faint breeze on the air, but something more than the moving air made the skin of the two women prickle, almost as if in anticipation. Wyshira could _feel_ a new presence nearby, something that she couldn't explain but she knew must be powerful, something divine. Melisande felt not this, but instead her blood seemed to tingle as if electricity were dancing down her limbs. 

* * *

Slowly the paralysis crept from Sebastion and Kale, leaving them both cold and stiff but still alive... 

With the ghouls dealt with, the party explored the rest of the irregular cave; no further undead lay in wait for them. There were no other viable routes off; a few constrictingly small tunnels leading away but nothing any of them could possibly manage to get through. A few pieces of debris and animal bones were lodged in some of the tunnels, from wher water running through the sloping cavern had washed them down. 

Amongst the stalagmites at the back, Wolf had quickly set to with the enchanted dragonkin mace and smashed a few off, quicky yielding a fair amount of the mineral-laden stone spikes to carry back to the captor of their comrades. 

The fiery serpent waited by where it had last attacked, watching Burl in a manner that could only be termed as expectantly. 

The cave was to yield one last surprise. The small lit area they had seen upon entry turned out to be a small alcove in a rocky wall, a short candle flickering in the gloom. Strangely, the candle didn't appear to have burned down at all despite being lit, and had been placed high up enough on a ledge to be out of the way and sheltered from the moisture and damp of the rest of the room. Also in the alcove, clean and polished and neatly arranged, were three items. 

The first was a pair of solid, reinforced soldiers boots, the kind of footwear designed to hold through for long marches and battlefield manoeuvers, except that upon close inspection it was inlaid in places with both pieces of smoothly polished dull gray stone and equally smooth stone of a dull blue-white hue. The stone didn't seem to impact particularly upon the weight of the boots though. On top of the boots was a highly polished and spotless silver helm. Above the open face was the head of a hawk pointing outwards, its wings swooping down on either side to frame the face of whoever might wear it. The rest of the helm was decorated with swirling wave patterns. And laid down in front of both of these was a small neck-chain upon which an amulet in the image of the holy emblem of Naskha, a golden dragons head within a circle, was attached. 

The same holy symbol was crudely scratched into the stone walls behind the items.

Rising slowly, stiffly to his feet, Sebastion's embaressment at his fate was ameliorated only by watching Kale go through the same lethargic process. By the time he'd cleared the worst of the penetrating cold, he found himself staring up at the paraphernalia with a strange feeling. 

It wasn't just that Naskha was associated with wizards and magic, though that didn't settle him at all, but rather that it seemed almost as though it were a shrine of some sort. 

"I don't know," he muttered, quietly, trying to rub some heat back into his hands, "spoils of war is one thing, but this feels like grave-robbing... I'm leaving well enough alone."

Kale's senses came back to him slowly, but he wasted no time making his way awkwardly to his feet, and away from the foul undead corpses. "Thanks," he said to Wolf simply as he offered a hand up. 

It was the first time he had fallen in battle. Well, not exactly the first... but the first where his fate would be sealed, were it not for the quick work of his companions. A slight mercy, he was able to watch Sebastion recover with the same awkwardness. 

Of good fortune, the cave was now distinctly lit by the flames of the large fire serpent. Its sinuous flaming body looked in anticipation to Burl. Flickering shadows and permeating stench, and as though the scene couldn't be any more odd, the serpent seemed to know or recognize Burl. And it called him... bloodkin. The plot seemed to grow even thicker at the revelation. 

_But then, what does an animated campfire know?_ Kale mused, frustrated that the odd, somehow naive necromancer could have anything to do with the cultist slave-keppers they'd so recently dispatched to the next world. 

Kale turned curiously to the flame creature, "Why do you talk to this man? You didn't for the blue woman two days ago..." Suspicions suggested an answer of their own. In a small cave with a wand-wielding fire-commanding necromancer with ties to Gilamesh... but Burl could be trusted, couldn't he? 

But more curiousities abounded, and the team had little time to tarry. His javelin offered light for the moment, so Kale went about examining the crevices of the cave, poking about in the bones to see what manner of cratures used to live down in the cavern. He suspected goblins or kobolds, or some other species who'd scavenge from the beholder, before the undead beasts came up... or down... or whatever it is that the things do when they show up. 

And then there was the alcove, shrine? "I'm leaving well enough alone" Sebsastion just said, and Kale looked over to see a collection of items. A rough symbol was scrawled on the wall beside the alcove, hardly the work of a man commemorating the fall of a Wave Hawk. Could this be the shrine for one of the fallen elite? 

_Beholder probably did him in, and some primative scav'ed the gear to worship it..._ Kale rationalized. "Hardly a fitting grave," he supposed, looking for reason to collect the gear. Maybe Ecurius would offer a reward. Maybe Kale could keep those spectacular boots. Surely they were enchanted. Enchanted boots meant for elite long-ranging soldiers. Was this the remains of a Wave Hawk's last stand? 

It was all so interesting, and while Kale could do more than muster cultural respect for the dead, the notion of crossing regard for a falled warrior gave him pause. "Boot shrines in slimy muck-caves is hardly how to honor the fallen," he concluded at last. "Now there's something I can use," Kale reached as he looked unbelievingly... at the nevermelting candle in the sconce. His javelin magic had waned, and he was happy to have any sort of illumination at his command. 

Kale gathered the boots, helmet, and medallion, stowing the gear in the harness webbing on his back. There was the issue of concealing the gear from the beholder, but Kale would just have to cross that bridge when he came to it. Hefting some of the ore slabs, he queried the others. "We have the option of throwing ourselves on the mercy of the beholder, hoping he'll free us in return for the ore." he menitoned as he stepped quite carefully up the slimy incline. At the top he grounded his load for a moment to offer Burl a hand up. "Or perhaps Sebastion didn't make it out alive... you could be galloping for help while we... " the plan just didn't seem to come to completion. "Oh never mind. But there's no reason why we should all go walking back there. Sebastion, why don't you and I return the ore, collect our crew, and meet the rest at the horses?" And Kale had no desire that the others would mount a defense, should the beholder decide to attack. 

_Well, at least there's some new boots in it for me..._


----------



## Carnifex

Well, here's a little boost up again for my SH. I'm honestly not sure exactly what to do with this for the time being - it didn't seem to have gotten a great deal of readership. The gap between now and my last update was mainly due to real-life stuff that just got in my way, and it'll be hard to get back into it.


----------



## Carnifex

Right. Well.

Probably the main reason I haven't updated this for freakin' ages is because my summer was rather dispiriting; my parents have been breaking up and I've sometimes gotten caught in the middle. Then there were some problems with the game itself, almost grinding to a halt, which kinda drained me of inspiration to continue with the SH.

However, hopefully I will be able to continue writing again now. The SH does prove rather useful as a record for myself as much for my players, meaning I can quickly flick through it and find references and information I might otherwise forget.

I have a question for those few who do indeed still harbour an interest in reading my SH.

Do you prefer the style of writing that is basically me directly taking and reorganising the actual game posts, or instead the style of me writing an account only _based on_ the posts?

I may well, if I do get the energy back up to continue with the SH, begin by starting a new thread...


----------



## Broccli_Head

well, even though I subscribe to your story, I'm still hear on the boards to lend even more support.


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## Carnifex

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> well, even though I subscribe to your story, I'm still hear on the boards to lend even more support.




Cheers, mate    Which reminds me, I really need to catch up on reading your story hours...

BTW, if you want to help me out on something that's coming up in the game, _really soon_ (as in within the next few posts I make), go over to the creature catalog forum and help me concoct the creature I've got in the works over there...


----------



## Carnifex

The first proper new SH post in quite a while! Poor Mel and Wyshira, stuck above ground in the presence of the beholderkin while the others have all the fun of being chewed on by hungry ghouls 




At first it seemed like an odd rebound of adrenaline and shock from her most recent misadventure, but soon Melisande realized there was something more to the buzzing in her veins than the normal--she was becoming an expert on trauma and recovery, and this sensation was new. Moreover it seemed associated with the flash of blue light from the valley, and the Beholder's reaction made her nervous. Even Pierre, uncharacteristically curious, poked one head from her pocket. 

Clearly the Beholder was not expecting a visitor of any kind, although it sensed (as she did) that whatever made the flash was headed right for them. Perhaps it was the group, having already collected a supply of rocks and emerging from some back entrance--? Unlikely. Mel shrank back, tugging at Wyshira's sleeve urgently. She had already seen the Beholder when it was irritated. 

"Whatever it is," she squeaked, "maybe we should get somewhere out of sight--" _(and out of the line of fire)_ "--until it goes away." 

"But, I want to see-" Wyshira protested as Melisande pulled at her arm. She glanced up at the beholderkin, and noticed that at least half of the creature's eyestalks remained focused on its pair of hostages. Then she looked back down the ravine, straining her eyes to see what it was that the monster said was approaching. 

She could _feel_ it, whatever it was: something divine. A messenger of a god, perhaps? How would the beholderkin react? Maybe Melisande was right to hide. 

Wyshira allowed the sorceress to pull her back a few steps, but stopped short of getting too far away to see. "Let's watch from here," she whispered breathlessly. "I don't think it's something evil. It's..... " But she didn't finish her thought. 

"...It's something powerful, I think," Mel finishes weakly for Wyshira. "I feel like I have ants all over." She shudders. 

"I think we should move just a little--" she hints with a wide-eyed significant glance at the wary Beholder. 

"Powerful. Yes," Wyshira agreed, still staring expectantly toward the bottom of the ravine. Then Mel's hints about moving away from the Beholderkin began to sink in. 

"All right," she finally conceded. "But... *slowly*." She caught Melisande's eye with a meaningful look of her own, and mouthed the words: "We - don't want to - *alarm* - it."


----------



## Carnifex

Meanwhile, down in the cave...

Wolf seemed to be concentrating on acquiring the rocky minerals rather than the debate over the objects in the alcove, apparently unwilling to give his opinion on the matter, as Kale picked the items from the alcove up, the candle still burning unwaveringly and shedding no hot wax over his hand as he lifted it to add to the fitful illumination given by the flaming serpent. 

The serpent itself was busy answering both Burl's and Kale's requests. "Bloodkin, the power holding me here rapidly wanes and I will return to the Flame soon, though I can be called again when the sun's orbit has circled once more." To Kale's question it answered, "I speak to this man because the talisman he holds, the rod, is attuned to ones of his blood lineage, and to them it unlocks its secrets." And with that the serpent suddenly went out, reducing down to a crumbling pile of ash. 

Burl stopped dead in his tracks. Turning so quickly that he almost dropped the load of rocks he was carrying, Burl looked at the flame serpent, his mouth agape. However, before he could say anything, it crumbled into fine ash.

It was a shocking discovery, yet there was little anyone could do about it now. "It's not about you or anything you've done," Kale spoke quietly to the perplexed mage. "It's about family. There's something about your forebears. You didn't seen to think your father knew, or your mentor knew. But the assasins in Iril knew, the Toranites knew, and I suspect many others."

As far as Kale could figure, this was somehow the source of the entire realms' interest in the young mage. Walking in the back of the party, Kale felt as awkward as he looked, his arms a jumble of ore, balancing a candle in hand, with a lumpy cloak trailing behind. Odd as he looked, he could still move with a jarring smoothness- that he was off-balance was simply a trick of the eye. 

If only his mind could assume such posture: in reflection, the young mercenary realized he hadn't been very centered ever since he'd met his new companions. There was much yet to learn. Wolf's common-sense veto to any trickery merely reinforced the point. 

"Strange thing, but sometimes who we are, has nothing to do with who we are, if that makes any sense." The paralysis must still be effecting his brain. "People might kill you for being tied to Gilamesh, or catch you to tie you even closer. It's got nothing to do with you- it's family." Kale Amegrion frowned at that last, strange emotions somehow tied to the whole mess.

Wolf, an entire hefty stalagmite rested over one shoulder, struggled his way back up the sloping floor of the cave. "We might as well all go back out and up. It's the only way out, after all, and our best chance of making it out of this alive is by not angering the beholderkin. If it suspects we're trying to pull a fast one on it because we don't all go back up..." He left it hanging. "Besides, It'll take us all to get any decent amount of this ore up there. Come on everyone, grab at least a piece." 

* * *

Melisande and Wyshira found their attempts to make a distance between themselves and the solar beholder difficult; edging away was excruciatingly slow when the damn thing could see in all directions at once, even with most of its attention focused at the figure moving up the ravine. 

And it was a figure. Clad in gold and white silks which the faint breeze tugged at incessently, it held in one hand what looked like some sort of incredibly ornate shortspear, using it as an aid in walking up the rocky gully. But the most striking thing about it was the same as the most immediately noticed feature about Wyshira and Melisande, which was that it was blue. 

At first it crossed their minds it might be a Cerulean One, but as it came closer it became apparent that the skin of this person was truly blue, not the illusion created by the intricate tattoos of one of the Naskharite sect. Cutting an impressive figure, somehow emanating authority, the blue-skinned man was completely bald, but for some odd reason a single small horn seemed to be protruding from his forehead, and while he had no eyebrows either it appeared that there were instead small patches of blue-green scale upon his brow in place of any hair there. As he came closer, both Melisande and Wyshria could feel the divine power that seemed to flow out of him. 

Then the rest of the band reappeared from the caves. Spattered with ichor and blood, and damp with the caves moisture, Wolf dumped down the minerals he was carrying to stare at the oncoming figure. Ebri, as she exited from the gloom of the cave mouth, could now feel the divine presence as well, her skin prickling. Even the others could feel _something_ on the air, a sense of awe. 

Some thirty feet off, the figure stopped, but before he could speak the beholder rumbled out a demand. "Who are you that walks... so confidently into my territory? What do you want here? I can feel the... energy rolling off you..." 

The figure smiled pleasantly. "I am Klavius, divine emissary of my Lord Naskha, and my business is not with you, Mychalarenus of the sandstone, but with these others. They have put a soul to rest which has long been tormented, and deserve my thanks, and so I am here. Now," he spoke directly to the band, "please, follow me, let us talk a while as you continue on your way, and..." 

He was cut off by the beholder again, its voice like an avalanche of boulders. "They do not go anywhere until they have brought me the minerals they owe me for disturbing my meditations, emissary." 

Wolf aimed a kick at the stalagmite he had dropped, indicating to the others to pile their loads of mineral in the same place. "All here, as much as we could carry in one trip, though you could have warned us there were bloody ghouls down there." 

The emissary smiled at the beholder again as if he were chatting on a pleasant stroll about some matter of little import. "There you go, so they can leave now. After all, I'm sure you weren't thinking of trying to detain them any longer, were you?"~

The beholder snarled irritably. "Of course not, _emissary_. Go now then, be off..." and its massive, stony bulk floated through the air towards the minerals as the divine emissary signalled the others to follow him down the ravine. 

* * *

"You killed a ghast in that cave," the emissary said nonchalantly as they made their way down the gully towards the wooded valley floor. "Once there was a brave Wave Hawk knight errant who travelled many lands, as the Wave Hawks alone of the Orders are wont to do,, and accomplished many deeds in the name of Naskha and of good. His name was Lazarus Thrazan, and he met his end at the hands of the Dread March when the Great Necromancer and his minions came over the Sarokeans in their noisome horde." 

"He didn't waste his life. He slew one of the vampire lieutenants of the Great Necromancer, and in punishment for this the Dark One denied him the honour of death, instead turning him into one of the things he had fought against, a vile ghast. Worse, the Dark One assimilated him into one of its foulest experiments, the ghul-packs, bands of ghouls linked together by their malign energies. When the war was over and the Dread March scattered, the ghul-pack of Lazarus went into those caves, and laired there." 

"In moments of clarity he would remember his old life, and keep his gear in good condition in a... shadow of his past. Until now he remained down there in his own personal damnation, lost from the annals. And now you have slain him and granted him final death at last, and what had happened came to light with the return of his soul to its rightful place. And I am here to thank you for freeing the soul of a brave man; and incidentally to extract you from the grip of that beholder should it have considered reneging on its deal..."


----------



## Carnifex

And here's the post of the little existential crisis Melisande was suffering when Klavius turned up and led them off from the beholderkin...



_"An angel!" _

Transfixed by the otherworldly (yet somehow profoundly familiar) beauty of the divine emissary that climbed the slope toward her, Melisande forgot all about the Beholder, Wyshira and their imprisonment. She stopped in mid-slink (for as difficult as it was to slink away in terrain like this, with a dozen eyes on you, she had indeed been trying) and stood frozen in wonder while the bright-robed entity approached in a flutter of reflected sunlight. Down to her very fingertips she was abuzz with wild energy. An immense bubble of pent emotion was rising to the surface: years upon tender years of hurt and exclusion finally released by the discovery of _rightness_ and belonging; her deep blue blood was resonating as if a chord of harmony had been struck by the being's presence--a chord of kinship. She feared she might shatter like a crystal glass. 

All of which had the effect of making her desperately shy. Even as her friends emerged from the cave (which would have surprised her a good deal had she been paying attention) she could do nothing but stare in dumb wonder at Klavius. She could think of nothing at all to say, and even if she had tried to speak words would have come out in a torrent of laughing sobs, like the gushing of a young bride reunited with a soldier husband she never thought she'd see again. Utterly ignoring the Beholder and everything else, she floated along down the gully drinking in Klavius' musical voice, her eyes wide as blue saucers. She hardly felt the rocks beneath her feet. 

Yet Klavius paid her no special attention. She felt like a dog must feel whose master has forgotten to pat her on the head upon his return. Absurdly, she wanted to tug on his sleeve and inform him that she was blue. This had to mean something! 

Perhaps--perhaps she was unworthy. There lingered no doubt in her heart now that she was, as she had suspected, an _aasimar_ but what she had done with her life so far might not live up to the expectations of her divine kin. She had engineered a two-headed toad all by herself. She tried to walk to Naseria, but without all kinds of help (from shadow-demons, mute druids, pig-headed mercenaries et al.) she never would have made it. She'd burned a chapel of Gilamesh! Didn't that count for something? As Klavius finished explaining about the Wave Hawk errant and his personal damnation, Mel was only half listening, busy tallying the good deeds and chicken-brained errors of her short life, and coming up in the red. 

She hung back in shamed silence, that temporarily dispelled loneliness coming back in painful waves. 

_I have a gift, but also a burden. Time to stop dragging it along like a club foot. Time to stop worrying about survival and start worrying about valour. 

Maybe we'll meet again someday, Klavius, _she thought, unwilling to address him aloud, _and hopefully on more equal terms. _


----------



## Carnifex

The tale of Lazarus Thrazan was incredible. _And you thought you'd fit his boots..._ Kale thought as they walked. Faithful to purpose and strong in battle, Thrazan was a name Kale wouldn't be disappointed to see honored. Lines and legacies, maybe four hundred years after the fact, the truth will be known for the man's family. Maybe there was justice in the world... just really slow, and dependant, absurdly, on misfits like Kale and the Merry Band. 

At the horses, the team tended their mounts and Kale shifted his cloak to exchange a gleaming helmet, fine medallion, and two fine boots from person to saddlebag. Before long, everyone was ready. Stepping down the valley path, the mercenary footman preferred to lead his horse, rather than ride. Wolf nor Cord nor anyone else seemed too concerned about hiking with no patrol or pointman, which seemed perfectly reasonable, what with an angel in thier midst. Walking along the road, talking informally with divinity, though, the mercenary was still a bit ill at ease. What would an angel think of bloodkin? For lack of anywhere else to be, the mercenary put himself between Klavius and Burl.

Settling in to the walk, Sebastion listened quietly to the Emissary's words, smiling gently at the idea of being a Knight Errant. It was a shame they put such a stock in magic, or he might have felt the inclination to follow such a path, but... well... was there any 'need' for the magic? Presumably there must be some Order of Knights somewhere that didn't rely on such trickery? 

Something, though, did catch his attention. 

"The Wave Knight's preserved equipment... Kale brought that out to bury it properly... perhaps you know the proper rites and rituals?" 

"Or something like that," Kale interjected, voicing his disagreement with Sebastion's plan. He was a bit astonished at Sebastion's idea of resolution for the dead man's gear. Hawk Helmets and Medallions can be sold or donated to houses or museums- legends written, favors curried, histories told of a man the mercenary would have been priviledged to know. Besides, the items were badges of office that any of them could hardly use. The boots, on the other hand... 

"Those boots will still fit a soldier's feet," he tried to say with confidence, but his look gave him away, his eyes glancing at Klavius, at Wolf for signs of disagreement. _But YOU are still sheepish as a tenderfoot, I see,_ he admonished himself, though in time he could reason that it could all be expected, within the tingle of devine glory dancing across his road-dusted flesh.

The emissary carried on walking confidently as they reached the bottom of the ravine where its rocky floor descended into woodland. He gave a pleasant chuckle at the words of Sebastion and then Kale. "Perhaps I should explain more of the Wave Hawks. They are somewhat unique amongst the Elemental Orders in their role and way of life. The stalwart Iron Hawks watch vigilantly over the eastern passes. The Wind Hawks ride the rolling plains of the north and watch for dangers from the Kurgen lands. The brave Flame Hawks of Corvus keep our southern lands safe from the menaces of the Carthagians." 

"The Wind Hawks are travellers. They journey far and wide, exploring the world as best they can. They seek out evil and destroy it where they find it, or rally the cause of civilisation against it. Their organisation is far more loose than the other Orders, and most spend much of their time as Errants - the teaching of Water places much upon the concept of self-reliance. The name of adventurer often accompanies the passage of a Wave Hawk. They are very much, well, individuals." 

Wyshira stepped closer to Klavius in order to hear more about the Wave Hawks, pulling a strangely reluctant Melisande along behind her. Of all the Elemental Orders of Naseria, she was, of course, most interested in the Order of Water. Although she had been impressed by the feather-cloaked Air Hawks she'd seen in Tarravus, she had been hoping that one day she'd come across a Wave Hawk in her travels. She listened with undisguised curiosity to the emissary's words as he described them: travelers and explorers... adventurers, in fact. And above all, destroyers of evil in every land.

Klavius continued. "Most veteran Hawks of the Order of Water have objects of arcane nature, pieces they have acquired during their travels and struggles. They put such objects to use in their fight against the foes of Naskha. Such things are to be used, not to be buried away or locked up in shrines to be stared at. The Wave Hawks are nothing if not practical." 

"Lazarus of the noble house of Thrazan would, I would imagine, be happier to see his wargear put to use by worthy souls than to see it fester beneath the soil. The boots are indeed those of a warrior, a soldier. Now ask yourselves this - who amongst you considers yourself a worthy soldier to wear the boots of a Wave Hawk?" 

Mel stared at her feet. She was trembling with emotion. As if he knew what she was thinking, Klavius' question burned her like a reproach--or a challenge. 

The boots of a holy knight! Who could claim them? Who would dare? Wyshira was a priestess and she suggested Kale, and she probably knew what she was talking about even though Mel thought Kale didn't strike her as the holy avenger sort. At any rate she felt herself in no position to begrudge them of anyone; and besides, she did not covet the boots themselves so much as the worthiness to wear them. 

"I'm not," she murmured, still looking at her feet in shame._ I'm no soldier of Naskha. _

"Not yet." 

For the briefest of moments Sebastion thought of himself donning the boots, draping the medallion about his neck and slipping the helm over his own unruly hair. Springing atop his horse, he charged off through a village, blades flashing right and left as he clove through a hobgoblin horde before pulling up as a the bolts of magic began to fall about him... 

That was the falling point. The ideals of the Wave Hawks - the little that Klavius had passed on thus far - seemed laudable, but the methods. There was something out there for Sebastion, he knew it. The pistols tucked into his belt hinted at it - something... more _natural_ than magic, and yet different as well. 

Either way, it was not the boots that made the knight, nor the knight that made the cause: and lack of neither could prevent him trying to live up to the ideal. 

Nevertheless, he felt a slight disgruntlement when Melisande didn't proffer his name - for a polite declination, obviously - in response to Wyshira's instant suggestion of Kale, but he found himself echoing her words as she spoke the answer quietly. 

"Not yet." 

"Kale is worthy," Wyshira spoke up. She doubted that the mercenary would say so himself, but she knew that the boots were just the sort of thing that Kale would covet. 

"Pffffff!" Kale exhaled flippantly, before realizing that the priestess was serious. For a while he said nothing, looking to Wyshira with a questioning eye. The mercenary appreciated her extraodinary voice of support, misplaced though it might be.

In the dusty footsteps that followed, humility, honesty, even... hope was the prevailing response from his companions. Kale didn't consider himself 'worthy', though his reasons were more fundamental than calculated. Surrounded by the most peculiar jumble of powers and fates, worthiness seemed to have as little bearing as any other kind of sense that railed to exert order on the whole mess. 

The mercenary watched the ridgeline, cared for his steps, and made eyes to see they wouldn't walk cow-dumb into ambush. Angels notwithstanding, simple common sense and an open eye had saved more lives than 'heroics'. 

_Hmm, common sense and a quick blade, Sebastion might very well make a good soldier,_ he realized as an aside, putting the pieces together. His humility was a peculiar thought, a better side, though, than the sense of entitlement that struck on the other face of that same tin coin, that token called 'self value'. 

"Deserve's got nothing to do with it," Kale tried to explain his thoughts. He felt a bit helpless to Klavius, to Wolf and the rest. If there they required 'worthiness,' what was Kale to say? 

"Gods!" Kale skipped a beat at that, wondering if it meant anything to take deities' names in vain before an angel... "If we asked Sir Wave Hawk Thrazen himself, he'd likely say he never felt 'worthy,' leastways not until he got cut down in battle. 

"If it's all the same, I think I'll avoid worthiness as long as possible," he concluded, though that wouldn't keep him from wearing those boots. A great share in the treasure, those would be. Something more about them, too. 

Kale was a bit self-conscious that his nearly cynical attitude would chip away at Melisande's adventure of a lifetime. No, of course, the woman hadn't noticed. _Just look at her, I didn't know a person could google like that,_ he thought without disdain, mildly glad that his wet-blanket attitude wasn't catching. 

His conclusion seemed clear enough, yet vaguely, the mercenary could imagine a resplendant Knight emerging round the bend... "You're wearing my boots..." You think he'd mind? Frustrated, Kale grimmaced. It seemed the angel was toying with them, or at least playing the role of the wise bloody guru who knew much more than he said. _Just tell me the meaning of life, already... _

"It's funny you should ask. I mean, fate is more your business than mine. You know better than we- I wonder what you could say for us: rangers, monks, priestesses... a death mage," he said it flat out, what did the being really think of that one? Surely he knew. Kale's stomach tensed. "and a... distant cousin of yours, perhaps?" Confronted with a direct portal to the gods, Kale figured if he wasn't to be immediately smitten, he may as well ask some dying questions to the Folks in the Know. The mercenary was immensely curious, but did not get his hopes up regarding what kind of answer he would recieve. _Ah, yes, grasshopper, you must seek the answer in the wind, the stars..._ He was thankful of the being's intervention, respectful of the power, but he still was suspicious, maybe just a bit resentful over great power that could do so much more. 

But then, there was always the ageless adage, "Ours is not to reason why..." Coming to his senses, the mercenary cast his eyes back to the valley about. Philosophy, it seemed, was good only for stumbling into ambush.

"Were you a Wave Hawk at one time, Emissary?" Wyshira went on, asking a slightly less impertinent question than the one which was foremost in her mind: _What exactly ARE you anyway, Emissary? _

The emissary shook his head at Wyshira's question. "No, young priestes, I was never a Wave Hawk. I was deep into the study of sorcery when first the Elemental Orders were founded by the teachings of Illamar. I sympathise with the ways of the Wave Hawks though; like them I am often a traveller." 

He seemed to have heard the quiet words of Melisande and Sebastion, smiling sadly in a quiet way as he continued to walk confidently down the track. At Kale's direct questions, he chuckled. "Fate, my business? How amusing... and I assume by distant cousin, you mean the young lady with the blue skin there." He focused his attention on Melisande, a gentle smile on his face. "No, she is not a relative of mine. She's an aasimar, whereas I... I am more of a proof that even with the bad blood of ancestors in you, you can still achieve something. The technical term for my heritage is _tiefling_, but that doesn't define who I am. Others had the kindness to look past the suspicions tied to my blood and gave me the chance to be the person I am now. What you are and who you are, can often be two different things." 

He strolled on for a few moments in reflective silence, then Wolf spoke up. "Thank you for your timely intervention there, ," he spoke in a wary but respectful tone. "I'm sorry if there's some title we should address you by, but if there is I don't know what it is." At that the divine emissary chuckled. "It's not every day we meet your kind. What do you plan to do with us now?" 

"Let you go on your way. I have no need to detain you from your own businesses. As I said, it was considered that thanking you for freeing Lazarus's soul was earned, and besides... I wanted to get a look at you all." 

"Get a look at us all?" 

"Yes; even a wandering messenger of Naskha has his curiosities and interests. Now, if you don't mind, I shall make my own way, for I think we are far enough from the beholderkin for you to be able to progress on your way safely from here." 

And with that, he was gone. He did not disappear in a flash of smoke or a pulse of light, he merely carried on walking forwards but somehow sliding out of vision no matter how hard one tried to keep looking at him, till all that was left as a trace of his passage was a cheerful whistling that quickly diminished into nothing. 

Wolf sighed. "I'll take it as a bad sign that some divine emissary is 'taking an interest' in us."


----------



## Carnifex

The fire crackled merrily in the darkness, illuminating the faces of the band clustered around it. They'd made a fair distance during the rest of the day and now were camped in the wilderness of the mountains, in a sheltered spot by a brook that meandered down a steep, wooded valley. Wolf doled out some soup from a pot over the fire. 

"It's been an interesting day. Burl," Wolf said through chewing on mouthfuls of the chunky soup, "did you understand what that fire snake thing was talking about?"

All Burl could do was recount what the serpent had said and ask, “Can any of you shed any ideas on this. The only suggestion I have is to call it forth again and ask it what it meant. By the way,” Burl reached over to his pouch bringing out the wand, handing it to Mel, “Here is your wand back. Thank you. I don’t want to know what would have happened to us if the Fire Serpent hadn’t been there to help us.” 


So here was another mystery surrounding Burl, and once again, he didn't seem to know what it was all about. Wyshira pondered the words of the Fire Snake, as Burl had described them. "Your 'blood lineage'..... Burl, Ak'mun'tep mentioned your 'bloodkin' to me also, but I knew that he meant something more than just family." 

Wyshira looked at Kale. Did he know something about any of this? What did the term 'bloodkin' really mean? 

"Wait. Ebri, that talking skull-thing you have - Would it be able to tell us what the Fire Snake was talking about?" Wyshira had seen the mimir only that one time back at the bookseller's shop in Tarravus. It seemed to 'know' things, and gave useful advice. She hadn't quite believed Ebri's claim that it was a recording device for her travelogue, and now that she was thinking about it, she was quite anxious to see it again. 

Of course," Ebri said, reaching into her pack. By now, the question of suspicion of her fellow travellers was fairly moot, seeing as how they were had a reasonable chance not to survive this encounter. "We may as well take the opportunity to learn something; learning is never wasted."


She handed the silver skull over with a smile. 

Wyshira accepted the mimir with more than a little apprehension, now that she saw it again. It felt cold and lifeless in her hands, which seemed strange to the priestess since she remembered quite cleary from before that it possessed a lively personality. For just a moment, she suspected that Ebri had handed over an odd-shaped lump of metal by mistake. 

Then she saw the hollowed out eye sockets and the grinning silver mouth. _No, indeed it is the mimir. _

"I'd like some information on the term 'bloodkin', if you please," Wyshira wasn't exactly sure how to address the thing. She held it out in front of her at arm's length and waited for it to do something.

"Bloodkin? It sounds to me like someone in your family was associated with the Flame Guild or something," Melisande said, declining to take the rod back with a wave of her hand. "The mimir did say something about this being the sort of artifact the Flame Guild would very much covet. But if you summoned the Serpent once today, you won't get it to come back until the same time tomorr-- 

"Oh, my! Did you have trouble in the caverns?" 

In her self-absorption since the appearance of Klavius, Mel had seen but not registered her friends' ragged post-battle state. Of course Klavius had mentioned a ghast and his entourage but-- She felt Pierre give her a mental elbow, as if he noticed before she did (which he had, in fact). 

But no sooner had she received her explanation (and the assurance that everyone was in one piece) than she slipped back into her silent pondering....

_"What you are and who you are, can often be two different things." _

This went over and around in Mel's mind as she sat cross-legged by the fire that night. She had been unusually quiet all day, seeming sullen perhaps to some but in fact preoccupied. Who and what may often be different things, but _should_ they be? Wouldn't you be more at peace if they were the same, if the striving of one's nature pulled in the same direction as one's personal inclinations? 

She'd felt it before, the rage against evil. In the Manipulation Lab that day in a snit she had upset a whole workbench of organ-beakers and rushed out, never to return; in the kobolds' cavern when their vile shaman had loosed the fire-serpent on her and her new friends; against the scorpion-assassins and the adorers of Gilamesh. It was not, she felt, only the physical reaction of an aasimar's endocrine system to the stimulus of devilry. Her heart and mind as well as her body had acted together to revile what was wrong. What she was and who she was were _not_ two different things. 

It almost seemed that with these words Klavius had been testing her--giving her a ready excuse to back out of what her heart had then been deciding. But she would not be so easily dissuaded. Every particle of her, material and immaterial, agreed on this one thing. Any other ambitions she had entertained (including becoming Lady Ecurius, sorceress-scholar-adventuress-matron) evaporated like the unsubstantial clouds they were in the flame of this new purpose. To combat evil in the name of Naskha, blue god of sorcery! This voyage was an adventure no longer--it was a _quest!_ 

* * *

_Pierre did not like this turn of things one bit. If he could have rolled his bulbous eyes he might have--all four of them. Is there a god of toads one prays to save bipeds from their folly? Things were bad enough. He had been learning to enjoy cities, with their multitude of grubs and roaches, and the dirty protectiveness that resembled mud in myriad ways. More noisy, but otherwise comfortable. Out here in the wild She let him roam when they rested but he found only the slim, rangy bugs of the wild, unfattened by metropolitan luxury. He didn't like the wandering around and he certainly didn't like the fighting. (There had been intriguing smells coming from that cavern, but Pierre's dull mind had absorbed enough of the following conversation to understand that some sort of blade-filled unpleasantness had taken place down there, so he regretted little. But if that creature that held them prisoner had been a little smaller... It looked very fat and juicy... Not worth the trouble, though, he gathered from Her attitude towards it.) 

Now She was on some strange train of thought Pierre could not follow if he wanted to, but the upshot he felt clearly enough in his batracian guts: She was on the warpath. Against what, or why, was not clear. (Pierre might understand some fisticuffs with another toad for a mate, but that did not seem to be the issue here.) He could only lope around the campsite hoping for fallen moths and hoping yet more fervently that this would pass, as many things did She got into Her head. But then She looked up, her eyes feverish, and he knew She was going to do something. He stopped to stare in fear. _

* * *

"Sebastion," Mel said, suddenly emerging from her uncharacteristic silence. "Will you teach me how to use a sword?" 

* * *

"What you are and who you are, can often be two different things." For something that sounded as though it were supposed to be cryptic, that seemed pretty obvious to Sebastion. 

Who you were was up to you, but what you were was the sum of everyone else's opinion. You could call yourself Sebastion as much as you liked, but if everyone in the town decided you were 'Seb', then 'Seb' you'd be. 

Despite the slight worry that the Emmissary's comments aroused, Sebastion was more glad to have seen Melisande get out safely after his disastrous attempt at deception than anything. On the back of that, he kept his mouth shut and merely tended to the horses as they travelled. 

When the evening came, and he found himself cleaning his weapons absently, staring at the pistols with an intent gaze, wondering just what it was about them that caught his attention. They weren't magical, but they seemed it; they weren't arcane, but he nonetheless understood not a whit about how they did what they did. 

"Sebastion," Mel said, suddenly emerging from her uncharacteristic silence. "Will you teach me how to use a sword?" 

For a moment, as he came out of his contemplations, he wondered if it might have been the punchline to a joke, or the finish of a conversation that lent her words a different meaning, but the expression on her face told him it wasn't. 

"A sword? Can you... I mean... don't you take oaths or something? I'm not saying I won't, I will, but... Can you?" 

Of every possible response she might have anticipated from Sebastion, this was not one. Mel was silent a moment as she tried to figure out what he was talking about. _"Can you?"_ What was that supposed to mean? _"Oaths?"_ Sure, she'd pledged allegiance to Carthagia every single day of her childhood, hand over heart, and said all the prayers to Toran by rote, and there wasn't one oath out of those she hadn't broken. Not that oaths weren't a bad idea... In fact, that was something to think on--she might have to make up her own for the future... one she did not intend to break, no matter what. 

She stood up and brushed the dust off her dress to buy time. Whichever way she looked at it, the question didn't make sense. Did he mean was she _allowed_ to use a sword, by virtue of being a sorceress, or being blue, or being a Manipulator--or being a woman? Did he mean she seemed too weak and chicken-brained not to cut herself? She wasn't sure she wanted to know. She opted for a vague answer. "Of course I can. I have hands, don't I? Could anyone lend me one just to practice with?" 

She intended to get started right away. The sooner the better. The next time she came down this ravine maybe she'd righteously hack off a few evil eyestalks. Or maybe not the _next_ time--even a blade-master like Wolf seemed leery of the Beholder--but someday. Naskha willing. 

Beaming with satisfaction, she moved to a safe distance from the others and beckoned with hardly suppressed excitement to Sebastion to pass her a blade. 

Sebastion turned to comment, to say something about hands, but held himself in check. 

_How was I supposed to know?_ he asked himself, thinking back to the old tales he'd heard of wicked wizards as a boy, and how they couldn't wear armour because it interfered with their magic. _Why shouldn't swords be any different? You don't see many wizards walking round hacking away with a blade... except for those Knights, of... is that why she's doing this? _

Rising slowly from where he sat, he packed away the remaining pieces of his cleaning kit carefully before standing to walk over to where she waited leaving his swords on the floor. 

"Alright, I'm sorry I took an interest... here, we'll start with feet. Put your feet about shoulder width apart, like this, and take a half step straight back with... are you right or left handed?" he began. 

Burl sat close to the fire listening to the banter between Mel and Sebastian over her learning to use a sword. 

“Well, Sebastian doesn’t ever have to worry about me wanting to learn that disgusting trade, does he Spike” 

When Melisande jumped up demanding that she be given a sword, Burl’s hand started to move to a three foot stick lying near the fire. But, as a couple of squeals came from Spike, Burl’s hand stopped. 

“Yes, quite right Spike. She’d probably have used it on me.” Burl content to watch how this played out leaned back, his hand resting on Spike’s head rather than the stick.

"Right. Will someone _please_ give me a sword!" 

Melisande had a sense of the fragility of the moment: Sebastion had agreed to help her, and seemed sincere in spite of his surprise; but the first trip in momentum could easily shatter his patience. She was going to be good and not argue (even though she didn't see what smiting had to do with foot placement), but she was _not_ going to do this empty-handed like a child play-acting. 

"Probably better to start with a sword that only has one blade," she said, pointing at the weaponry he'd left by the fire and thinking this sounded extremely reasonable. 

Sebastion smiled gently, remembering his first adventure with a blade - thankfully wooden. His father had begun to teach him in just this fashion, and he had thought he knew it all. Late in the afternoon, as his father shoed horses at the front of the stable, he snuck into the loft with the broken handle off one of the old hayforks, and began to merrily swing the thing to and fro... 

It was surprising how easy it was to suddenly loose the flight of the end, and he had curled up into his own little private ball of hurt and pain for several minutes before his father had coming looking for him. He'd said nothing, merely given that look, and Sebastion took the lessons a lot more seriously after that. 

"I... I don't know much about magic, right, but I'm guessing you don't start off learning it by throwing lightning about on the first day? You start off with exercises to build certain skills, then put them together, right? 

Well this is the same. I can only teach you the way I learnt, which is the way my father taught me, and it worked for us? 

You see, everything you do, striking, blocking or parrying, the power for it comes from the big muscles in the back of the legs. So it stands to reason that, if you want to be able to do it properly, you have to have your feet planted solidly, and in the right place." 

Adopting the position once more, arms hanging loosely by his side, he gestured for her to copy, hoping she wasn't about to make a scene with the others watching on. 

_He's making fun of me. I'm sure of it. He'll let me stand here like this for a while until those "big muscles" in the backs of my legs start giving in and by that time everyone in the camp will be laughing their heads off. _

Still Melisande squared her shoulders and did as Sebastion said, but not without a hole-drilling gaze right at him. 

_No, come to think of it, that's something Kale would do. This is Sebastion. He'll have me sweating through serious, traditional swordsmen's exercises and the first time I fall on my backside he'll call me chicken-brained and feed me to a Beholder. _

For some reason this thought amused her. Her dagger-shooting regard softened at the edges as she repressed the urge to laugh. 

_Better buckle down. This is going to require even more courage, patience and humility than I thought--just to learn how to use the sword! _As a matter of fact, she liked the sound of that thought even as she formed it. _Courage, patience and humility! Not half bad. Better jot those down for my oath. And you're not exactly swimming in any of those either, Pierre, so keep the snide remarks to yourself. _

* * *

Meanwhile, in response to Wyshira's request, the mimir rattled out more of the recordings it held... 

A strong male voice. "Though I curse the bloodkin with every breath my body takes, and my rage against him and his brethren carries me on over this desolate wasteland; though my sould and will are consumed by this, my only purpose left, to hunt down and kill the vile man; yet still I have seen something I feel I cannot let pass, and since I have this... mimir as it calls itself, I shall use it. I could swear I saw, this last night as I stumbled across barren lands, dark shapes walking the hills, men of shadows that were not men at all, that stalked the land. I saw them move with purpose and with strength, a strength I cannot hope to have as I wearily walk this land, and a purpose too. I could sense that. These forms of shadow had a purpose." 

"What worried me was that their purpose took them in the same direction I was going. The direction of Garkulzak, the City of Red Stone." 

"When I looked again, they were gone, though I swear I did see them. And then I remembered the old tales Kamizak used to tell me. He used to say that the Men of Shadow never really died out. They just hid away in the shadows themselves."

* * *

The same voice again, weary and of ragged breath. "I am dead, then. Puncture wounds to my lungs and arm, blood loss will kill me soon, but I slew the bloodkin for what he did. The man fell to a well-placed arrow, but how could I hope to kill a bloodkin in Garkulzak, the City of the Dragon? The very bastion of the power of that monster Tasslik who calls himself the Son of Gilamesh, who rules through his bloodkin. But that was never my intention, to survive, not at all. Just to kill Samuel, traitor of the Huronese settlement of Gar Gadrak whose treachery caused such loss of life. He is dead now, and I will be dead soon, and this strange skull will be in the hands of the Gilamees." 

"And I can find peace with Urazel in death now." 

* * *

A deep male human voice. "It seems that there is some sort of communication being passed back and forth between the noble called Ecurius Tarravus and someone in Zhatan. What's interesting is that this is going on covertly. I will notify the Bloodkin as soon as possible." 

* * *

With that, it fell silent again.

Burl listened carefully to what the mimir had to say about bloodkin and what he heard didn’t make him too happy. It seemed that the one referred to as bloodkin was hunted. Also, the reference to Tarravus meant that possibly they were now working for the bloodkin’s enemy. If indeed he was a bloodkin or just related to one, then there might be a problem brewing. _As if we didn’t already have enough problems. _


----------



## Carnifex

Wolf sat cross-legged with his bowl of soup in his lap, quietly observing the others across the dancing flames of the fire. The man felt distinctly ill at ease, though he wasn't about to let that show through to the others. The events of the past day troubled him, and looking at the mercenaries around him he was troubled even further. 

Such a disparate band, and definitely not the kind of group he'd have normally considered collecting together for the mercenary trade. Kale and Sebastion maybe; both competent fighters even if Kale tended to get carried away with himself and act dangerously, and Sebastion had what Wolf considered a naive suspicion of magic. The veteran ran his fingers around the scars where his arm had been torn off, then re-attached by the Manipulator. No, magic was something to be utilised like any other tool of battle. Yet the rest of the band was so utterly mismatched for the mercenary trade, not hard-bitten fighters but a rag-tag collection of people who... Wolf suddenly realised just how young most of them were compared to himself. Burl must have been one of the oldest of Wolf's band excepting the veteran himself; reasonable enough considering how long it must take to get a solid grip on even the most basic of magic arcanae. Many of the others were barely into adulthood. 

He felt the responsibility weighing down on him again. He'd fought many times, killed many men, and had his share of failure. He couldn't help but let his mind drift back to the Nightmare Company. The slaughter of well over a hundred men just because he was weak. And now he had to, what, act as guardian for these young bloods. It certainly seemed that half the world and its dog was out to get certain of them. And that worried him too. 

This wasn't a mercenary company in any normal sense. It didn't work along the same lines as a mercenary company, for starters. Too small and personal, among other things. And their current task? Looting a probably deserted wizard's tower wasn't a job for military mercenaries, though it was the kind of thing that adventurers, as he understood the term, might do. 

A company. That was a better term to use, not a mercenary band. To the veteran's eyes it seemed that all that held the band together was both the vagaries of chance in bringing them all together when they needed the aid that the others could give them, and the personal relations growing between them, the friendships and not-so-friendly ties that were evident. 

Wolf watched Sebastion's surprise as Melisande asked for weapons training. The concept of the sorceress with a sword was evidently one that did not fit in the Huronese man's carefully ordered system of how the world should be. 

Rubbing a weary shoulder, he set the bowl down. The world had just been too strange of late for his liking, and it was leaving him confused. 

As well as a mercenary by trade, Wolf was, after all, an Azure Blade, and through the channels of information that the Blades used he was recieving worrying information. The Blades did their best at any time to be aware of current events, at least in the Middle Kingdoms and preferably further as well, and they did a decent job of it. It helped them in their attempts to hold back the darker elements where they could, like the slavers underneath Tarravus. The increase in such incidents in recent times was just one worrying sign, and the seemingly random mishaps befalling the party, with Toranite clerics chasing Burl and suchlike, just made him feel more uneasy. It didn't help that while they were out in the wilds he was cut off from any other Azure Blades. 

He pondered that it might, before too long, be a wise idea to let the party in on the existence of the Blades. If they understood certain key things then they could prove to be a very positive element in the scheme of things. 

Perhaps. 

* * *

Wolf lay there in the deepest gloom of night, the fire barely even embers. One of the others was on watch, but he was certain they hadn't realised that the warrior was not in fact asleep at all. It didn't suit him to sleep. 

What Melisande had mentioned about shadows in Kandathra, before they departed for the mountains proper, came to mind in this darkness. Wolf might have been tempted to dismiss it as imagination, if he didn't know that there was certainly at least a grain of truth to the idea of shadow-beings. The Azure Blades knew that much at least. 

He continued to watch silently in the gloom, uneasy to his very bones about the way things were.


----------



## Carnifex

Coming Monday, 'Arrows from Beyond'


----------



## Carnifex

That morning, Kale pulled on the Wave Hawk's boots instead of his usual travelling footwear. They fit fairly well once adjustments had been made and they had been tied properly. Even so, the fact that the maker had incorporated the polished stone into the boot meant it was fairly heavy.


* * *


The new day brought with it the balmy rays of the sun and a gentle breeze that made travelling a veritable pleasure as the band made their way along through verdant vallies at the feet of the rising peaks around them. They were making good time, the horses covering the ground at a fair rate even considering the sometimes difficult terrain; but though the mountains around them might have been difficult to traverse their soaring peaks were certainly impressive, the higher areas seemingly still covered with ice and snow even in this fair summer weather. The call of an eagle sometimes rang across the void between mountains - and fortunately there was neither sight nor sound of a drazhikar cutting across the blue in search of prey.


They did not meet another beholder, either, and now they watched their surroundings with greater vigilance, the kind of vigilance that having such a dangerous encounter previously could instil. They saw some of the flightly animals of the wooded vallies upon occasion, or mountain foxes watching them warily from a distance as they meandered up a rocky valley-side.


Every so often Wolf would bring out the leather tubes which the maps were sealed within, unstoppering the end and unrolling the parchment, to reassure of direction and distances. The map was, of course, somewhat uncertain, as it only could be when dealing with the wild Sarokean mountains, yet still is was clear that they were making their way closer to the marked point of the arcanist's tower, where three vallies met at a lake.


* * *


And so the journey continued for several days as they trekked through the hills and mountains, stopping each night to rest and for Sebastion to give Melisande some more training. She picked up the basics with a natural talent; strong enough to strike effectively and possessed of considerable natural grace, the young aasimar also seemed to have a good deal of stamina and did not tire easily from the strains of the repeated, practical lessons Sebastion was showing her. Wolf couldn't help but, once or twice, comment to correct Sebastion on some of the methods he was demonstrating, but nonetheless the Huronese soldier was an able enough teacher to a willing student like Melisande.


* * *

To someone so young and purposeful, the world that unfolded below her steed had taken on a new aspect. Sweet and vulnerable as a sick child, it seemed to cry out to Melisande to fight its disease--to lance its boils with the figurative sword she was figuratively learning to wield.


_But lancing boils isn't a very lovely image,_ Mel thought. _There must be some more noble metaphor for this quest. And why won't anyone let me handle a real blade? Can't they see I'm doing well? Why do I get the feeling if I picked up a sword someone would tell me not to run with it?_


But by and large she was quite pleased with the results so far. The training was just painful enough to feel effective (those big muscles in the backs of her legs ached constantly in a satisfying way) and she felt grateful for Sebastion's patience. She wasn't always sure he was as pleased with her progress as she was, but he had stuck with it for four whole days and seemed to be spending more time teaching tricks to her than to his horse, which was promising.


* * *

The days passed too quickly for Burl as it seemed that Wolf was really pushing. Any other time, he would have liked to more closely observe their new surroundings. Much wildlife was spotted here where very few ventured. High on the snow capped mountains, Burl even spotted a pair of large horned sheep or goats, he wasn’t sure which, but the sight was breath taking.


The pace was so exhausting that at night, Burl tried to rest as best he could. Watching Mel at practice had progressed from a joke to watching her progress under the close tutelage of Sebastian. It seemed that Spike and the two headed frog had made some progress from warily watching each other and trying to keep some space between themselves to one of shared existence.


* * *

Wyshira had plenty of time to think during the next few days of steady riding. It seemed clear now that 'bloodkin' was a word that referred to some special followers of Gilamesh, a ruling class maybe; and that somehow - through an accident of birth or otherwise - Burl was one of them.


They continued to ride together part of the time, the priestess and the necromancer, although Wyshira was now more prone to silent introspection when they were together. She didn't know what to say to him about it. She tried to stamp on the seeds of doubt that kept sprouting up in her mind. _The Fire Snake called him Bloodkin! How could he not know what he is?_ Did she really think he was deceiving them?_ Of course he's not... Look at him!_


And she did look at him when he wasn't paying attention to her, and saw the evidence of his intelligence and his curiosity as he observed his surroundings. That was all she could see: an inquisitive man on a journey. She sensed nothing sinister about him, and yet......


_Remember the bird and the note?_


Yes. The bird had shown up back at Lord Ecurius' estate, with a note attached to its leg. Burl had reacted oddly, but had explained that it was a letter from an acquaintance. It had seemed to Wyshira at the time that he was holding something back about it. But then she had decided that she was being too sensitive. Surely, it had been just what Burl said it was. A note from a friend. A woman friend, more precisely, and he had been embarassed by it. Nothing sinister about that......


But once doubt had begun to grow, Wyshira found that she couldn't get it out of her mind. She looked at Burl as they all sat around the campfire at night, and thought, _Bloodkin!_


* * *

The pace of the trail came back to Kale quickly, his body adapting quickly to the steady drain of days on the road. Spirits unprepared could be in for quite a shock, when the fantasy of travel meets the reality of ten hours walking and riding. And the body never seemed to remember: it had to be retought each time.


More pleasant than most, the journey was: Kale spent his time floating within the group, exchanging words most often with Burl and Wyshira, burning time most often with Wolf. Yet despite his preference for known company, the young mercenary found himself near the others often enough.


Words with Cord were few, although much like Wolf the man shared company often without the need for speaking: travelling together, it could hardly be called silence. Sebastion and Melisande had formed a partnership, of sorts, while Kale volunteered himself time to time as a target. Stand still, be predictable, telegraph your movements- what not to do as an attacker could still provide novice instruction to one who was new with a blade. As for Ebri? Kale's brow always seemed to furrow at the thought. He could not avail himself to small talk with the woman, and that left little else to interact about, no matter how awkward. Curiosity about the mimir was about as far as he got into exploring the peculiar woman.


* * *


On the fourth day of their travel, when they could not be more than two days from the tower, trouble reared its ugly head.


The path made its way through a small valley where brooks burbled their way along, a mixture of small trees and shrubs populating its gravelly floor and rocky walls. There was, sadly, plenty of cover for the ambushers to make themselves virtually unnoticeable behind. It was also ill-fate that even though the adventurers were hardly complacent to the environment around them, even the most eagle-eyed of their number failed to see the warning signs. Blood would be the price of the failure.


* * *


Wolf leaned over to Kale as they rode down the valley. "It wont be too long before we arrive at the tower, Kale, and once we're there it's anybody's guess what dangers we might meet. I've been mulling over something these past few days and I think it might be the time to talk with you about it. You met Garadas, and you know that I'm a member of an organisation called the Blades - it's the Azure Blades in fact, though I don't know if you've ever heard of the name before you met me. Some people have, but it suits our purposes that few know of us. As it stands, I plan to, when or if we return, take you and maybe the others to meet a man called Tobias in Tarravus, a nobleman but also another individual involved with the Blades, because I believe..."


He was cut off by the whistle of an arrow launched from the side of the valley, the archer hidden amidst the shrubs and undergrowth.


_*"Ambush!"*_ Wolf yelled, drawing his blade in a breath.


----------



## Carnifex

Some half a dozen men, brigands clad in crude leather armour or chain shirts and wielding an unpleasant array of hand weapons, rushed from either side as a few more arrows zipped inwith desultory effects, merely burying themselves into the soil and scaring the horses. The four archers could now be seen, lurking back and preparing to launch another volley as their comrades charged.


And then, ahead of the band in the direction they had been heading, a single man stepped out onto the path. Clad in elaborate and ornamented red scale mail, a conical helmet on his head which fully enclosed around his face such that merely two slits allowed the warrior to see out, he held a mighty bow he raised, a barbed arrow already notched and ready to be fired.


As the bandits closed in, the armoured man carefully raised the bow, took a moment to aim, and loosed the arrow. It arced through the air towards Wolf, and the mercenary raised a metal-bracered arm to try and protect himself from the projectile. It bit straight through the metal of the bracer and sunk deep into the warrior's flesh, and he gasped as if he had been dunked in ice cold water, the blood draining from his face as he nearly dropped his sword, fumbling clumsily to block the hatchet of one of the bandits.


Gritting his teeth in an attempt to bite down the numbing pain of the arrow in his arm, Wolf slashed downwards twice from his saddle at one of the bandits who had charged him, the metallic blade of the bastard sword glinting crimson as both strikes bit into the man and sent him tumbling down with a spatter of blood. Then the veteran, temporarily freed of any assailants, reached over to try and pull the barbed arrow that had punched deep into his arm. Through the agony, he thought it might well have shattered the bone from the sheer force of the impact.


The battle began to swirl in the now-familiar patterns of melee as shouts and cries, the sound of metal on metal and the alien noise of arcane syllables, heralded the beginnings of the real combat. Burl struck an impressive figure in his dark clothes as he drew the Fire Serpent rod and activated it; from the air ahead of the group sparks coalesced from nothing, quickly igniting into the serpentine firestorm of the elemental as it broke back into the material plane. This time it seemed to be more quickly aware of the situation around it, immediately whipping out its head to try and bite a bandit who was threatening to engage Burl. As the flame-wreathed snake dove in the man, witha fearful cry, deflected the strike with his crude wooden shield, but nonetheless the sudden appearance of the elemental in its coruscating glory seemed to shake the bandits, making them falter in their footsteps with sudden cowardice.


This was only compounded when Melisande let loose bolts of brilliant sapphire which tore through the intervening gap between her position, elevated on her horse, and the armoured archer, the magic missiles impacting with force and sending the warrior a step backwards. What was perhaps truly mroe amazing than the display of arcane power was that the sorceress managed to keep control of her mount despite its sudden fear, staying in the saddle.


Despite the band's show of magic the bandits were not so cowed as to flee already, and now that the gap had been closed they picthed in to melee battle with wild abandon. Clearly men from the fringes of civilisation, the unkempt, disorderly scum yelled and shouted to try and bolster their own morale and intimidate their victims, one bearded man caught Kale with a glancing flesh wound with a jagged, short blade and another managed to hit Wolf in the leg with a hatchet, drawing more of the ranger's blood. Cord too suffered minor injuries from the assailants, though doubtless the blind dwarf that almost danced to gracefully dodge the unskilled hacks of his foes was unnerving to the bandits, who clearly disliked the idea of fighting those with unnatural powers as they shirked back from the fire serpent. Heeding the cries of their allies the archers in the bushes turned their bows against the elemental, arrows adding more to the confusion of the melee as they buried themselves around the fiery creature, one biting through tis ashen body to draw a hiss of irritation from it.


Sebastion loosed one of his own arrows, the enchanted missile followed by a stream of blue and white sparks as it arced to strike true into the archer. He staggered as it discharged into him with a crack, leaving a smoking crater in the centre of his chest where it had bitten through the scale mail, but the red-armoured warrior quickly recovered with the manner of a skilled warrior, watching Sebastion carefully in an attempt to avoid being struck by another of the Myrmecian arrows.


Ebri struck out with her fists, not landing a solid strike but sending a bandit reeling back in shock as he suddenly realised the woman before him was far from defenceless without a weapon; his face became truly fearful as he saw the glint of a silvery kama appear in one hand which had just pulled back from a feinting punch, and which hacked out like a serpent striking to bite into his chest, straight through his crude leathers. The man collapsed as blood spurted from the precision puncture, internal organs fatally speared.


Then with the scent of a sea breeze Wyshira brought forth a wind wall to hamper any further attempts by the bandit archers to rain down arrows upon the party. Nearby Kale quickly brought down another of the bandits with sword and flail, smashing the man to the ground and then stabbing him to finish him off, the brine blade eagerly corroding a wound through the warrior's meagre metal armour.


* * *


Clutching at the wound that Sebastion had inflicted on him, the red-armoured warrior watched the tides of the battle, face hidden from view by his visor such that he seemed like an impassive sentinel watching the vagaries of fate. As more bandits fell so that only three now stood against the combined might of the travellers, and the archers were rendered ineffectual by the genasi priestesses magic, it seemed that now was the time to release the second part of the ambush.


He waved one gauntleted hand in a signal, and then reached for another handful of arrows from his quiver, stabbing them point down into the earth by his foot. His actions now more pained and less smooth than before as the arrow-wound smarted and blood continued to flow, the archer nonetheless was able to bring his prowess to the fore, unleashing arrows at an incredible rate. Unlike the bandits, he was not hampered by the wind wall.


The first one tore towards Wolf, who once again managed to bring his already shattered arm round to fend it off, and with an unpleasant thunk it too buried itself deep in his flesh; followed mere seconds later by another one which caught the now reeling ranger in the stomach with a spurt of blood. Coughing up gore in shock, Wolf simply slid off his saddle to hit the brown earth with a thud.


From the side of the path another red armoured figure slipped from cover; clad in the same crimson scale mail, this warrior spun a bladed staff confidently from hand to hand, each end tipped with a slightly curved shear of metal, as he closed in to melee to support the bandits. Heavy boots thudding on the ground, he charged towards the archer who had fired upon his comrade, nearly introducing Sebastion to just how keen the edge of the double-sword was as he struck with an upswing towards the mounted man.


Even as Wolf was tumbling to the ground, the red-clad archer had turned his head for a moment, drawn by a faint sound from behind him, where the path led on. A mounted figure was approaching at high speed down the valley trail, the sound of hoofbeats upon ground becoming more clear as every moment passed...


----------



## Carnifex

Tomorrow's update, 'The Black Knight'


----------



## Carnifex

And you can even expect the return of my House Rules thread for this campaign, which I just bumped over in that forum  I'm taking requests


----------



## Carnifex

The fire serpent had caused concern among the bandits as Burl had hoped, giving him time to slip from his horse. Although this meant that he wouldn’t have to contend with a bucking platform from which to cast his spells, it also meant he didn’t have as good a vantage point to see what was going on in the battle. What he could see was the three remaining bandits who were concentrating their efforts on the fire serpent. Burl was preparing a spell when, hearing a heavy thud, he turned in time to see Wolf hitting the ground. 


Now it was Burl’s turn to be scared. Wolf had always been the iron man of the troupe, often saving their lives. Now with him lying on the ground, dead or dying, it would be up to the rest of them as to whether they would live or die. Burl wasn’t sure if he was up to it or not, but he wasn’t going to die without a fight, he and his companions had too much for which to live.


Down on the ground, Wolf's blood continued to flow freely, staining the dry earth around him to a hint of crimson as the veteran continued to twitch and spasm, only the whites of his eyes visible. Wyshira might not have been the most experienced of healers yet but the savage injuries her companions had been suffering since she had started travelling were rapidly educating her, and she could not help but think that the arrows piercing the man's arm and abdomen shouldn't have been enough to bring the veteran down. One arm shattered, certainly, and a flesh wound to his stomach, but the state he was in was surely not just down to the physical punishment he had recieved. It looked like he had been poisoned. 


Burl's fiery summoning writhed back and forth with the sound of slithering scales, sinuously dancing its head to block any avenue to Burl that the bandit before it attempted to take, trying to break past it to attack the wizard in melee. With a hiss it lashed out and sunk its fangs into the man's arm despite his best attempts to fend it off with his shield, sending him reeling off and shouting in pain from the seared flesh around the punture wounds. Shielded by the snake, Burl was able to let off his _ice knife_ spell uninterrupted, and the resultant shard of frozen water bit through the red armour of Sebastion's attacker, freezing flesh and blood as it hit. Even so, the visored warrior fought on. Melisande unleashed another spray of _magic missiles_ at the red-armoured archer, who saw the sapphire bolts coming and dived behind a nearby rock to evade them only for the eldritch attack to divert and follow him, sending him stumbling from the impacts. 


The bandits fought on, bolstered by the aid of the second armoured trooper, but the ruffians didn't manage much now that the travellers had regained the initiative and recovered from the surprise of the ambush. Beyond the _wind wall_ the archers realised the uselessness of further shots and scurried forth out of the cover of the rocks and shrubs, another four bandits to aid their fellows with glinting swords. In the melee Ebri and Cord cracked a few bones with their devastating strikes, holding the bulk of the enemy at bay. 


With a thunderous rapport Sebastion drew and unleashed his brace of pistols at the armoured warrior assailing him. The pistol in his off-hand spat out a bullet that barely skimmed the man and sparked as it ricocheted off at an angle, but the double-barrel Ferechan-make hit full on to punch through the scale mail in two places, gore splashing down from the entry wounds as the sheer force sent his foe reeling with grievous wounds. With a muffled shout of both defiance and pain the man swung his bladestaff back up into guard position, showing he wasn't out of the fight yet, and with dangerous grace he entered into a complex series of strikes with his weapon; Kale, attempting to flank the man, found himself driven back a step or two just to avoid being slashed up and he couldn't get a solid hit of his own in, even as Sebastion met the other end of the bladestaff across his midriff, opening up a deep wound that hazed his vision with pain and even threatened to topple him off his horse. 


Wyshira called out a prayer for _sanctuary_ and then was quickly at Wolf's side, easily making her way through the confusion with the divine magic protecting her. Wolf's wounds, while bad, shouldn't prove fatal - but she couldn't tell what damage the poison she guessed was in his veins might inflict. 


The armoured archer, still reeling from Melisande's magic, kept his head down and in good cover, still looking back now and then at the figure approaching the fight on horseback. He uncertainly notched his bow, unwilling to loose another arrow into the fray just yet lest the newcomer be hostile and set upon him by surprise. 


Those looking out in that direction could see now that the rider approaching looked bulky, armoured. He closed the distance with great speed, the reason for which rapidly became clear; it was a man in full plate armour, riding a large warhorse which was covered in almost as much armour as the man atop it. Black armour, and a fully closed helm, all covered in elaborate detail which would need closer scrutiny to make out properly. In one hand was a hefty battleaxe and in the other, a pistol.


The man and horse thundered past the archer who hesistated, unsure of what to do, even as the knight flung himself from horseback with amazing ease and grace for a man in that much metal. He raised the pistol, a flash of light and noise and a cloud of powdersmoke as he fired it at the red-armoured archer, scoring a brutal hit on the man's shoulder, then easily shoving the pistol back in a belt hung round his waist and turning to put an axe in the nearest bandit. The warhorse ploughed on without him, hooves pummelling one of the would-be archers into the dirt. Despite the ominous black plate, the newcomer did not, so far, seem hostile to the band from Naseria.


----------



## Greybar

Carnifex, you have another reader... I got sucked in from your post to Piratecat's.  I suppose sooner or later I'll have to go back to the beginning read forward!
-john


----------



## Carnifex

I suppose that was some pretty shameless pimping even by my standards  Always glad to have another reader 

Update coming soon...


----------



## Carnifex

The fists and feet of Cord and Ebri, along with a spray of _lesser acid orbs_ from Burl, were driving the bandits back, and with the fire serpent hissing and attacking too their morale was quickly crumbling, seeing their leader in red armour assailed by more of Melisande's magic. Even then the warrior still stood, moving after Sebastion as the Huronese man brought round his own two-bladed weapon to bear.


They met with a clash of steel as the whirling bladestaff struck out again and again, Sebastion managing to fend off attacks with such strength behind them that the blades sparked as they met. On the defensive, Sebastion saw an opening and struck down hard, blade biting through an unarmoured spot and sinking into the red-armoured soldier with a spurt of blood.


The two-bladed sword seemed to thrum in his hand.


His breathing ragged from effort as the bladestaff-wielding foe slid off his weapon to crumple on the ground, Sebastion's vision seemed to fog momentarily, blood rushing in his ears.


* * *


Heavy armour enclosed him, the smell of blood and smoke thick in the air and the cries of battle on the wind. He pulled the double-blade back, letting the red-armoured soldier slide off it; the sword thrummed eagerly, the enchanted weapon having pierced easily through the scale mail. To either side of him other Huronese warriors clashed with more of the red-armoured troops, blades clamouring. The sandy red earth was being tainted a deeper crimson by the blood of the fallen today.


Beside him a huge, metal shape thundered past, smashing the red-armoured ones aside like ragdolls; the steam-powered armour of the Black Knight belching out smoke as he came to their aid, massive axe clenched in one powered fist. Further back, the wizard yelling to him. "Commander Cornell, step back! Alban, step back! The Flame Guild are going to fireba.." the ground shook nearby as fire ripped forth, the battle-lines thrown into complete confusion, and he staggered...


* * *


The din of combat faded around Sebastion as he blinked away the red mist and the momentary vision; the few remaining bandits fled as the black-armoured warrior cut down another with his axe, but the Huronese man was left atop his horse, which whinnied fearfully and trotted around uncertainly in the carnage, the blade still feeling strange in his hands.


* * *


Wyshira's attention was focused almost wholly on Wolf as he lay twitching and convulsing in the dirt. She was sure now that the red-armored man's arrows had poisoned the tough mercenary; and that it was the poison that had incapacitated him, not the wounds themselves.


Trying to hold him still with one hand, Wyshira reached with the other for Wolf's neck, feeling with her fingers for the throb of his jugular vein. She whispered the words of her spell, pumping divine energy into him which would lock away the poison in his system and prevent it from doing further harm. Lock it away, but not banish it. It would become active again when her spell wore off, and she could only hope that a cure could be found before then.


Wyshira muttered her prayer over Wolf as the bandits fled; the red-armoured archer seemed to have made his get-away too having seen the ambush crumble. As the spell took effect, the ravaging poison seemed to halt its rampage through the ranger's system, and his comatose form seemed to calm a little, the twitching stopping. Around her, the groans of the wounded and dying bandits arose.


The black knight whistled from within his helm, and the mighty warhorse he rode gave up chasing down bandits to obediently hurry back over to him. With clamouring footsteps he strode to the travellers, axe stowed back at his side and apparently with no hostile intent. The black armour was full plate and elaborate though even this close it was hard to make out the designs, but the amulet he wore round his neck was crafted of a small ruby, artfully depicting the emblem of Urazel, a dragon coiling around a flaming brazier.


He reached up to remove his helm; his face youthful but fine-featured and a head of cropped fair hair, smiling grimly.


"Hail and greetings," he said with a nod of acknowledgement. "Angelo Dar'Averask, Black Knight Novice of Zhatan, at your services, good people." His smile became more friendly. "I was hunting those bandits. It seems you were less on the way of easy pickings than they thought, from your display of defence."


----------



## Carnifex

Next updates are probably coming Sunday; gaming tomorrow and being lazy today 

However, I may post up the solar beholderkin before then...


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## Broccli_Head

Yup! I remember that battle.

Poor Wolf.


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## Carnifex

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> Yup! I remember that battle.
> 
> Poor Wolf.




Yep; the Red Talons really had it in for him  Toasting the Gilamee operation in Tarravus *may* have been what they were after him for, but the party just don't know enough about Wolf's background yet to be sure


----------



## Angcuru

Just finished reading the first page.

Reaction:   

That world man...you should publish it.


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## Carnifex

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Just finished reading the first page.
> 
> Reaction:
> 
> That world man...you should publish it.




Cheers man  That's kinda what's happening - Steam & Steel is me publishing the steamtech side of things, the Biothaumaturgist's Handbook is hopefully to be the biothaumaturgy side of it... I'd really love to publish it as a full setting one day, but that a) requires a lot more experience and demonstration of skill on my part and b) requires a hefty reworking, since metaplots aren't always good in published settings and this world has some serious metaplots going on 

Cheers for the comment though!]

*scurries off to read Angcuru's SH*


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## Carnifex

Mel rubbed her hands on the front of her dress to get rid of the arcane tingling, even though she knew it was more in her mind than in her palms. Wide-eyed, she glanced around to be sure the bandits had all taken flight. Her heart was still racing.


Next she took quick stock of the group: Wyshira was with Wolf; the only other wound she'd seen someone take was Sebastion's.


He was still in the saddle, but his glassy-eyed stare did not look promising. Brow furrowing in concern, Mel jogged over and caught his horse's reins, and gave him a tentative pat on the knee. "Hey, you all right?"


He did not respond. Although worried, she hesitated to interrupt Wyshira--it was clear the horizontal Wolf was more in need of a priestess than the vertical Sebastion. _Might as well get in line,_ she thought, and began to walk his horse toward Wyshira. Mel was just reaching out to nudge Sebastion again a little more firmly when the black knight strode up and diverted her breezy attention completely away.


"Well, I guess we were _all_ lucky, then," she said, returning his nod. "Hail and greetings to you too, and thank you."


"To rely, even partially, even with a casual tongue, upon luck is neither effective nor rational..."  Ebri murmured, not heeding whether others listened, but unable to keep from recalling the lesson. Her eyes were fixed on the corpse at her feet, and the blood pooling beneath it, the small but lethally efficient wound her kama had made in its chest. She took it in, as aware of it in its dying as she had been of its threat.  "We were not _lucky_. We were the more skilled."


Its blood coated her blade to some three inches. _Is this then the nature of reality?


When reality punctures the heart, the illusion of the body-- then there is no healing from it; the illusion cannot re-form..._


"Wyshira," Ebri went on, her voice unvaried in tone and monochromatic, as if she were preoccupied, and wiped her blade on the hem of her tunic. "are your efforts sufficient to stablize the mercenary? If not I should be willing to render aid. Otherwise I will attend to Sebastion's wound."


If she took notice of the newcomer, there was no sign of it for now.


Wyshira's pale hair fell like a curtain over Wolf's still form as she bent close to him, concentrating single-mindedly on the task of determining his condition. The spasms had stopped, but his skin was still a sickly grey hue. The poison waited in his veins still, held at bay by her spell; but it was only a matter of time before it wracked his body once again. At least he breathed normally, and his wounds no longer bled freely.


Realizing that there was nothing more that she could do for Wolf at the moment, the priestess sat back with a deep sigh. She hunched her shoulders, trying to relax the tense muscles, and then finally looked up and around at the battle field. While one half of her mind worked on the problem of the poison in Wolf's body, the other half took in the scene: each of her companions was safe and accounted for, although not necessarily unharmed; the bodies of several of the bandits lay dead and/or dying nearby, but she saw none on their feet; and a strange, black-armored knight stood with his helmet in his hand, talking casually with Melisande. Wyshira couldn't focus on the words being spoken, but it was obvious that the man posed no threat to the party.


Ebri's calm voice called out to her, and Wyshira was relieved to hear it.


"Ebri! Yes....... I mean, no! I -- I... Yes, I have him stablized. But those arrows that hit him were poisoned. I've delayed the effects with a spell, but when it wears off, it will become strong again, and may kill him. I have nothing to help him. Do you have something? Some antitoxin maybe?


"Does anyone have any antitoxin?" 


"And of Wolf's skill?" Kale murmored to himself with bite, in retort to Ebri's comment about luck and skill. "Is that why _he_ lay here dying?" He looked to Ebri in frustration. "You can heal. You're skilled. Tell me- if Wolf lived or died, would it be your skill that accounts for it? Or is this where you start talking about 'luck' and 'fate'."


Luck, of course, had everything to do with who got to draw fresh breath- any talk of skill was simply vanity. Kale spared no glance for the Immar woman: she was good in a fight, if only she'd stay silent afterword.


There was venom in his words, while an odd fatalistic detachment served to mute the effect, if only slightly. Kale did not share Ebri's meritistic philosophy, but if he could use it to goad a bit more energy in her assistance, then the woman's words might be worth something after all.


Skill was a thing hard-earned. Few people who spoke truly knew of it. Kale simple knew enough to acknowledge he didn't have it. Angelo was an incredibly skilled warrior, yet still a 'Novice' to those who knew. Wolf was a skilled survivor, yet there he lay dying before them all. As for the Ebri and the company's 'skill'...


Luck, of course, would be the only thing that could save Wolf. Kale saw the power of the poison that had gripped him- the man would be dead soon without help... and the executor of his fate was the only one who escaped. Luck, fate, call it anything but skill.


"No doubt you are overwrought--" the dark squat priestess answered softly to Kale's bitter words, as if explaining to a confused child. "As you can see, Wyshira is tending to him, and I have offered to assist her. It would be pointless to waste our combined magical energies when it is either not needed, or beyond help, and so leave nothing in reserve should we be attacked by an additional force. For all we know, these pitiable souls--" she inclined her head toward the fallen attackers, "may be scouts, an advance force to test us. Unlikely, I grant, but possible. And I suggest to you again that luck is an antiquated concept that fosters ill-preparedness. Now I beg you to excuse me while I consider what little I have learned of poison--"


Turning on her heel, Ebri approached Wolf and the crowd that hovered about him with a measured thoughtfulness. Excuse me a moment--" she murmured, touching Wyshira on the shoulder and squatting down next to the stricken mercenary. I will see if I can identify the poison, at least. Some have obvious signs. " She peered into his face, and, explaining to him what she was about to do prior to each action, pulled back an eyelid, checked his tonge, his pulse, and smelled his breath and the blood on his clothing that had leaked from the wounds.


Hearing both Wyshira, and then Kale, ask for antitoxin, Burl searched his memory of herbal remedies. He remembered being told Ashgar Bark. This bark when prepared into a powder form and rubbed into a poisoned wound would both neutralize the poison and bring some healing help to the one who was afflicted.


“This is a long shot, but if we could find some Ashgar bushes, we might be able to help Wolf. The bush is common to hills and mountainous areas.” Burl then went on to describe the bush. “How much time do we have, Wyshira?”


Ebri could see that the man was strong. Asgar bush would do it, in all probability, especially if combined with a much diluted extract of datura. So she judged, reasonably confidently. Both of which she had, sealed in papers and sewn into her tunic. That was not the question, but rather...


She looked down gravely at the man they called Wolf. He lived seeking profit from his skill with weapons. _How much gold do you hold your life worth, when it comes to it? _Wolf was an apt name; to live in that manner, with no overarching purpose, chasing the meaningless profit of a sordid world-- one would be closer to a beast than a person. But that, too, was immaterial. Wolf's morality was not the issue, but rather _expediency._


In the abacus of her mind, she began to tally the various factors.


Should he die, the others would insist on burying or, possibly, burning him, though burying was more likely on account of the smoke and obvious sign of their presence that would result. Yet, if he lived, he would still be weak; they would have to coddle him and would still be slowed. In any case, time was not particularly pressing, and so the factor of time was of little consequence.


_His death will cause them to grieve; this will make them more tightly bound together. They will experience a sense of shared purpose and renewed resolve, most likely. _There was also the not insignificant fact that the loss of the charismatic leader would make them more vulnerable to manipulation. Though she was unpopular with Kale, she knew the others found her competent and reassuring, and admired her martial skill. She could expand that impression if she exerted minimal effort.


On the other hand, the mercenary, in spite of all, was handy in a fight. She had her ward to think of, first of all, and they had been in enough danger not to think it would be abating any time soon. And his leadership took pressure and the glare of attention from her, leaving her relatively free of action and peripheral-- this also could be useful.


And, if she felt unpopular with the younger mercenary, Amegrion, it was clear that producing an antidote and saving his life could only improve his estimation of her. _It might be worthwhile to address that issue before it grows unwieldy, his irritation. Debt has a way of mollifying annoyance and resistance._


Wolf also had contacts... but then, so did she...


She mused, pondering, and stood to give way to Wyshira once more. "As you see, his situation is quite dire..." Wolf shivered, probably a chill from the sweat that slicked his skin. _Do you know I have your life in my hands, beast-man?_ she wondered, more curious, detached, rather than taunting. "I am not as certain as our mage of the efficacy of Asgar bush in this instance. The remedy is potent, and in his weakened state, here in the wild-- In any case, I seem to recall reports that it is more useful for ingested poisons, as opposed to those induced into the blood. But I may remember wrongly. I will ask my god for wisdom, if you will excuse me, and perhaps it will become more clear." Remembering to offer a "reassuring" pressure to the other priestess' shoulder, she withdrew to a low rock nearby, closing her eyes, and settling with a few deep breaths.


For now, she would delay, and perhaps the better option would become obvious.


* * *


Sebastion reached out to grasp the reins, gently, settling the fracious mare with a firm grip of the knees and a reassuring touch, but his mind was somewhere else - somewhen else.


He was trembling slightly as he slipped out of the saddle, his knees almost buckling, and he was unsure whether it was the wound or the vision, or whether the one had instigated the other.


He transferred the sword to the other hand, having to forcibly will the whitened knuckles to release before he could. Wiping away the strange tingle left by the thrumming blade, he turned the sword over slowly to examine it more closely.


It was still the same sword, the same familiar weight and heft, but it felt different - which was plainly foolish. He must have been delusional - he'd heard of that happening, but that was for head wounds...


Finally he became aware Mel was beside him, talking quietly, and he turned to face her, his eyes still a little distant and vague.


"I saw... history? Something... these bandits... but not these bandits. An army, dressed like them..." Suddenly, he focussed, turning to face her fully.


"Does magic sleep?" 


"Well," she began in a happily pedantic tone, "To put it simply, there is potential magic and there is kinetic magic. To the uninitiated, potential magic may seem 'dormant' because it has to be nudged to become active. The most common forms of nudging are of course the words and gestures of spellcasting, but there are others. There's a thaumic field of potential magic everywhere, all through us and around us, and it can be caused to vibrate if you get the right harmonic of arcana--and that's called spellcasting. Objects like wands and amulets can also contain potential magic which must be triggered, usually by a word or an action. You're still bleeding. Ebri?"


There was some discussion going on over Wolf, the result of which was that Ebri Zol, seeming unconcerned, went of to meditate. Obviously Sebastion had been overlooked.


"Ebri, Sebastion needs some healing too. By the way, I _meant_ we were lucky to have had help from Sir Angelo here, and he was equally lucky to have had help from us, being alone in the face of so many dangerous bandits. That's luck, isn't it?"


Even as she finished speaking, her brow began to crease with a sudden thought, which of course she blurted out. "You believe in fortune, don't you, Ebri? Isn't Immar the god of travel and luck?"


_You still believe in luck, don't you...?_


A wave of moderately alarmed irritation passed over Ebri, and she opened her eyes slowly, as though she had been lost in meditation. _You have lost focus. You forget your own illusion amidst that of the world, and cracks begin to show. And they may be animals, but they are not unintelligent ones..._ she chided herself.


"It was surely a most positive combination of events..." she answered, hitching up her pants legs and rising to her feet. As for luck, that is harder to say. My apologies for the delay, Sebastion, but it seems my help will not assist Wolf significantly in any case, at least not my gifts from Immar... " She set about examining his wounds, expounding as she worked.


There are those, of course, who say that the very idea of luck, that any event can be random, is an affront to the gods-- a challenge to their sovereignty, and an implication that they are not in complete control of this realm of being; all events are either fore-ordained or decided and controlled by them in the moment they occur. Yes, even our own decisions and actions. Perhaps happily, this is not a widely held view.


Certainly, there are random events in the world, I believe, if you ask me. I do not particularly think Immar is concerned whether I eat wheat rolls or gruel to break my morning fast. And I take your meaning, though I had at first thought you meant we were lucky to defeat the enemy, and that gave me pause. I do think it dangerous and unhealthy to depend upon random factors or some impartial, uncaring principle when it comes to such things, when it is clear that skill and practice are the deciding factors. As I said, it fosters an unhealthy mental attitude.


But as for what you meant, that it was fortunate we came into contact with Sir Knight--" Ebri smiled, and took the opportunity to summon the healing energy, murmuring the appropriate words. that is an event that has significant meaning and consequence; otherwise the knight would have been outnumbered, obviously. And in such a case, I think it far from random accident. Rather than luck, I should say _beneficial agency_. Or so my faith tells me--" the monk concluded, grateful that despite its slavering dependence on the good will of idols, she had memorized this line of argument.


While Immar may be held by the common people to be a god of travel and good fortune, or as you say, luck-- those of us who worship him know that there is no such thing..." She strove to make her face serene. "...only his will, favor, and benevolence toward us and all who request his aid."


"We have... hours," Wyshira replied to the necromancer's earlier question, reaching for another roll of clean linen strips from her pack. "Maybe four." She inspected the bandages she'd made for Wolf, making sure that they weren't too tight.


"I can heal his wounds, almost completely I'm sure. But the injuries are minor really. It's the poison that's weakened him like this, and I can't cure what's been done. At least not now. In the morning I should be able to restore the damage, but the thing is, he may not make it till morning.


"I'm a fool. I should have had antitoxin in my kit. I -- I didn't think......" Wyshira couldn't finish. She bit her lip, then stared at Wolf, her face contorted with self-reproach. Finally, she shook her head slowly, and began to whisper the calming words of a healing spell.


----------



## Ruined

Ah, soon. Yes, soon.  *rubs hands anxiously*  Soon the new punching bag PC will appear.  =)

Looking good, Carnifex.


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## Angcuru

*finishes reading up to page 6*

_yet again_  

........wow.

*continues reading*


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## Carnifex

Next update will probably be tomorrow; I've had a really, really busy week so far, I'm afraid.


----------



## Carnifex

At Burl's command, the fire serpent crumpled to a pile of ash, the elemental returning back to its home.


* * *


Angelo looked around casually at the bandit-strewn path, reaching to take a waterskin off his belt and take a swig in the heat of the sun. The barded warhorse, a sizeable specimen that Sebastion recognised as a western Huronese breed of exceptional quality, meandered back up to its rider and nudged gently at him. The knight nodded at the dead red-armoured warrior that had assailed them with the bladestaff.


"Red Talon," he said by way of explanation. "I've seen them before; we sometimes have problems with them around Zhatan but all they need to do is hide away their weapons and armour and they are but men. Gilamees can go to and fro as they please through the eastern realms; that's why I prefer fighting goblins, they can't pretend they're not the enemy. There's a monastery, about a day's travel east from here, a Grumandic establishment that I was staying at when a traveller said he'd avoided some bandits led by red-armoured men in this direction yesterday." He took another swig. "I figured it might be Red Talons. The enforcers of the Children of Gilamesh."


He heard Sebastion speak confusedly and raised an eyebrow quizzically. "So you have seen Red Talons before. They're tough; it's a shame the other escaped. I'd like to know what two Red Talons are doing out here." Then the knight seemed to remember something and pulled the discharged pistol from his belt before setting about reloading it.


"If there is a monastery near here then we will be able to get ministrations for Wolf that might help with the poison, though if as you say your magic will not last for more than a few hours I fear we might not get there in time," Cord said gently to Wyshira, the blind monk squatting down next to Wolf. "It is not your fault you do not bear an antitoxin. I believe our ambush was no accident - the archer pinpointed Wolf and used arrows coated with venoms. This speaks to me that he was their target." A pause as the dwarf's face creased with sadness. "If the Red Talons are Gilamees, then perhaps this was done as revenge. After all, Wolf said that he had encountered slavers before. What if Tarravus was not the first operation of the worshippers of the Dragon Lord he had foiled?"


"Right. The Dragon Worshippers were appraised of Wolf's entry into the city, it's no surprise they were watchful for his departure. Wolf's had dealings in the past, though I'd say we're all involved now." Kale looked to the knight in explaination. The following would be an entertaining brag along the tavern rail with friends, but sour reality robbed accomplishment of its joy. "We eliminated a small cell of Gilamees operating underground Tarravus. They were slavers, but something more was going on. Stockpiles of equipment and magic all around, we... interrupted their plans a bit. This isn't the last we've seen of the Dragon followers, or their enforcers," Kale finished, accepting the path they'd have to follow.


Seeing the knight reloading his pistols sparked a reminder in Kale's thinking. Walking over to Melisande's mount, he replaced the spear he'd used, and tightly prepped another item. Tightly hilt-tied, he slipped a brigand's scabbarded sword opposite the spear. He regarded Melisande with a glance only long enough to warn precocious children from playing without supervision. Quickly, he made his escape back to his mount.


Red Talons. Old words sprung to mind. Kaverail Kavas: Bronze claws. They sounded like the names of rivaling neighborhood gangs. Azure blades. Blood Ravens. Take a cool color, add a menacing object, and you've got a team to kill and die for. Groups and factions and postures. Kale had departed from Iril and the armies and the merchanture and the houses, but the stink of them all could be felt over everything. The mercenary sighed. There was no escape, yet these very demons were the ones who put mutton in the pot. He watched as the surviving brigands recovered. All he really wanted was to be able to hold onto his simple conceptions: us against them. You fight me, I win, I take your stuff. Later, you're still alive? Let me buy you a drink.


"Why does it always have to get personal?" he murmored in wonder as he looked down at Wolf. "No, Wolf isn't too fond of slavers, and the other way 'round. It's not the worst cause to die for, I suppose..." _We led a dozen chained children out of those passages._


* * *


With Wolf lying nearby, unconcious and breathing weaky, Kale set to questioning the bandits that had survived. It didn't take much from him to work the story out of them.


They were brigands and sellswords - though they called themselves mercenaries rather than bandits - and the two red-armoured men had paid them for the ambush. The Red Talons wanted Wolf dead, it seemed, though the bandits hadn't been told why. The grim, armoured men had wanted the rest of the party killed too if possible, but it was Wolf who they most wanted down. Some of the men had seen the Red Talon archer carefully envenoming his weapons beforehand though again they knew not what substance had been used, for it came from an exotic glass phial.


At Ebri's suggestion of the band being advanced scouts, the Black Knight shook his head. "I am fairly certain there is no larger force that these men were scouts for near here; but you should still be careful as you travel. There are tales of unrestfulness amongst the viler denizens of this range and the caves beneath it. I have heard rumours of the dwarven settlements in the north Sarokeans engaged in fierce struggle with beasts there, though the tales vary wildly in their details."


At Ebri's comments about the fortune of meeting the Black Knight, Angelo gave a wry smile. "I had not known of the exact number out here, though when I saw you already embroiled in battle with them I came as fast as I can. I do have a few advantages against numbers though," he said, tapping the back of one metal gauntlet where the metal bulged out as if the armour contained something within. "Even this armour is heavily augmented with combat systems. Had it been a Brother-Sergeant of the Order here then mere bandits would not have stood a chance. Alas I am merely a Novice," he said with humility.


At Kale's invitation, the Knight nodded. "I might as well return to the monastery now that the bandits are dealt with, and leave on my path tomorrow. Most likely the archer has fled for good but Red Talons are determined scum and he might try to finish off your wounded friend."


On the ground Wolf stirred faintly, eyelids flickering open and his eyes moving groggily. He seemed unable to do little more than twitch and stir slightly, but he appeard to be concious.


"Red Talons," he whispered hoarsely and faintly. 


"Not any longer." Sebastion said, quietly, wandering around the area.


* * *


Ebri considered again, adding the new information about the Red Talons into the tally, and came around to stand above the fallen mercenary as the others saddled up and prepared to move out.


_If he dies, their target dies... removing the principle threat to the rest of us... _It was more than a little tempting, but facile. From what the interrogations had revealed, it was possible the Red Talons might decide to seek the rest of them out. _He clearly knows something of them, beyond our general encounter with the enclave of Gilamesh..._


It was the added bead that might tip a scale. The others were leaving to search for ashgar._ Decide, or you will lose any advantage you might accrue from this--_


He could live, for now. It left the most potential advantage, and his death would be final, while she could always choose to kill him later if she chose, if matters warranted at a later date. _Knowledge is power, beast-man--_ Her lips formed a tiny, very ironic smile for the barest second. _You're very lucky... if this works..._


She reached up for her kama, and raised her voice to cut through the conversations and preparations of the others.


"There is no need to seek the Ashgar bush--" she announced, her eyes fixed on the patient. She prodded him with a toe to judge his level of consciousness; it would determine whether she could administer the mixture orally or must use an alternate method. "-- I have that substance. You will do better to guard the approaches to our position and prevent an ambush. Or perhaps, should do, once we have removed to a less visible location. Do take care not to jar him unduly. I will need a vessel, or a container of some kind-- " she looked up, finally, and around at the rest of them. "A shield or an arm grieve will do if there is nothing else--"


Holding out the edge of her long shirt, Ebri slipped the end of the kama through it with a deft maneuver, shouldered the weapon, and ripped the small tear further. In her hand appeared two small paper packets. "Before you grow agitated--" Her words fell pointedly in Kale's direction-- "consider that while the nuts are pleasant and nutritious, the antitoxic decoction of the leaves is quite lethal if used incorrectly, especially in a weakened individual. " Fortunately, that was a true statement, and could be verified by them later." Having considered, however, I think it the best option of those few we have. If he lives, you may thank me for my lack of haste in this."


"Wait, Ebri. Let's be sure that he is strong enough to take the cure."  Wyshira produced a scroll from a case in her pack, and unrolled it. She sat cross-legged and rigid on the ground beside Wolf, and solemnly read the words on the parchment. As the scroll disolved into nothing in her hands, she intoned her question:


*"Will giving Wolf the Asgar leaf cure him of the poison, or harm him further?"*


----------



## Carnifex

Well, it still doesn't like me using the word Gilamesh_i_tes, does it?


----------



## Ruined

No! Not the dreaded fourth page!  *BUMP*


----------



## Carnifex

Woah, sorry 'bout that! I've had a really busy past week, both in terms of uni work and my spare time being taken up in writing submissions for an Enkwell open call.

Oh, and gawping at the excellent art that Squidhead's been doing for Steam & Steel - I implore anyone who reads this to check the Steam & Steel link in my sig and scroll down to check out the awesome examples that have been posted up so far.

Anyways, new update to the SH coming this week, hopefully tomorrow!


----------



## Maldur

And so endeth the sequence in which Ebri is revealed o be an irritating nit suffering from a superiority complex.



Great players.


----------



## Carnifex

There was absolute silence all around her. She heard no voice, no whisper, no impatient rustling of garments from those who stood watching. Not even the stamping of horse's hooves, or the steady hum of insects came to Wyshira's ears as she sat with bated breath and eyes closed. Either the whole world waited with her, breathlessly, to know Wolf's fate, or the augury spell wrapped her in a protective blanket of silence so that she would hear the answer when it came.


As was the manner of the spell, a simple divination that asked for some divine, but not infallible, guidance through a simple answer, it gave her a single word imprinted across her mind.


_*Weal* _


The word was an impersonal voice in her head, neither male nor female, young nor old. She let herself breath again, and the world came rushing back. She heard the creak of leather armor just above her; a nervous cough muffled behind a hand; the wind in her ears.


"It's all right!" she said, opening her eyes and looking up at Ebri with a smile of relief. "Go ahead and give him the Asgar leaf. The augury said _Weal_." 


* * *


Mel watched Sebastion move off and felt pleased at the simplicity of her explanation of arcane potential. That must have answered his question.


For a few moments she stood idly looking around the battleground and listening to talk of Red Talons. Everyone seemed to have something important to do. She wished she had that sort of initiative. Kale was as busy as a little bee, rounding up the survivors, and she even saw him strap a sword to her saddle! He gave her exactly the look she'd been expecting: _Don't run with it._ How could she be mad though? She smiled back in gratitude.


But the knot of worried faces over Wolf eventually caught her attention. She peered over Wyshira's shoulder. "What's going on?" she asked anyone who had time to answer.


"Wolf doesn't look good." _Oh, I hope no one heard that._


"Is there anything I can do?" Instinctively she looked for Kale. He always had a plan of action. Mel had the will, she just didn't have the plan.


* * *


With Wyshira having given the go-ahead, Ebri dosed the semi-concious form of Wolf with the substance. For a minute or two there appeared to be no effect but then it became clear that the man was slowly coming round to conciousness.


He weakly strained his neck to try and look around. "I feel like _sh*t_," he gurgled, attempting to prop himself up on an elbow and failing, too weak to move under his own strength and looking sickly still.


"Now ask me how you _look_," Kale murmured with a wry smile.


Wyshira wanted to hug Wolf, she was so relieved to hear him speak! She was worried by his extreme weakness though and wondered how things would go if the party was attacked again before she could restore his strength in the morning. There was still an archer out there somewhere with poison arrows and a grudge against Wolf.


"You say this monastery is a day's ride away?" she questioned, speaking to Angelo Dar'Averask for the first time. Turning to the others, she went on, "It might be better for us to find a defendable place to camp for the night, rather than try to make it all that way. In the morning I can prepare a few spells to help Wolf get some of his strength back."


The sudden realization hit Melisande that she no longer should be looking for direction from mercenaries; she had a Purpose now. She had to find something useful to do for herself. However, being no use as a scout or healer, it took some time for something useful to present itself. At last she homed in on Sir Angelo Dar'Averask.


"Well, Sir Angelo, I wish you'd teach my horse to come when I whistle like yours does. Look at her! Five minutes ago she was kicking with panic, and now she's eating again like nothing at all." (The irony of this observation was utterly lost on Mel.)


She took Sir Angelo's arm, mindful of the joints of his heavy, dark armor. "While we prepare our departure I'd like to hear all about your Order of Black Knights of Zhatan. I'm especially interested in knightly codes, oaths, things like that. And all the rest." She turned an earnest blue faceful of eager curiosity on him.


----------



## Carnifex

Next update - finally, the introduction of Cazamir!


----------



## Carnifex

BTW, check the Steam & Steel link in my sig to look at some of the excellent art that's been done for it


----------



## Ruined

Carnifex said:
			
		

> Next update - finally, the introduction of Cazamir!




Hurray!!


----------



## Carnifex

And here it is, the introduction of Cazamir Jan'Zhat 



When Cazamir had first been released from the strictures of the monastery, that cluster of sandstone structures deep in the southern Myrmecian Protectorate of Huron, he certainly hadn't foreseen that the path that lay ahead of him in life would result, at any point or in any place, in being faced with the spectacle before him now. Two old, bearded men, aged scholars and respected arcanists, arguing like little children to the point that they were actually pushing each other around. If they weren't his employers it would have been tempting to laugh out loud.


Erebius Montague, Arcanist-Majoris of the Drakkath Guild of Arcane Practitioners and expert in the field of pre-War Drakkath civilisations, gave Ullman Condrick, respected Professor of Evocation and renowned for his sizeable library of ancient lore that he had accumulated, a hard shove.


"Hah! You wouldn't know a pre-Arakan umbra-accumulator if an ancient Drakkathian hit you with it! That piece of junk you dug out of the Poranu swamp in the south had barely an ounce of actual machinery in it, and even my dog could tell it wasn't an umbra-accumulator. We know from the Cavanis dig that accumulators look totally different!"


"Always the close-minded one, Montague! Tacarus's treaties on the Cavanis dig was wrong on so many points I wouldn't be surprised if what he thought was an accumulator was just some Umbral privy. And _you_ never realised that Kuruundis was an Umbral deepdig, you claimed it was just kobold warrens. Hah! When myself and the esteemed Geuregus proved it's function as a military facility..."


"The _esteemed!_ Geuregus was _thrown out_ of the Guild of Arcane Practitioners not long after that! Ye gods, if I..."


"Gentlemen, gentlemen..."


As usual, one of the other greybearded sages on the expedition stepped in and split up the argument. It had been like this all the way. Always one scholar making disparaging remarks about another, or snidely sniping about some past mistake. And then they started shoving each other around when they got really heated.


It was worrying that these people were the ones who knew so much ancient lore. It was even more worrying to think they were all wizards, and thus quite possibly could hurl fireballs at each other if they got really wound up.


* * *


Cazamir had found his employment in Urkan, an unpleasant-sounding name for a hardly much more pleasant town in the southern Drakkath. The monk had been travelling north from Huron, passing east of thick forests that bordered Carthagia and were said to be the territory of gnolls, and west of swamplands that lay across some of Huron's northern border. Urkan was a little independent mining town to the south-east of the tail-end Sarokean mountains, and it was there that Montague and his half-dozen scholarly companions had offered him a basically mercenary task.


The greybeards were all old, respected members of the Drakkath Guild of Arcane Practitioners, their origins split amongst Adbar, Killanon and Corinthia. They were mounting an expedition to a particular site which was reputed to hold a pre-War structure of what they called 'Umbral' origin, an area in which these archaeologists had great interest (and all had their own theories and hypotheses to advance, of course). Despite the fact they all had at least a little arcane skill as wizards, their focus on histories and lore meant that they were hardly the most mighty of battle-mages, and they were willing to pay a decent amount of gold to hire some muscle to protect them. The Huronese had a reputation for being good warriors and Cazamir looked tough enough to fit their needs, so they'd taken him on for a bit of protection. They were giving him the pretty solid fee of five pieces of gold per week, better than military pay for even superior troops, with a bonus if they all got out of there in one piece and back home to the Middle Kingdoms.


Unfortunately it did, of course, mean he had to put up with their bickering. It seemed that once they hit a certain age, the learned men of the Guild of Arcane Practitioners seemed to believe that it became their right to act immaturely, as if the usual rules of society stopped applying to them. Not that they were anything other than polite to Cazamir, of course, but they argued with each other incessently. Each seemed to have written at least one book which all the others vehemently disagreed with.


* * *


"Look here," Johan said, stabbing his finger down at a point on the unrolled parchment of the map. Tall and stern-looking, Cazamir had tagged Johan as the authority of the band, the one with the most common sense. That much was apparent from the fact that Johan spent most of his time quietly in thought rather than debating the finer points of whether Carlus Mahenun's treatise on percieved Umbral traditions were rubbish or not. "A temple to Grumand, and an attached monastic chapter. We can get there by the end of tomorrow if we make good pace. Then it's only a day to the tower itself."


The others gathered round eagerly to examine the map, nodding and making sagely noises occasionally.


Cazamir sighed, watching the greybeards argue among themselves. It was nice to be the hired help and not have to be involved in their squabbles. He could picture his reaction if one of these older men were to shove him and curse to his face. He would leave the man moaning on the dust-strewn ground, and then he would have to face the accusations of the others. No, it was much nicer to stay quiet, invisible, and well paid.


The money these archaeologists offered had been the true selling point of his employment. Cazamir would have loved to claim loftier goals such as a great interest in the ruins these men sought, but there was no one to lie to save himself. When they began to rattle on about ‘umbral-this’ and ‘bio-that’, his eyes would glaze over. He was down to his last few coins, and this was one of few opportunities he could seize.


The Grumand monastery that Johan referenced caught his attention. He wondered what differences would be found in a place that worshipped the god of earth and strength. He was not as fast as some of the Urazelite warriors, but he could best many in feats of endurance and prolonged conflict. Perhaps he would be fortunate enough to test his skills against one of the Grumand initiates.


_If I can keep these fools from killing themselves first_, he thought, watching two of the archaeologists begin to argue over the map.


----------



## Carnifex

As a further note, Broccli_Head will at some point in the future be entering the game with what seems likely to be a gnoll ranger character


----------



## Carnifex

The collection of sages came to an agreement as they muttered acceptance of Joahn's proposal. Two days travel to the Grumandic monastery and then a single day to the tower itself; at least it meant that the journey would be over soon. They were surprisingly fit considering their age but this didn't stop them from complaining of aches and pains.


A hail came from over the next rocky rise, a figure silhouetted there. Jarvis, the other hireling of the sagely band, stood there waving at the party, indicating he had found a clear path down.


* * *


Jarvis was their tracker and pathfinder, a man of Naserian origin clad in travellers leathers and sporting a few discreet blades about his person. He could fight in a pinch, but the main reason he was there was to actually get them to the tower with the minimum of mishaps in the first place. Cazamir was there to deal with it if mishaps did occur anyway.


A fairly reserved individual, Jarvis generally kept quiet and to himself except when he needed to inform them of the terrain ahead and where to go. Other than that, the pathfinder generally let the sages well alone, as Cazamir did. He didn't seem to care much for scientific discussions.


* * *


The Sarokeans might have been a dangerous place but their rugged natural beauty could not be denied. The Grumandic monastery was placed high up a valleyside, the cluster of sandstone and granite structures looking down over the huge valley that fell away below, a stream splashing its way down bare, slicked rock nearby.


The monk, tracker and handful of sages made their way up the gravelly path to the monastery gates; the compound had a strong wall around it, and a single strongly built monk clad in gray-hued cloth watched carefully over the entrance, a woven basket by his side holding javelins. The watchful man stepped quickly out to meet the approaching party; a few moments talking with Johan and he seemed convinced that they were of no threat to the monastery.


"Please, enter our home and find yourself somewhere to rest." He gestured across the valley to where the sun would soon dip beneath the mountains. "Soon night comes, and we would offer you a place to stay and a meal. Travellers are welcome here, as long as you make no trouble for us." With that, they were admitted.


* * *


Within the compound, Cazamir could see that the buildings were not simply crude and simple constructions; he was not a student of architecture but much loving care and skillfulness had been put to use in constructing the temple and surrounding structures. The pillars which supported the overhanging front of the main temple looked like they were covered in tiny inscriptions and engravings, most likely of some religious significance, and carefully cultured gardens dotted the interior of the compound walls. Some were practical, clearly for food, and others seemed more aesthetic than anything else.


The lodgings they were given for the evening were not interior rooms; instead they were led by another of the grey-clad acolytes to a courtyard where two wings of a building met at 90 degrees, providing shaded cloisters and an open, sandy-floored area where a number of what Cazamir could only assume were other travellers were already set down.


Dominating the area was what looked like some sort of wagon. High-sided with armour plates and protruding various tubes and pipes from some sort of central machine, perhaps an engine, it's furnace seemed quiet for now; at the front two men were releasing the pair of large carthorses that must have pulled the contraption. Several other people, including women and children, sat on and around the wagon chatting idly. They were all clad quite strangely, in a mixture of clothes and equipment that included all sorts of metal trinkets and objects. Most of the adults wore goggles strapped onto their heads, currently pushed back onto their foreheads, and had various tools on their belts.


At the back of the wagon, two grey-robed acolytes tended to an injured member of the wagon party, another of the wagoneers hovering worriedly nearby. This man wore more tools and metal than the others, as well as carrying the paraphernalia that Cazamir had usually associated with those of the wizardly profession. Most surprising was the man's left eye; a wounded gouge where the jelly organ had been replaced with what looked like a bronze globe instead, though it seemed as active and used as his other, real eye. The injured man was laid out on a wooden table; though Cazamir could not see him clearly with the people in the way he looked to be unconcious.


Under the cloisters a few others sat or lounged; a small armed band that looked like mercenaries or hired swords consisting of two dwarves and three men, cleaning and polishing chainmail, axes and swords as they talked amongst themselves. Further down a lone man who oiled and maintained his crossbow and a brace of pistols, clad in tough travellers clothing and a heavy cloak.


The sages quickly moved to take a spot under the cloisters, unpacking some of their equipment. Some looked about with idle curiosity, others set to writing in their notebooks. 


Cazamir bowed to the sages as they made their preparations. “I will be nearby, should you gentlemen need my assistance.”


Freed from the graybeards for the moment, Cazamir wandered the courtyard, soaking up the various sights. He eyed the assortment of armed travellers, wondering if they posed any threat to the sages. He didn’t truly respect the sages, but he would not shirk his duty and let harm come to them.


Cazamir wandered past the wagon and stopped to watch the acolytes as they tended to the wounded man. He wanted to learn more about the monastery from these men, but this was not the time. The man with the odd gear and eye replacement hovered near by, catching Cazamir’s attention. He asked the man a question, watching his reaction.


“What happened to your friend, good sir?”


----------



## Carnifex

And another Cazamir update - we'll be getting back to Wolf's Company soon though... 




As Cazamir asked his question, the acolytes moved to slightly different positions around the afflicted man to tend to him, and the monk finally saw his arm.


It ended just below the elbow, where the flesh was horribly enflamed in livid colours. Beyond there it was metal, a facsimile of an arm in steel and rivets and segmented metal tubes that seemed to plunge into the man's actual flesh. Articulated parts would have let the arm and fingers move had a small firebox furnace incorporated in the design been alight. At the moment the metal prosthetic was cold and inactive.


The man with the bronze eye turned to look cautiously at Cazamir at his question, the metal globe swivelling in the socket to focus on him; he could see little metal plates moving at its centre under a glass layer, focusing on him with an almost inaudible whirring noise. Then the man nodded back at the stricken form in indication.


"Our man was injured badly, his arm mangled by some of those creatures that people round here call dreadspawn. We removed it and replaced it with a prosthetic but he has not taken it well, his body fighting in rejection. It would have been manageable but then the flesh there was infected by some affliction, and I hope the people here can help cure it or else the wounding might kill him." He coughed apologetically. "I apologise if perhaps you find the idea of mechanical prosthetics... alien in concept. We are Ironjacks, and we do not come from these kingdoms, we are but recently arrived." He scrutinised Cazamir a bit longer. "You look like you are one of the people I hear called Huronese, from the lands south of here. I have heard that you have wizard-thaumineers who make many marvels. Still we have found that our ways and our machines are strange to your people and the people of this 'Drakkath'." He paused. "Nonetheless I would prefer to be in these lands where we are strange to natives than in the lands we fled from. We were driven from our homes over the Azure sea, and cannot go back." 


 “So you Ironjacks seek to replace damaged parts of the body with machines?” Cazamir asked, oddly fascinated by the healing arts of the monks before him. He continued without turning to regard the bronze-eyed man beside him.  “You look to have been wounded a great many times, or are some of these changes by choice?”


“Interesting that you would bring your friend here, to a place that promotes purity of the body. I truly hope that they are able to heal the damage that has been wrought. I once studied at a monastery similar to this one, albeit of a different faith. I have learned to use my mind to bolster the body. So far it has served me well. Then again, I have not encountered these dreadspawn you speak of.”


There were a number of dangerous things in the world that Cazamir had not encountered. He kept his eyes focused on the man’s severed arm. Could he function with loss of a limb? Would he grow desperate enough to seek a replacement such as this, if healing were not available? He shuddered, forcing the thought to the back of his mind.


“Tell me, what could force you from your lands? I do not wish to pry, but I am a traveller. I find it better to know what dangers lurk about, even if they are a great distance away.”


The Ironjack wizard pondered for a moment. "We do not _seek_ to replace parts of the body with machines, at least most of us do not, though there are... some who think that desireable. No, most of us Ironjacks merely believe in the usefulness of crafting mechanical prosthetics as replacements for limbs and organs damaged beyond repair. There is risk in taking on a prosthetic and it is not something one does lightly. And since I have come to these lands I have heard of strange flesh-sorcerers called 'Manipulators' who can repair the damage to the body in ways that the healers of gods cannot, and I wonder how my Ironjack kindred will see this. Still, for an Ironjack warrior a prosthetic is a mark of pride, for it shows you have fought and experienced the dangers of battle. This," he pointed to his bronze eye, "I lost to the sanguinii."


"We once dwelled upon the western coast of the continent your peoples call Avora, over the Azure sea. There our rigs and settlements were a centre of glorious learning and craftsmanship. Yet even with the might of our sciences, we were driven out, refugees now from our own land, or at least those of us who survived. Dark beings we call the sanguinii - for they are blood-sorcerers and masters of dead flesh, and they drink from the flesh of others - came from further east, roused by the Elder gods. Once they were the servants of the mad Elders, and were but travellers tales to us, for we heard occasionally that they prowled the Azkhatu jungles still, and we were not prepared for their attack. We were not the only ones to suffer, but I fear we Ironjacks took the brunt of their fury. I lost my eye even as they stormed our rig; myself and the other men of the rig were attempting to hold them at bay that our families and belongings might be stowed onto our ships and dirigibles, and then we retreated too and left our home to be a palace to their festering minions. Many of us escaped, but there are many rigs we never heard from, and many of the treasures and sciences of our people are lost to them."


The wizard-mechanic stared at the floor gloomily. "We are a scattered people now, small caravans here and there across these lands. Few in number, and with no influence to really protect ourselves with. There are not many in these lands who take kindly to us and our machines, at least not for longer than it takes for them to buy designs from us." He brightened. "But we are still alive at least, and I have heard tales of a Mechanist-Superior having established an Ironjack enclave for us in the port of Iril, so I shall travel there and see how things fare. And some listen to our sciences in these lands. We Ironjacks are not defeated yet." 


“I am glad to hear that you are survivors,” Cazamir told the Ironjack. That earns my respect more than most. Your ways are still very foreign to me, not due to the distance seperating our cultures, but your ways are still very foreign to me, not due to the distance seperating our cultures, but in the ways we hone our bodies. I do not think less of you – I just do not understand the path you tread. Regardless, I hope your friend survives his current trial.”


He turned from the healing procedures and glanced at his group of greybeards, making sure that they were still busy in setting up camp.


“I have heard a little of these Manipulators you seek, but never have I seen one. Otherwise, I would gladly point you in their direction.”


“I have work ahead of me, but should you need anything Ironjack, please ask.” With the last words, Cazamir extended his hand to the Ironjack. He then stepped away from the wagon, allowing the monks more space to work on the fallen man.


_Many interesting travellers,_ Cazamir thought, _but I am not here to fraternize with them._ He glanced around, looking to see if any other acolytes were available to speak with. He found himself curious to see how the followers of Grumand lived, and what differences other than religion seperated the two groups.


----------



## Surielle Moonshade

So this is the game theRuinedOne has talked about for months? It looks good! I have a lot of reading ahead of me. =)


----------



## Carnifex

Surielle Moonshade said:
			
		

> So this is the game theRuinedOne has talked about for months? It looks good! I have a lot of reading ahead of me. =)




 Don't worry, coming up you get to see theRuinedOne's character, Cazamir, get battered, burned and generally knocked about a fair bit 

All I need say at this point is 'Crystal Eye' and 'critical hit' in combination with each other, I think


----------



## Carnifex

The Ironjack wizard took Cazamir's extended hand and shook it respectfully, nodding to the monk as he stepped away from the triumvirate of figures clustered around the injured man on the table. The other Ironjacks sitting on and around their ironclad wagon watched him cautiously but without hostility as he moved away in search of a Grumandic acolyte.


It wasn't hard to locate one who didn't seem to be immediately tied up in other duties. Every so often a gray-robed figure could be seen passing through the cloisters on their way from the temple to the living quarters or from gardens to storehouses, carrying a carefully tended plant in a pot or with a sack of harvested food slung over one shoulder.


Cazamir managed to get the attention of one man crossing the cloisters in what seemed to be the uniform gray colours that were worn here by the monks. Tall and well-built, skin tanned a healthy colour from working out in the sun, the man had a leather-strapped rack of what looked like weapons - sianghams and kama - slung over one shoulder, the weapons freshly polished and sparkling, while in the other hand he carried a small leather bag. The monk stopped and nonchalantly nodded in greeting to his Urazelite counterpart.


"Greetings, traveller. May I be of assistance to you?" he asked questioningly but pleasantly. 


Cazamir bowed to the grey-robed monk, locking his hands in the traditional Uzraelite style.


“Greetings to you,” Cazamir said, producing a slight smile.


“I have a question. Would it be possible for me to further explore the compound? I have studied at the Uzraelite monastery in Huron, and I an interested to see what elements our faiths share. I do not wish to disturb your bretheren, but rest assured I would be quiet and respectful within your halls.”


The Grumandic monk nodded at Cazamir's question, interest in his face. "Certainly, by all means feel free to look around our home. Of course there are some places that are only for our brethren to enter, but I imagine that the places which hold interest for you, you will find easily accessible."


As the monk headed onwards on his way, having paused longer only to give Cazamir a general direction towards the temple of the compound, the Huronese man was able to make his own way about. Meandering from the cloisters, he saw that many of the low buildings scattered around, constructed from granite and sandstone, seemed to be either quarters for the monks here, small windows letting him see in to the sparsely furnished interiors, or store-houses for the produce that the inhabitants grew from the tiered steps of crops and gardens that spread down the side of the valley below the compound. He could see the small figures of the farmer-monks down there now from the southern wall of the compound; the monks here seemed to value hard work and effort, and from their strong physiques it looked like they trained even harder to toughen themselves beyond what working in the elements did to one.


Round one corner he came across a sandy area, the ground sparse of the grass or gardens found throughout most of the rest of the compound. Here he saw a half-dozen of the acolytes, younger men and women in loose gray garments that watched a seventh figure intently. The tutor, a tough-looking man, squat and broad, stood before them speaking in commanding tone, occasionally running a hand over his bald head to sweep away a sheen of sweat. His face and bare arms looked like a scything slayer had played noughts-and-crosses on them, ragged scars running madly across his skin.


"Now watch! You step _thus_," and he swept one leg round into position, "and settle _thus_. Now, attempt to bring me down; I shall not strike back." One of the students tentatively stepped forwards, bringing to bear the kinds of movements that Cazamir found familiar, trips and attempts at throws or grapples. All the tutor did was throw the occasional timely block, never striking back offensively, and the student could not drop him, the older man's stance unyielding.


"One must be like the very stone and earth of Grumand itself. Unyielding, unrelenting. Let the enemy wash up against you like you are a wall to his strikes, such that he cannot harm you."


Moving on from the training lesson, Cazamir found himself at the entrance of the building that the monk had indicated was the temple to Grumand here. Larger than the other structures around it, solidly built and founded; within the wide doorway it was gloomy and dark, cool, moist air flowing out towards him.


Within was a wide space, not ostentatious but instead simple in its furniture and embellishments. At the far end was the altar to Grumand, a stone-ringed pool of water from which sprouted upwards what could only be one of the natural rocky growths that formed deep in mineral-rich caverns, water from the ceiling above dripping down onto it in quiet serenity. He couldn't see where the water was coming from, as it simply seemed to come from the rock itself; then he saw a bronze pipe running up one wall, and doubtless there was a steamwork pump nearby too that pushed the water up, from where it slowly diffused down though the porous rock. A tiny bit of a deep cavern, recreated here on the surface.


----------



## Broccli_Head

Carnifex said:
			
		

> As a further note, Broccli_Head will at some point in the future be entering the game with what seems likely to be a gnoll ranger character




Yup! That'll be me. Can't wait, though it will probably be about Jan. when I'm introduced.


----------



## Carnifex

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> Yup! That'll be me. Can't wait, though it will probably be about Jan. when I'm introduced.




Sadly this seems likely, especially as my 'holiday' this year is going to be very busy and also I'll likely have only patchy net access to run the game over 

Still, I must remember to get the gnoll race stats over to you sometime soon!


----------



## Carnifex

Not sure if there'll be another update from me this week - I'm fairly busy with work, not to mention that tomorrow I'm off to see Eddie Izzard live    Definitely an update early next week though at the latest.


----------



## Carnifex

Well, I'm afraid I've just been waaaaay to busy over the past few days to put up another update, which is a shame since the one I was planning to do is pretty important   The problem is that from tomorrow morning I head off to stay with my mother over the Xmas holidays, and the chances are that I'll have little to no net access - so it may be some time before I get to update again! If I do have a chance to post again some time soon, I'll take it - but if not, see you all after Xmas!


----------



## Carnifex

Well, I now do have some internet access, via the local library. Unfortunately, I can't properly access the game board at the moment, thus can't write more story hour as yet  It's probably the set-up of the library computers preventing me from seeing the board, but it might be more serious than that...


----------



## Angcuru

3 things :

NUMBER 1!! - This thread deserves a bump.
...
...
...
NUMBER 2!! - This story hour rules!  
...
...
...
NUMBER #!! - UPDATE!


----------



## Carnifex

Angcuru said:
			
		

> 3 things :
> 
> NUMBER 1!! - This thread deserves a bump.
> ...
> ...
> ...
> NUMBER 2!! - This story hour rules!
> ...
> ...
> ...
> NUMBER #!! - UPDATE!




Cheers mate  Unfortunately I actually can't update at the moment, as I can't even see my message board from these damned library computers. I will be able to update again when the webmaster upgrades my board format to a newer version that these computers can read, and which will happen after one of my players has copy/pasted lots of threads I need for the update and emailed them to me. Unfortunately she's just headed out for a few days of holiday, I think, so the wait continues...

Trust me, as soon as I can, I will update!


----------



## Carnifex

Yes, we're updating once again! While Cazamir and his band of squabbling sages have arrived at a monastery deep in the mountains, preparing to move on after a rest there to the site of an ancient tower that they wish to study, Wolf's Company are in dire straits. More precisely, Wolf himself is, having been severely injured and poisoned by an ambush led by Red Talons out to get him, and the rest of the party are now having to carry him onwards as they head to the nearest place they might get aid, a nearby monastery...

Also, they have now been joined by Sir Angelo Dar 'Averask, a Knight Errant initiate of the Order of the Black Knights of Zhatan who helped repel the Red Talon ambush. Asked by Melisande, the young sorceress now intently interested in anything involving knightly orders, codes of honour, and other things that might apply to her newfound sense of _Purpose_ (OOC: And her level in Paladin  ), the Black Knight begins to tell of the history of Zhatan...




The 'Wolf pack,' as Burl had mentally tagged the group, gathered itself together and prepared to move out, the now concious but still immobile Wolf slung into the litter. They headed off once again, the Black Knight with Sebastion on one side and Melisande on the other, both having shown interest in hearing more of the man's Order. 


* * *


"The Black Knights of Zhatan are, at the core, a religious order," Angelo began, the three riders keeping astride, horses plodding along. "Our origins lie with the dragon Zhatan, sainted warrior of Urazel." 


The knight told them the tale of Zhatan, an exemplar for the warrior followers of Urazel. In the early years of Huron as a nation, when Urazel had united them, they were beset from many sides by dangers and enemies, especially from in the west, beyond what are now called the Cliffs of Zhatan, where the goblins and giants of the wasteland dwelt as they had continued to do up to the present day. Most threatening to the fledgeling nation was a great gathering of the wasteland dwellers, many thousands upon thousands; sages in later years speculated it was caused by pressures from the far west and the expansion of some empire there. This horde cascaded towards the cliffs, heading towards the central pass - where now the Tower of Zhatan stands guard. Zhatan was a red dragon, a servant of Urazel who had allied with the Huronese and aided them in battle. 


Unlike many dragons who were arrogant or evil, Zhatan saw great things in the structure of Huron he observed being built, and thought with sadness of it being burned and destroyed to become nothing but dust. He held the pass alone against the horde, letting the garrison flee back to gather the armies that were camped on the Kiur plains. 


It is recorded that in that battle Zhatan, the mighty red dragon, slew twenty seven thousand foes. 


When his muscles and flesh gave out, blades and spears and spells tearing his scales and wings, he fought on even then, infused with the power of Urazel. When the armies arrived three days later he was still fighting, and the leaders of the horseman tribes saw the enemy flee, and the dragon finally collapse. 


The cult of Zhatan had grown strong, and several hundred years ago the Black Knights were founded as an order of templars to help defend the Tower of Zhatan and the pilgrimage routes in the area. They grew, to their embarrassment, quite wealthy. The rich and poor alike made donations from piety and a wish to gain influence with the Church, and the Black Knights success in several battles against raiders brought them the favour of high-up ecclesiastics. Nonetheless the tough life of the Order - a life on which ones own safety was not a concern, but an afterthought to the safety of the Church, Huron and those who wished to live their lives in peace - meant that in numbers it did not grow. Then one of the grand masters many years ago took a chance and ploughed much of the wealth they had accrued but had little need for into the research of a single genius thaumineer-mechanic. 

The result was Dragon Armour, large, powered suits of metal and weaponry capable of smashing enemy battlelines and crushing foes underfoot. With it, the Knights became one of the most feared and respected military forces on the battlefield anywhere. Angelo spoke of how once he had finished his time as a novice, he would be himself trained in the use of the sacred armour. 


The Black Knights provided both an additional buttress to the control of the Commander of the Tower over the sprawling mass of Zhatan, as well as guarding and defending the eastern border of the nation; many Black Knights would become, over time, experts of the terrain east of the Cliffs as they aided expeditions into the wastelands. At the centre however, their ethos remained one of a knightly order. 


A Black Knight was expected to be humble and helpful to those in need, and to uphold the good of society and faith. Keeping law and order in Zhatan formed part of the duties of any knight stationed in the Tower. Furthermore, a Black Knight remained free of the earthly things that could blind others, seeing the world with the clarity afforded with not being bound by greed or wealth or lands, not being driven by petty desires and employing farsightedness in planning. Black Knights were often praised for being expert tacticians. Unfortunately they still had to obey their religious superiors, and this sometimes led to disputes between the Grand Master and senior clergy. 


* * *


The day was growing old; soon they would need to decide to either stop for the evening and rest, or to press on to the monastery even in the increasing gloom. 


The lingering magic that Wyshira had cast over Wolf to hold back the poison finally ended. 


* * *


Wolf, who had been idly watching the world go past him from the litter, suddenly gave a strangled cough, muscles twitching and spasming as the poison ate into his system once again. 


"Oh no! Stop! Stop! Wyshira cried out, halting the progess of the party as it made its slow way along the mountain trail. Wolf's head and limbs began to jerk uncontrollably again, and his face became livid from the poison's renewed assault. 


"It's the poison again!" she said, kneeling beside the mercenary and trying to keep him from flinging himself off the litter. It was the only thing she could do for him now, other than pray, which she also did - fervantly and whole-heartedly. 


_Lady! Don't let them win! He is a protector of the weak.... a good man. Don't let the Gilameshtes take him from us!" _


Kale's heart sank at the sound he heard behind. He didn't want to look. Keeping his eyes on the lengthening shadows, the mercenary waited until they knew more.


* * *


Melisande rode along unusually pensive after Sir Angelo's story. A red dragon who sacrificed himself for some greater purpose--a tiefling who had gone against his demonically tainted nature to serve good--for Zhatan and Klavius, it had been an uphill struggle. For Melisande it should have been downhill, but it felt difficult. She'd been frightened by the Red Talons and their bandits in spite of all the resolve she'd worked up in the last few days, and though the fear had dissipated rapidly when they'd won the battle, it was not gone. She peered apprehensively over her shoulder at the prostrate Wolf. 


Now that she had been filled in on his true condition the fear and doubt were coming back in force. That sinking feeling in her gut that the group was going to be stranded in the Sarokeans without his expertise and guidance reappeared from its first acute manifestation the moment he'd fallen from the saddle. She's been afraid for herself and the group them; now she was afraid for Wolf. He was moaning and sweating on the litter, his organs failing under the onslaught of poison. Poor Wolf! If only there was something she could do. There was no sorcery in the world that would help him, though. He was in the hands of healers and their gods alone. 


She reached up to clasp the gold pendant of Naskha at her throat and improvised a futile prayer, although she knew that if the combined efforts of Ishrak, Immar and Grumand were of no avail her own pleas to a god she knew little about wouldn't make a difference. _Please help him. I don't know much about Wolf but I know he's a good man and if the Red Talons of Gilamesh think he's worth assassinating, isn't he worth saving? _


"We have to go faster," she said, her voice tight with worry. "Maybe someone should ride ahead with him." Mel looked first at Sir Angelo, who had the best horse of the lot, and then at Kale, who for many reasons was the most deeply concerned with Wolf's fate. 


"An excellent suggestion..." Ebri murmured, somewhat distractedly. "Let us go. While there is the possibility of another dose of the ashgar, it carries substantial risks. Speed would serve us better." 


Even as the others talked, Wolf continued to twitch and spasm, venomous poison working through his veins, tearing into his nervous system and sending him into strangled coughing. His eyes staring out unseeingly, the veteran began to gasp desperately for air as his own muscles closed up round his throat, veins standing out against his skin. 

With a death rattle, the last of his life ebbed from him and he slumped, suddenly relaxed once more; the Red Talon's poison had done its work at last, and killed Wolf Kieresane.


----------



## Broccli_Head

I think I cried when I first read this   

...or was I peeling onions. 

Well, now the characters are on their own. No more Wolf to save them. Can't wait to re-read the continuing events.


----------



## Angcuru

Welll....damn.     Stupid poison. 
Man, is Kale going to be upset if he learns how Ebri is inadvertently involved in this.   

I can only imagine how chaotic things are going to become without Wolf to lead the way.  

I sure would like to get in on a game like this.   Hopefully someday I'll find a group that actually roleplays, not just ROLLplays.


----------



## Carnifex

Another update from me  Hopefully I'll be able to keep up a good rate of posting. Today's update, we see the aftermath of the death of Wolf, and the reactions by the different members of the band to the traumatic loss of their leader...





Wyshira knew in her heart what was coming, almost as soon as her spell wore off and she heard that first strangled cough; but when Wolf's throat finally closed and he gasped his last tortured breath, she could only stare in shocked disbelief as his life slipped away. "He's gone," she whispered numbly. How had it come to this? 


She had failed, failed, failed.... She had not been skilled enough, had not been vigilant enough, had not been properly prepared to care for the crew. She had let their leader die. 


Looking away from Wolf's frozen, pain-contorted visage, Wyshira lifted her tear-streaked face to gaze upwards at the darkening sky.


* * *


The last rattling breath, and the subsequent hushed halting stillness of her companions came to Ebri's ears, some hundred yards up the path, as she scouted for the most efficient route. _The matter is decided, then--_ she thought, noting at the same time a patch of pau'ti berry by its fragrant, jasmine-cinnamon like smell. Rather appropriately, the fruit was often used in preparations for the dead, to cover the smell of decay. _A veil, another cover, to aid in the pretense-- to avoid the uncomfortable reality of death and loss. _Ironically, such delusions never brought the comfort they sought; avoiding reality only kept the mind enslaved, asleep, wandering in its own illusions... _And your mind is wandering, as well-- and this line of thought is neither efficient nor useful nor timely--_ she brought herself up short, and made quickly for the others and the camp. 


There was a very narrow window of time, now, for what happened in the next moments would determine the group dynamic for possibly months to come. The mercenary's death would cause a gaping hole in the group's leadership and decision making and direction-- _How to direct things best, now?_ Her mind cast quickly through the host of options, as she flew down the path. 


_They will turn to Kale, now-- and he will feel himself both honor-bound and justified. The mantle of leadership will fall upon him by his connection to Wolf._ That had both troublesome and useful implications._ It would be best to acknowledge his leadership, and direct the course of events as subtly as possible..._ It was unlikely, in any event, that they would follow her, nor did she want it-- the scrutiny would hamper her severely. 

So thinking, she came into the circle of light, garments fluttering with haste. "He is gone, then--" she observed, and let her body take on an appropriately subdued and respectful attitude, as she came to stand at his feet. "Immar bless your feet, Wolf Kieresane, and speed you upon the Road," she murmurred, loudly enough for all to hear, but as if she were praying privately. She then looked directly at Kale. "What would you have us do? Do you know aught of his wishes?"


* * *


It was Pierre, whom Melisande had asked to contribute a couple more pairs of eyes and ears to scouting ahead, who first noticed no one was following. Mel reined in her mare and looked back, vexed. Didn't they understand there wasn't time to discuss this? 


But turning back toward the knot of somber people around Wolf she had time to realize what must have happened, and dismounted slowly. Her face had gone pale as a winter sky. 


So far her adventures with her new friends had been just that: adventures. People had been hurt--including herself--and they had lost Sandslipper to some strange disease, but the whole thing just got a great deal more serious as far as Mel was concerned. Of course since they met Klavius a few days ago her attitude had already changed profoundly; Wolf's death was a sobering confirmation that quests (as opposed to adventures) were deadly serious things. The ranger had been on his own quest apparently, and here was its end: ignoble death by poison in the mountain wilderness on what Wolf probably considered a routine job for some Naserian noble. 


Did a variation on this theme await every one of her companions? 


She moved up to peer over Wyshira's shoulder. It felt very strange and final to see Wolf lying so still. Tears were welling up in her eyes, but a foolishly tenacious part of her did not want to accept this. 


"There are priests who can raise the dead. I've heard so many stories about them. And don't they usually live in places like remote mountain monasteries? If we-- if we--" She heard herself sounding hysterical and covered her mouth to keep any further ranting on the inside. It sounded painful in the face of the real grief some of her companions were experiencing. Realizing this, Mel put a hand on Wyshira's shoulder, with one versatile phrase for many of the feelings of the moment. 


"I'm sorry." 


* * *


Bowing his head slightly as the death rattle started, Sebastion thought for a moment of what he had learnt from the experienced man. Side by side they'd stood and fought - not a thing you could go through and not learn a little something of each other.


Not far off, Burl, seemingly shocked into desperation by the death of Wolf, began frantically demanding that the healers do something, anything, to save the man. Hearing the recriminations start, Sebastion saw that perhaps some people needed reminding of how close they'd become over the last few days. Kale, of course, would be a slower, colder anger than Burl's, just as the Immarian's apparent indifference and flowery words would fuel it. What he'd really learned from Wolf, though, was that being a leader didn't mean telling everyone what to do, but in making them realise they could do it for themselves.


Bending down next to the corpse, he reached out to close the weather-worn eyes - surprised for a moment at how difficult that actually was - and pressed a coin into his left palm. 


"Burl," he said, quietly, looking up, "you know that Wyshira would have done everything she could to save him, just as you or I would." 


_Hopefully they will choose not to pick up on the fact I didn't include Ebri in that declaration... _


"He was a mercenary. He chose a life that placed him in harm's way, and accepted that death was a possibility. That's the life we've chosen, now. Let's try to live it like he did - well." 


"Sir Knight - do you know of anywhere we might camp for the night near here? I don't believe any of us will feel up to travelling."


* * *


Burl had lashed out. Lashed out with angry words at his closest companion in the band, Wyshira. Now as his grief was subsiding, he stood and walked to the priestess. Putting his arm around her shoulder, Burl quietly spoke to her. 


“Please forgive me for accusing you of letting Wolf die. It was only my grief that caused me to react to his death as I did. I know for a fact that you would give your life for Wolf to be standing here with us. You did all that was possible under the circumstances. All that is left for us is to continue on living each day in the hope that we will somehow be able to enact revenge upon those responsible for this. 


Wolf, you and Kale rescued me, possibly saved my life. I owe the three of you everything. I cannot rest until they are made to pay for this.” 



* * *


Kale's face slid as he looked to where Sebastion and the Black Knight sat mounted. He could still hear the frantic sputterings of waning life. In a short moment, one slow, fading breath later, it was all over. Death reflected in the eyes of those who saw- the young mercenary didn't need to look. 


Taking a slow, deep breath, it felt like he was breathing cotton. Waves of emotion washed over him, only over, as he parted the despair before him. Turning slowly to where Wolf lay, he looked on to a scene that hardly seemed to touch him. Something in Kale's eyes had changed, and as his companions commented around him, the mercenary simply observed the scene as an assigned professional. 


Burl vowed revenge, Sebastion offered transition and leadership, even Ebri offered a blessing. Wyshira and Melisande sank, but all Kale could see was a crew in need of a good camp for the night. He felt a storm, rumbling somewhere out of view, but it was just the more reason to get the crew situated and safe. There was work to be done. 


Deliberately, he walked to where Wolf lie, still and sleeping for the first time. Tiny details cemented in his mind- the still curl in his hair, the creeps of bloodstains fading in inches from vibrant red to a cold and crusty brown. The mercenary's chest lay still, while his strong, caloused hands set relaxed and empty at his sides. Kale set his jaw. The details weren't important. His friend, their leader was gone, and the crew would have to get along without. 


"What would you have us do? Do you know aught of his wishes?" 


"Nothing changes." Kale said out of place. "We make our way to our objective, after we visit the monastary to secure arrangements for Wolf. But now, we camp here for the night, and make way in the morning." Somehow, it was all very easy. The death of Kale's mentor simply brought about a cause and effect. There was no longer any rush, so why hurry? Besides, there was no reason to risk the horses to a bad step in the dark. Driving on would have been good to keep the company busy rather than dwell on their loss, but camping for the night was the practical decision. 


Carefully, Kale resecured his mentor for travel. Caring for someone's own body was an important responsibility, so he was sure to be gentle, while that raging storm seemed to crash overhead. 


Cord, the dwarven Grumandic monk, bowed his head and spoke a quiet, eloquent prayer to Grumand on behalf of the soul of Wolf Kieresane, the man who lay before them in death. Angelo watched, leaning on the haft of his axe, slightly back from the rest - he had not known this man, though he felt sad that a warrior who had obviously made an enemy of the Red Talons had died, and he felt it only right to let the others be close to the body to pay last respects. At Sebastion's question he could not give a good answer since he had not needed to camp in this area before; though he could understand why they might not have the energy to go on to the monastery now. Then Kale seemed to have made the decision to camp pretty much where they were for the night. 


Night grew thick and oppressive over them, a small huddled band of travellers around a fire, the body of a companion lying there nearby and each with their head full of thoughts, some very different to others.


--- 


Watches were set, Wolf's pot sat boiling over the fire, and the camp was secured for the evening. Burl sat a ways off studying him tome by candlelight. Creeping shadows moved across his face as Kale approached, crouching for a moment. "You know of easing the journey to the afterlife?" the mercenary asked, not sure what he believed himself. But Burl was the authority on death, and given the encounter with the ghoul-pack just a day ago, Kale thought it fitting to do whatever he could to insure wolf's rest. "I should like you to do what you can, when we get to the monastary... Wolf's body should pass through rigor during the night," Kale mentioned the added convenience. 


Stepping over to his cloak, Kale prepared for the evening. Tomorrow would be an unpredictable day. He and his companions would have to be ready, the mercenary concluded, just before he determined that he should get his sleep while he can. Deliberately, he shut his eyes and was soon asleep.


----------



## Angcuru

Hmm.  I expected more mourning, and less "Oh, my.  He died...  Tea anyone?" type of attitude.

But then again it has most likely not sunk in yet.

Hmm... that leaves Burl, Sebastian, Melisande, Ebri, Kale, Wyshira, and Cord.  Seven companions.  And with the up and coming addition of Cazamir, that makes Eight.  Eventually mister gnolly forest-ranger-type will show up, maybe not as a party member persay (i foresee a bit of tension with the addition of a beast-man) but makes it nine companions.  _You shall be the Fellowship of the..._ *insert thingy*  .

I would so love to get in on this game.


----------



## Carnifex

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Hmm.  I expected more mourning, and less "Oh, my.  He died...  Tea anyone?" type of attitude.
> 
> But then again it has most likely not sunk in yet.
> 
> Hmm... that leaves Burl, Sebastian, Melisande, Ebri, Kale, Wyshira, and Cord.  Seven companions.  And with the up and coming addition of Cazamir, that makes Eight.  Eventually mister gnolly forest-ranger-type will show up, maybe not as a party member persay (i foresee a bit of tension with the addition of a beast-man) but makes it nine companions.  _You shall be the Fellowship of the..._ *insert thingy*  .
> 
> I would so love to get in on this game.




It does take a little time for the death of Wolf to fully percolate through their conciousnesses  Of course, not everyone there necessarily has reason to be sad at his death...

And later on, it ain't just a fellowship of 9. With all the NPC's bundled in, there's a point coming up where the party numbers literally dozens 

Only for a short while though, because then the SPOILERS SPOILER, and their SPOILERS SPOILERS... well, it just ain't pretty.

I seem to have an auto-spoiler lock on the keyboard


----------



## Carnifex

With the next day came fresh travel, fresh movement across the rugged, jagged Sarokeans that had so far claimed one victim within their confines from the band.


Sebastion rode stiffly and gritty eyed, suffering from the lack of sleep. With Kale, Wyshira and Cord making their vigil for Wolf, he'd taken it upon himself to keep watch. Or at least, that had been his excuse. 


In truth, he found himself troubled by Wolf's passing - it posed questions that he wasn't sure he could understand, let alone answer as yet. By the first touch of morning he'd realised he'd started along a path, and Wolf was the other end of it. More than anyone else, he thought, he was following in Wolf's footsteps - Kale might argue that, should he say it aloud, but that was a different question - and he'd just seen where it could end. Knowing it, and seeing it, he was learning, were two very, very different things.


With time, they reached the monastery that they had been told of by the Black Knight. 


A walled compound of stone buildings above stepped tiers of farmland in the valley side, the view down a breath-taking one for anyone who felt of a light enough mind to see its beauty, the monastery welcomed them in. A monk at the gate challenged them, then he saw Angelo and recognised the knight; and _then_ he saw Cord as the dwarf introduced himself as a fellow monk of Grumand, and briefly related what had befallen them to the guard. And then he saw the body of Wolf, and nodded sombrely, waving them in and directing them over to the cloisters. 


* * *


"I will ask the priest to come over as quickly as possible, Wise One," the monk said deferentially to Cord. "Please, try to make yourselves comfortable, the priest will see to your needs." 


The cloisters contained a strange and varied mixture of other travellers who had come this way. A band of old men, clustered around books and scrolls, interestedly chattering amongst themselves, were in one corner, with a lean Naserian man who had the look of a frontiersman watching over them with cool disinterest. Another man, Huronese in appearance in baggy travellers clothes who moved with confident grace, was also approaching that group from the main building of the compound. 


Dominating the area was what looked like some sort of wagon. High-sided with armour plates and protruding various tubes and pipes from some sort of central machine, perhaps an engine, it's furnace seemed quiet for now; at the front two men were releasing the pair of large carthorses that must have pulled the contraption. Several other people, including women and children, sat on and around the wagon chatting idly. They were all clad quite strangely, in a mixture of clothes and equipment that included all sorts of metal trinkets and objects. Most of the adults wore goggles strapped onto their heads, currently pushed back onto their foreheads, and had various tools on their belts. 


From the look of it, Burl seemed to think that the wagon looked a bit like the engine that had propelled them earlier in his travels tended by Ungor Ferechan, the gnome metallo-thaumaturge and engineer.


At the back of the wagon, two grey-robed acolytes tended to an injured member of the wagon party, another of the wagoneers hovering worriedly nearby. This man wore more tools and metal than the others, as well as carrying the paraphernalia that the party would usually associate with those of the wizardly profession. Most surprising was the man's left eye; a wounded gouge where the jelly organ had been replaced with what looked like a bronze globe instead, though it seemed as active and used as his other, real eye. The injured man was laid out on a wooden table; one of his arms ended in a metal-and-piston replacement, the point where flesh met metal looking livid and painful. 


Under the cloisters a few others sat or lounged; a small armed band that looked like mercenaries or hired swords consisting of two dwarves and three men, cleaning and polishing chainmail, axes and swords as they talked amongst themselves. Further down a lone man who oiled and maintained his crossbow and a brace of pistols, clad in tough travellers clothing and a heavy cloak. 


* * *


As Cazamir sauntered back over to his little group, he saw newcomers had arrived at the cloisters. Most imposing was a black-armoured man who led a sizeable warhorse, both rider and mount sporting large amounts of full plate. He was Huronese, and from stories and tales Cazamir recognised the style of armour. A Novice of the sacred Black Knights of Zhatan, the holy warriors whose elite wore the fabled Dragon Armour, machinery-boosted to become walking war machines. Another Huronese man was there too, more lightly armoured and with what looked like a double-sword or somesuch exotic weapon across his saddle. Then another two men, one lightly armed and armoured like the Huronese man, while the other wore mostly black, somehow slightly sinister. A dwarf too, who he suddenly realised with a shock was blind, his eyes clouded over - yet the earth-kin spoke quietly to the Grumandic monks around him as if he could see perfectly, and tthey showed him deference and great respect in their answers. Then a short, dark-skinned woman of some Drakkath ethnicity, but it was the other two women who caught his eye, who really stood out. Both blue but in different ways, one pale and tinged with blues and greens, and clad in the robes of an acolyte of Ishrak, while the other was stridently blue and wore no heavy armour or weapons but rather the gear of an arcanist of some sort. The band drew many looks and glances, especially the blue-hue women. 


And there was a dead man too. 


* * *


The party paused there in the cloisters, bearing the interested gazes of its other inhabitants. Before long a brown-robed priest was there, an old man with a drawn face. He looked on concernedly. "Greetings, sir Dar'Averask, and greetings to you all too. Please, sit yourselves in the cloisters. What aid can our monastery give you?" 


Meanwhile the sages had by now spotted the party, staring in unashamed interest at the blue women - interest of the scholarly kind, that was. As the priest talked to the party, Cazamir saw two of his wayward charges approach them. Wyshira and Melisande saw the two old men approach, their garb and gear that of a travelling man but one of knowledge too, books and paper and ink - and spell components. Wizards too, then. 


"Excuse me," one introduced himself politely. "I am Matthias Silester; we are a band of Drakkath scholars travelling to an archaeological site in these mountains. I am sorry for your companion, if that is who the fallen man is, and the sight of yourselves so obviously embattled recently means that I am pressed to enquire, what troubles have you met in the mountains? Though we have guards, we would prefer to avoid danger as best we can, for we are not ourselves warriors. And... I hope you do not think me rude of asking, but as a scholar, I find myself bound to ask you as to the source of the incredible hue of your skins?" he asked inquisitively.


_I'm in no mood for this,_ thought Mel, scarcely hiding her irritation at the two curious wizards. It was a gut reflex at remarks about her skin color, conditioned by years of the petty malice of Carthagian children; and compounding this was a nascent and really unfounded sense of superiority she got from the Naserian sorcerocracy over those who relied on books to develop their arcane skills. Besides, she felt awful. She'd done more crying than sleeping since they camped, grieving more the fact that she hadn't known Wolf well enough to grieve him, and feeling sorry for those who really did grieve him, especially Kale. She wished he'd break down. It was horrible. 


A brief temptation to lie to the wizards just to make them go away flashed through her mind--("Accident with a Change Self spell; it's only temporary")--but she found that the mere idea of prevaricating repulsed her more than the wizards did. 


"I'm an aasimar. But I don't want to talk about it just at the moment." She gave a morose glance at Wolf's bier by way of explanation. 


_What I really want is a bath and some time alone. No, what I really want is a bath and some company. But gods, not wizards._ Especially not wizards who were peering at her like they just discovered a new species of planar coleopteran. 


"If you'll excuse me...." She realized suddenly what she did want more than anything, and with a hasty nod to the wizards she fled quickly over to where Sebastion Cornell stood with his horse. 


"Er, Sebastion," she began timidly, aware how swollen and blue her eyes and nose must look, "would it bother you very much to give me a sword lesson today, when we have time?" 


After a quick glance over her shoulder in hopes the wizards hadn't followed, she looked at Sebastion imploringly and added, "It would make me feel better." 


Sebastion, for a moment, wondered if she were trying to say something else within the words, staring into her beguiling eyes for a moment, but there was nothing else obviously there. "Of course... a meal and a wash, and I will be ready when you are." he assured her, wondering where he'd heard the word 'beguiling'... 


"Thank you... thank you!" Mel murmured, turning away to hide the flush of deep blue in her cheeks. If Sebastion Cornell knew how much she enjoyed their little sword lessons he would be scandalized, she was sure. 


But the relief that he had accepted buoyed her courage. Indeed she'd feared a brief moment he would refuse, when he looked at her quizzically as if trying to understand why sword lessons were so important to her at a time like this. Now when the attempt to hide her blushing brought the wizards back into her line of sight she felt she could deal with them, holding the comforting thought that within a couple of hours she would have her lesson. 


How cathartic it would be to feel the burn of straining muscle up the backs of her legs and across her shoulders, and how soothing to be doing something positive in the face of evil, particularly right now. And how nice, she thought, biting her lip in shame as she walked back to provide Wyshira some moral support, to feel one of Sebastion's hands splayed against the small of her back and the other gripping her wrist, even in such a cool--even martial--rapport. Of course he would be scandalized, mortified, possibly even "grossed out", as the Carthagian children used to put it, if he knew how much she was beginning to like him, in spite of his ascerbic temper and militaristic ambitions. She liked his deep-set, thoughtful eyes, and the sound of his words for Wolf turned over and over comfortingly in her mind. _That's the life we've chosen, now. Let's try to live it like he did - well. _


On the other hand, she knew it was just like her nitwitted self to foster secret affections for the one member of the group who didn't care if he hurt her feelings. Well, if she was one day to overcome her common-sense handicap, she would have to take the painful consequences in stride and learn from her errors. Or maybe that was just making up excuses.... 


At any rate, with a lesson in view, the cold pit of grief and fear in her gut grew tolerable, as became the scarcely polite, analytical stares of the pair of wizards. She drew up side-by-side with Wyshira, intent on making up for her rudeness and on showing some solidarity with the water genasi who had chosen to face a Solar Beholder just to keep Mel company. 


First, though, she bent down and let Pierre (who was dry and beginning to chafe) out of her pocket. _You can go to the fountain, but stay away from those machine-people,_ she instructed. 


* * *


A few months ago, Wyshira wouldn't have given the scholars an opportunity to gawk at her; she would have entered the monastery hooded and cloaked to avoid notice. Somewhere along the line, she had stopped being concerned with keeping a low profile. She didn't mind the stares so much anymore either. 


But she was annoyed by the questions, especially under the circumstances. She heaved a little sigh of impatience, although her manner remained polite and dignified. She didn't blame Melisande for running off at the first opportunity. 


"I'm a water genasi," she explained. If they expected her to elaborate, they were going to be disappointed. She bowed her head slightly in their general direction, hoping they'd take that as a signal to go bother someone else. She went back to busily scanning her surroundings. 


_Where is that priest?_ She wanted to report their encounter with the Red Talons, and make arrangements for Wolf as soon as possible. She thought it might be possible that someone here had known him, and could even get word to his family. 


The scholars evidently were undaunted by her brusque response and inattention to their other questions. But Mel had returned, and she seemed to be satisfying their curiosity by giving them a run-down of the crew's adventures in the Sarokeans so far. Wyshira saw the old men's eyes grow wide at mention of the Solar Beholderkin. That would give them something to think about! She caught Mel's eye, and smiled her thanks for taking over the conversation. 


"Forgive me if I seemed rude," Melisande begged the wizard, straightening as Pierre sprang off in awkward eagerness. "We have indeed seen some troubles in the mountains, as you put it. It was a miracle we escaped the Solar Beholder down the ravine, but it was the bandits and Gilamees who got us in the end. Fortunately, the bandits paid for our blood many times over and they're unlikely to attack anyone else this season as long as you have guards to make them think twice. 


"So, what kind of archeological site are you headed for?" 


_Oh no, why did I ask? I'm just sure he's going to say something about the Elder Gods or the Great Prophet.... _


----------



## Angcuru

Yet again, very nice update.

Out of curiosity, what is the size of the gap between the progress of the game and the progress of _this_?


----------



## Carnifex

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Yet again, very nice update.
> 
> Out of curiosity, what is the size of the gap between the progress of the game and the progress of _this_?




Not that much any more. The party are currently within the arcanist's tower itself, though they'll have soon finished up in there - just a few more fights and plot stuff and they'll have finished it. Not a massive gap, but still, plenty of stuff for me to write up yet.


----------



## Carnifex

This is one fairly hefty update, because there's a lot that goes on overnight at the monastery. Prepare for some hefty roleplaying coming up, especially the evening conversations between Melisande, Sebastion and Ebri... 






The two scholar-wizards nodded with sagely interest at the womens' explanation's for theirunusual hues of skin. At Melisande's question as to where the men were heading, Matthias smiled strainedly. "Depending on which of myband of travelling companions you ask, you'll get a different response - but the facts that we'er all agreed on is that it's a tower of pre-War construction, isolated out here in these hills, and from the few reports we've had of it before by passing travellers and suchlike, it's similar in style to certain other pre-War structures that exist elsewhere. My personal belief is that it is probably just an Umbral surface-barracks or observation post, but there are a fwe... wilder theories flying about as well. It's probably about a days travel from here, we estimate. At least with what you have said we have one fewer band of brigands to worry about - though I must say I doubt there are many other such criminals hidden away this deeply in this landscape. And hopefully an Umbral structure would be quite enough to scare them away from where we are going."


* * *


Cazamir had watched the aged tutor with great interest, noting the subtle differences between his techniques and those taught in the Uzraelite monastery. The monks before him seemed primarily concerned with defense, being able to withstand blows without suffering harm. 


“Now, attempt to bring me down; I shall not strike back.” Cazamir wrestled with his inner pride, watching the young monks try and fail. Was it their strength that failed them, or was it the skills they had learned? He did not want to interfere in their training, but he _knew_ that he could bring the old man down if put to the test. 


The wisdom spoken by the tutor sparked an old memory for him. Cazamir’s tutor for several years, a wiry monk named Mallik, had a similar style of mixing philosophy with martial training. 


“You must be relentless in your assault – striking to distract while probing for weakness. You must be fire, lashing out with incredible fury. When you set upon an opponent, they will concern themselves with defense more than offense, and you will have the advantage.” 


Cazamir watched the group practice, feeling an odd longing for times past. He had good reasons for leaving the monastery, but he missed the sense of belonging. 


*** 


Seeing two of the greybeards approach the oddly-mixed party, Cazamir decided it was a good time to assume the role of bodyguard. Keeping silent, he moved up to flank the two scholars. The questions the men asked to the two exotic women were quite rude, but they did not seem to bristle too much. They were interesting to behold, but in Cazamir’s society, such questions were handled with subtlety – a trait that the scholars lacked in their advanced age. 


When the moment presented itself, Cazamir gave a slight bow to the Black Knight, acknowledging his station. He may have been seperated from his homeland and society, but there was no need to act uncivilized. And his curiosity about the knight was getting the best of him. Why was he with this motley group, and what news did he have from Huron? Perhaps his questions could be asked later – with subtlety.


* * *


While listening to Mathias, Mel noted with distaste the appearance of yet another gawker, sidling up to get a better look at the blue girls. She turned a glare on him only to find he wasn't looking at her and Wyshira particularly at all; he was watching everyone, especially Sir Angelo. It didn't take much calculating to add up the muscular build and silent, watchful glance to figure out he was one of the guards Mathias had spoken of. Mel thought wistfully it would be nice to have a bodyguard of her own. (Of course, she would have been more than a little pleased had she noticed how quickly Sebastion Cornell had moved up the moment the wizards accosted her--but she hadn't seen.) 


"A tower? Really? What a coincidence! We've been sent to investigate the remains of a tower out here in the Sarokeans, too. Apparently some _Carthagian wizard--"_ she said both these words with obvious distaste "--had his lab there..." Melisande stopped herself just barely--her mouth was about to go on about their Naserian Truth-Seeker employer and what he wanted, exactly, from that tower. 


"Er, I haven't heard of this 'Umbral' culture before... What is it? Why do you think a tower built by them would scare bandits off, even long after it was abandoned?" 


Matthias raised an eyebrow inquisitively at Melisande's explanation for why the band was out in the Sarokeans, but before he could ask her any more questions he found himself answering her own. "We use the word 'Umbral' to describe this pre-War culture that has left some scattered traces that even these days we occasionally stumble across. There are plenty of theories about who the Umbrals are, of course, and one of the stronger that has been put forwards is that they are perhaps some sort of offshoot from the Third Race of Man, the Men of Shadow. Unconfirmed of course, but from what little we can piece together from our digs and explorations, they seem to have been once both powerful and numerous. Not any more of course. Nonetheless, bandits would still proably be wary of going near an Umbral structure. They're quite... alien in appearance when compared to the kinds of architecture we're used to. You know, the common architectural basis of designs and styles runs through all the human cultures here in the eastlands - the Ascarians, Middle Kingdoms and Huron all have many cultural links. The Cryosians are a bit different but then they colonised from over the Azure Sea not long after the Dawn War. But an Umbral structure looks quite different to a human one, or even the kind of form you might expect from elven styles and designs. People are usually highly superstitious about them, especially a long-deserted tower far in the middle of the mountains. Then there's the fact that we've encountered some sites with still active steamwork defence systems. Not to mention some of the more exotic objects found within Umbral ruins, which can be disturbing, dangerous, or both. It's fortunate that we've never encountered such a ruin infested with any Umbral undead, though equally it would be a great academic find since we might get a better idea of just who they were."


"Your pardon," Kale walked to where a strange sage talked curiously with Melisande. His demeanor was mannered enough, though no one could tell from his look what Kale was really thinking about anything, or anyone. It wasn't like he was being evasive. He was even behaving a pleasantly, but nothing penetrated past the surface. "Sebastion will be about your lesson soon," he said to the sorceress as a friendly reminder. "You may want to get ready," he suggested while looking her over, alluding to any number of things related to dress, equipment, warm-up, or other preparation that a novice might imagine necessary before an Official Schooling in the Martial Arts. Of course, the sooner the woman was far removed from the sages, the sooner she would cease giving away each and every detail of the party's mission. The group of sages? Resource? Maybe. Competition? Probably. Kale quickly considered a short list of tasks to insure the group gone well before the bickering committee of sages. So much to do. "Sir, you'll excuse me, I have arrangements of my own to attend to," he concluded before walking back to where Wyshira sat, where Wolf's body lie. 


* * *


For a moment, Sebastion was caught between staring at the wagon in the centre of the compound, and warily eyeing the silent bodyguard that had trailed behind the wizards to quiz Mel and Wyshira. 


He was balanced, obviously competent, and he quickcly made a survey of the group as he approached, performing his duty as a bodyguard well. 


Sebastion gave him a single nod, a gesture of respect for his position, and an indication - he hoped - that neither of them would have to purvey their professions and turned to the priest. 


"Sorry, your..uh... your holiness. We are a little out of sorts. We would like somewhere to rest, if we may, and to make arrangements for our fallen comrade." he gestured, unnecessarily, to Wolf's wrapped body. 


"Could you also let me know if there is any local official that might wish to know about banditry in the area?" 


Distracted by the scholars' conversation with Melisande, Wyshira was a step too slow in responding to the priest's inquiry. At Sebastian's explanation of their reason for being there, she nodded and added, "Yes, our companion, Wolf Kieresane, succumbed to the poison used by the bandits that attacked us." She explained about the Red Talons, and Angelo Dar'Averask's timely arrival. Then she requested that she be allowed to perform the funeral ceremonies, and bury Wolf's body at the monastery. "He was a follower of Ishrak, but the rituals are similar to those of your faith."


The Grumandic priest nodded at the words of Wyshira and Sebastion. "We happily extend to you our hospitality, travellers - these cloisters here are where we give visitors lodgings, feel free to find yourselves some space to settle down in. Food will be brought round in an hour or two by the monks for you." 


"For your companion, I grieve for the fall of another to bandits in these wild mountains. We will bury him, if you wish, on the tier below the compound, where we bury our own dead. I am afraid there is no-one for you to talk to about the bandits. This is, like most of the Drakkath, no-ones territory. Occasionally Naserian expeditions raid into the mountains to deal with those harrying their borders, and I have heard that in the depths to the north, where the peaks are very high and craggy and icy and the drazihkar roost, the Nephians have their hideaways and they deal with bandits there themselves. And there are bounty hunters and warriors such as Angelo who do their best. But there is no official nor judge nor jury out here." 


He walked quietly over to the form of Wolf, laid down on the ground, and knelt by the corpse, the old priest's face lined and tired. "It is sad that travellers have to go armed in these mountains, and worse then lives are lost. Though human brigands, it has to be said, are not the only problem, especially not of late. Who was this man?" 


"He was our guide, my mentor," Kale explained simply as he weaved his way into conversation. The Grummandic Priest was a respectful man, and he offered even to bury Wolf among their own dead. He should at least know the man whose memory he would steward. Kale regarded Wolf's familiar visage, taking in his shrouded body and bundled gear. 


"I understand Grummand writes his history on the land- that the words of the earth speak of his very character. I thank you for your offer to return my friend to the earth, I will tell you who he was." The mercenary's face softened a bit, though with a sense of irony- the words he told held the life of a warrior, but the story etched on a cold face, Kale was a stone tablet to record the life of Wolf Kieresane. 


"He spoke little of himself, but I'll tell you what I know." Looking to Wolf's huge sword and forest knife, he began a visual recount of the man's life and times. "He was a mercenary, we'd been through battles together. He was a Cryosian man who by luck and experience learned to survive when others didn't. While he approved of Ishrak's gifts," he looked to Wyshira, "he revered Fenris' hunter spirit. 


"These slashes in his leather are where a sea monster knocked him to the ground. We had been hired by a Cryosian village to rid them of the man-eater. The fight was... vicious. The obsidian charm is from a goblin patrol we peeled off of a traveler in need," again, reminiscing eyes floated past Wyshira, "The trident from the Sahuagin pirates he repelled from a Corinthian ship where we were berthed... the mace from the band of cult-slavers we defeated at painful price to the man." Kale paused, looking at the flattened rivets near the leather's epaulets... there was a story in every detail of the man's practical gear. And that was not to mention the experiences that left no mark. Or the tattoo on his forearm that went unmentioned. Every bit was a piece of Wolf's life, but no amount of telling could bring the man back. With so little told, Kale gave up the telling. It was a waste of time to think the priest could understand, after a short narrative. 


"We will prepare him and bury him with his blade." _And the rest we'll distribute among ourselves._ And if the distribution of Wolf's belongings signaled any alarms to the young mercenary, the sentiments simply slid straight off his consciousness with little regard. "Thank you for your hospitality." 


Leaving abruptly, Kale stepped off in the room to give himself some distance. So much to plan and figure out. Wolf was being taken care, and everyone seemed in good stead. He would have to remind everyone they would have an early morning the next day... 

---- 


Watching Kale flit hither and thither, moving from one task to the next, keeping himself busy with the minutiae of life, Sebastion began to worry a little, but it was a conversation for a private time later on. 


That the lithe soldier was telling Melisande to prepare for a lesson whilst he was stood not five feet from her showed that he wasn't paying the usual attention - not a good sign for the typically almost paranoid Kale. 


As he slipped off to his next self-imposed piece of mental exile, Sebastion nodded to Melisande, explaining that he was indeed heading off to prepare soon, and made his apologies to the priest after Kale had finished his descriptions. It lodged in his mind that he'd spent a great deal of time covering what the old mercenary had done, but didn't impinge on why... 


"Thank you, sir, for your hospitality. If there's something we can do to account for our stay, please let us know. I would like to listen to more of your account of the troubles in this region at some point, perhaps later in the evening?" 


* * *


Mel had shed her amorphous pocketed robe and arrived in what remained of her spartan Carthagian grey dress, with a hefty stick in one hand and the sword Kale had given her in the other. As far as she was concerned it was time to move on to something sharp. After a bath and a meal she had regained some strength, but still felt as if she'd been emptied out, like a blue pumpkin scraped out with a big spoon. Her insides were raw and tender. 


Sebastion was already there waiting, she noticed with pleasure; it seemed to mean he didn't mind giving her a lesson today, because if this was really a chore for him he might not have turned up early. Still, she was frantically making up excuses in her head as she approached and laid down her sword on the floor. 


Sebastion turned slowly as she arrived, swallowing hard at the sight of her body pushing out against the tight clothing she trained in. Stepping aside from the centre of the room where he'd been warming himself up, he laid his sword aside and gestured towards the square he'd marked out with cloth. 


"Are you ready?" he asked, quietly. 


"Thank you for doing this. After what happened I'll feel better with something more solid than just magic to fight with." She felt like giving him some further explanation to divert his attention from the main reason she'd wanted this, and went on. 


"You know, meeting Klavius, the messenger of Naskha, was an eye-opener for me. He was blue, but he was really doing something with it!" Oh, that sounded stupid. Mel gave an embarrassed smile. Then she pushed the threadbare sleeves of her dress up to her elbows and stood in the square, waiting for instructions. 


"He was do.." Sebastion began, but shook his head slightly and gave up. The last time he'd asked for an explanation - about dormant magic - he'd not understood it in the slightest. 


"So, last time we were working on ripostes..." he began, recalling how Wolf had sat calmly at the edge of the little hollow they'd trained in, watching. He hadn't said anything - he never did when he watched the lessons - but his presence forced Sebastion to concentrate. It was a little like having his father watch over his shoulder, and he made sure he thought about what he was doing as much as what he taught Mel. The example, after all, was half the lesson. 


"Riposte is an _Air_ style manoeuvre, though. What would you use if I were to advance with a _Fire_ style strike? Say, the _Falling Phoenix?" _


Raising the bundled staves above his head, he stepped forward slowly, raising the training sword with both arms, and striking downward at angle towards her shoulder with it. 


Funny that after several days of successful training Mel's first instinct was still to cower and run when someone raised a blade over her head. She lost valuable milliseconds flinching but came forward in the nick of time with a flowing thrust, carried through, that brought her whirling past the Falling Phoenix and, had she been a little more skilled, would have given her an opening on his off-hand side. Of course, he was moving in slow motion; in real combat that Phoenix would have been the end of her. 


"Water," she gasped in answer, drawing up out of range and assuming the ready stance he had shown her, quivering slightly with adrenaline. "The Icy River. But I missed the strike." 


At that moment she heard herself speaking as if listening from outside her body. Who is that blue girl in the ragged dress, who knows things like melee manoevers? She almost laughed. How many times had she barely bitten back snide remarks about Sebastion's ambitions as a warrior? Suddenly she saw herself on a parallel path. It hadn't occurred to her until now. Maybe that image she had of him standing astride a mountain of dead bodies, Mimir in one hand and sword in the other, wasn't really all that far off from where she herself was headed with this new quest notion. 


"We're going to our deaths just like Wolf did," she said suddenly. 


"I mean, obviously you know that, but now so do I. What I meant about Klavius was that meeting him gave me a much more focused purpose. You've already had one for a long time." Inwardly she winced, knowing he was thinking that of course she was too scatterbrained to have had a focused purpose. Time would be the proof, though, that scatterbrained or not her resolve was deeply rooted in something much more solid and immovable than Melisande's temperment. 


_Earth,_ she thought. _The Hidden Rock._ She moved in as if to make a standard sort of attack but it was a feint: as soon as he reacted she went into a solid, motionless defense stance designed to draw an attack and then topple it with its own momentum. 


Watching Mel sink her weight onto her back foot, Sebastion eased through the parry he'd begun at the feint, moving to an air style and flowing with her defence. Keeping close, applying constant pressure, he forced her further and further back. 


"Walking the Path of Blades is accepting death." he muttered, flowing with the movement of his blade. "To wear the blade and face the danger is to step to the edge of the Abyss, and walk the fine line between life and death." 


Mel's arm had gone numb up to the shoulder with absorbing the force of Sebastion's blows, as also her mind was growing numb with the increasing reality of what she'd been saying. That image of Wolf lying in the impossible stillness of death flashed in her mind with frightening clarity, and not just with regard to her own mortality. 


It hurt even though Sebastion was not out to kill her and his staves were not blades. She tried not to let the pain show but the Abyss was too much for her. She wanted to call for a break, but knowing there were no time outs in battle, she launched with renewed determination into a few more Water moves, her preferred forms. "I'm not sure--" she breathed, "--it's very productive--to accept death." She smiled grimly and tried her best to press back, to turn his assault into defense. 


"Death comes to us all." he reminded her, switching from Air to Earth with a stiff lunge that slipped between blade and arm to nudge her ribs. "Accepting death means living that realisation, and not fearing the inevitable." 


The words sounded hollow in light of the previous day's events, and he flipped his practice blade up atop his shoulder. "And you tried to slip into a Water move on the back foot. Water requires ebb and flow, and therefore balance - you need to be centre. You should have moved to Fire instead." 


Melisande's eyes went wide and she stepped back shocked as if she'd actually been stabbed. Of course, she'd been cut to ribbons and fried to a crisp before, but somehow the combination of this talk and the finality of Sebastion's last gesture felt more mortally wounding than any real accidents she'd survived. It took her a moment to recover. "Fire... I know... I mean, now I do." 


"You know, I thought a lesson would make me feel better after what happened to Wolf but now I'm not so sure." She had indeed gone a shade paler. "I have a lot to do before I let 'the inevitable' catch up. Don't you?" 


"I've a lot I'd like to, but hurrying to get it done in case I die will make it... hurried." He squatted down, resting the tip of his practice blade on the floor, staring at it on the flagstones for a moment before he continued. 


"'Be not the hunter, nor the hunted. Do not seek, do not run, do not hide and do not flee. Simply be, and all will be yours.'" he offered, quietly, in a tone that spoke of a quotation. 


"That's on the inside of the cover of my father's journal. It's as much as he ever let me read. I move a little way along the path I want to tread today, but only a little way. Life may try to divert me, it may succeed, but if I try to fight against life I will get nowhere. 


"So, I continue, slowly, surely, a little every day. Eventually I will die, or I will succeed. Those are the only two possibilities - everything else is simply scenery on the way." 


Mel laid down her staff and quietly did a Mend spell on the waist of her dress, which had ceded once again to the Water manoevers. She listened with all the rapt attentiveness of a student, thinking that what Sebastion said made a lot more sense to her than anything Ebri Zol said (infinitely wiser as Mel had always considered her), but also that what he said was more depressing to her personally. 


"Is it really just scenery? I don't know. Sometimes I think little things are important. Little joys are what I want to save by fighting against things that try to destroy beauty. Maybe that's a stupid idea for a quest, but ever since we met Klavius I've felt like there's something I have to do." She was inspecting her dress for more rips as she spoke. 


"What other purpose could there be, besides the scenery?" If this sounded stupid again, so be it. Mel knew she wasn't expressing herself well, but there was something sad about what Sebastion was saying and she couldn't think of any less awkward way of telling him that. 


"Now, if I knew that, I'd have finished the journey." he rose, smiled gently, and shrugged. "I'm sorry, I don't know all the answers. It's just that, by and large, most of what seems to happen around people isn't as important as they seem to think. 


"Maybe... maybe the purpose is to look at the scenery and admire it? Maybe it's to fight to make sure the scenery is there for tomorrow? Maybe that's your purpose, and mine is different... I'm still trying to work that bit out." 


Mel nodded soberly, realizing she'd made herself understood even though she only half knew what she'd been saying herself. "Well," she said, mustering a smile even though that raw feeling inside was back and feeling now as if someone had filled it with cold lead, "I hope the scenery in your life makes a good case for itself one of these days and you'll find it's not a bad goal. 


"Mine hasn't been that great, but I'm glad for it anyway, and I hope that I can make it a little better for other people." On this she bit her lip and began a little aimlessly to collect her staff and the unused sword, wondering if he would take her meaning and not sure if it was time to flee.


"What's been wrong with the scenery?" he asked, feeling a slight disappointment at seeing her pack up so early. Despite his words, he didn't really feel like sitting alone to contemplate Wolf's passing. 


This did sound like an open invitation not to run away... "Oh--Carthagia. You lived on the Huronese border, so you might not know what the inner country is like. It's not a good place to grow up blue." Mel fidgeted with the staff and sword, not wanting to sound like she was feeling sorry for herself, even though she was a little. Instead she laughed softly. 


"The other children tried to drown me once, but my mother gave them such a thrashing! They were redder than I ever was blue, I can tell you that." 


He smiled, slightly, at the thought, then blushed just as red as he realised he been thinking about how blue she was. Despite the offhand way she sometimes treated it, it was obviously a touchy subject. 


"I was lucky, really. We lived in a small village, well away from anywhere important. My father runs a stable. By the time it started to grow with the new roadway I was already nearly grown, and it seemed a blessing to have all these new ideas, new stories coming in. So, I left to see more of them... I guess the scenery is important, but... there's something more out there. 


"Something important. Something about making a difference - a real difference. Not just... shoeing horses well, or keeping the best stable in the Seven Hills... changing things, making them better... " He trailed off, realising he was rambling, and turned back to packing his things away. 


"Well, it sounds like we're not all that different after all," Mel shrugged, watching with her own secret disappointment as he began to pack up. "Just a different way of getting to the same thing." There was a pause she felt she had to fill. "I'm sure Wolf had the same idea in mind." This was probably exactly the wrong thing to say, she realized too late. Wolf certainly would not have said his work was finished, which was an ill omen on all their talk, and who knew how good his own scenery had been? He seemed lonely to Mel, even though sometimes she sensed he wished people would leave him alone. Wolf was not exactly the example of success, or the optimistic subject to bring up. She shrugged apologetically and looked for the exit. 


"Maybe he did?" he replied, looking up from the bag at the blank wall for a moment, searching for something that wasn't there. "He left us behind. Maybe you can't be finished, maybe you can just go for long enough to pass the task on to someone else. Us?" he turned, a wry twist to his mouth, and a slight shrug. Another question, another answer to find somewhere along the path. 


This actually elicited another laugh from Mel (as much relieved from her own awkwardness as darkly amused). "Great, huh? Well, we'll have to make the best of our scenery then, because I'll be surprised if we--I mean I, anyway--survive as long as he did." 


That turned Sebastion around, his eyes narrowing slightly. 


"Why?" he asked, bluntly, running a hand through his hair to get the damp ends from his eyes. "Why should we not survive? We haven't all Wolf's experience, yet, but we survived yesterday. We survived the Gilamee temple, and that ball-thing in the canyon. We travelled a fair distance before we ever met him... we are reasonably talented, capable people." 


Mel couldn't prevent a silent, accusatory eyebrow from rising. _Even those of us with chicken brains?_ "I'm glad you think that," she replied a trifle coolly. "Time will tell, I guess." Still, she allowed herself to rejoice a little that he might really think what he said, even about her. Rallying, she added, "I'm hopeful. You may be right. If we stick together we have a good chance." 


"Sticking together... I thought you'd all have places to go after the tower. I've... I guess I hadn't really thought about where I was going to go after that. I'd like to learn a little more about these Black Knights, but I don't know if I'd go there." 


She blurted without thinking, "The armor wouldn't suit you." Perhaps it really was time to flee. 


"Really?" he chuckled, fashion not being high on his list of concerns, to date. "I wouldn't look good in black? Or do you just not like it?" 


This was the kind of time when Pierre would be shouting in her mind to run away. Her cheeks began to go indigo. She spoke rapidly. "No--black's all right. You'd look--it's--too bulky. You're a finesse fighter; it wouldn't do." _There, am I saved? At least for a moment?_ She actually took a step toward the door. 


"Perhaps you're right..." he offered, wondering how awkward it would be to move in the mass. "Something else to find out about, I suppose..." 


"Er, Sebastion, thank you for doing this. I know it wasn't good timing, but it did help. At least, I mean--not that it might have--just--don't get the wrong impression." Once again, this was the most wrong thing she could possibly have said, and this time she really did flee. "Well, good night!" 


Left with a handful of responses and no-one to respond to, Sebastion leant back against the cool stone of the wall, tapping the back of his head gently against a ridge for a moment, wondering why he was still so warm so long after the exercise. 


Feeling confused, edgy and uncertain, for no obvious reason, he took up his father's sword and began slowly running through the drills he'd been shown as a child, seeking the calm he usually found in there. 


For nearly an hour, after stripping away his cloak and shirt as he worked himself hard through the series, he drifted back and forth through the sequences. First with sword and axe, then with twin axes, and finally with his father's blade, until finally he settled himself, realising that not even the comfortable burn across his thighs and shoulders could dislodge the uncomfortable absence at the back of his head - Wolf was still gone. 


* * *


"Iril can be a problem, its harbor is deep and protected, but the port itself is full of hidden obstacles," Kale offered to the Ironjacks as he reclined opposite the bronze-eyed man. They had been talking back and forth for some time, about steamworks, lands across the sea, and their impending trip to the blue harbor. Sipping his ale, he continued with interest. "The tarrifsmen will see you as rich gypsies, and the houses will give you nothing but trouble if they think you're competition. How long have your men been in the city?" he asked, hoping that the foreigners did not have much time to muck it all up. Unless the strange people had extraordinary political savvy, Kale feared for their welfare in Iril. "Look, far faster than you'd think possible, every 'mover in the city will either block you as a threat, or rob you for what you have. I speak harshly, but you really have to be ready if you want any hope to survive in The Port..." 


Kale went on with unusual interest with the IronJacks, putting to bear all the knowledge he could recall to help the displaced people to land successfully in Iril. Getting there was the very first step. "Each house will see you through their own glass. You have to learn the major houses, and know who is connected to whom before you do any business. Say a mechanture is interested in exploring your stock. 'Bradley Trade House,' for example. Before any dealing gets underway you need to know the Bradley is a Pendarme operation- a great deal of their trade is in arms and armor. You would expect large contracts for armament. If the only thing you receive is a piecemeal purchase, they're testing you: defensive, regardless of any promises and excitement they may show at the table. If their interest is in other areas, it might be for a special purpose. As well as you can, divine the why's so you can price properly. Roll over once and you may get future contracts, but it'll only be a feeding frenzy down the road once the houses sense weakness and find leverage." 


He really didn't mean to be a doomsayer, but unless the men came from a port very much like Iril on the other side of the sea, the ironjacks were going to have bigger problems than infected joints. The mercenary continued, working to work an angle for the men that could keep their glorious technology from being quickly exploited, leaving the foreigners to fend for themselves. And with the king deposed, things might be even more volatile in the busy port city. There was no time to offer a real tutorial in 'Iril survival,' so instead of confuse the men, Kale decided at last to focus simply on the things that could keep them safe in the short-term, and gain them the contacts they needed for long-term success. If the tales of blood-men were true, it may be a while before they saw their homeland again. 


Kale felt the ironjack's future to be quite grim, barring significant luck in Iril. "It would be a tragedy if your people can't carve a foothold for yourselves on this side of the Azure... but you're really going to need to look for allies outside Iril, as well. I know a fair and influential man with a great interest in old 'works. He's also someone who will see you as more than the chance for enhanced dividends. 


"Your craft is a treasure, and to be frank, I think any 'folk should be given a fair shake. It's no good to survive some blood-monsters on the other side of the sea just to be bled to death over here. If you can spare a man, a representative, I can take him to my contact in Naseria as soon as my business is done. After you have explored any possibilities, I can be sure to have him guided safely back to your people in Iril." 


Kale paused at increment to gauge the reactions of the intriguing IronJacks, and at this point he gave more than enough time to allow the men to discuss what he was proposing. 


"The easiest way to accomplish this would be if someone would be willing to accompany me while I complete my business here." It was obvious to the men that Kale was a mercenary, and tough though these men were, many were family men. They weren't looking for the kind of trouble found at the end of a blade. "It could be dangerous, though we do not expect any direct threats. Our contract is for exploration, and our main expected challenge would be any steamworks or ironworks we encounter along the way. You have traveled for some time, so I don't need to say that no road is completely safe. But if one of you could come with us, it would be a help, and I believe we could help you in return..." The conversations continued as Kale tried in earnest to acquire just the kind of expertise they would need for their assignment. And the thought of getting the IronJacks in contact with a potential ally... it was like balm to some deep and unknown wound. 


---- 


The day went on, and night found Ebri on the walls of the monastery, looking north. She reviewed the day in her mind, silently. 


An especially high point had been the discussion of the Umbral ancients with the archaeologists. Listening in to her ward's questions, she had been more than intrigued - avidly interested would be a better term - and fortunately, this was one curiosity she could indulge without compromising her role as Immar's priestess. She had asked for more detail on the Men of Shadow, and why they were so named, as well as their theories on what manner of beings the Umbral people were, if they were not human or any other race of known creature. 


But Ebri spent the bulk of the afternoon acquainting herself briefly with the monastery of Grumand, and then found means to be near Melisande as she occupied herself through the day. The stares of the various other travellers as they had entered had not left her mind completely at ease, and so she remained casually near when possible, and near and unknown when it was not. 


This, she found, was a very useful practice; it absorbed her attention admirably, and so she was able to stave off the strange, sudden, nearly debilitating wave of sadness she'd felt upon entering this place. 


_Ridiculous--_ she told herself sternly, as the falling light glinted on the snow capped mountains at the horizon. _Moods are for the undisciplined of mind._ From here it was only a week's travel... She sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. The air was thin this high, and cold: it was making her eyes and nose water. 


For a moment, she considered taking Melisande in the night, and going to the monastery. The woman could easily be led, with her foolish curiosities about the Nephians and the Great Prophet. If the soldier protested, he could come too, of course: he might make a good postulant. _The ward would be safe there--_ It was distressing, how tempting this thought was. 


_You must be resolved. _


She recalled now something an elder monk had said to her, a few days before she'd left. She hadn't credited it, much, mostly because, in her opinion, Brother Moy was far too interested in the comfort of his belly to be truly a student of the way. Moy had taken her arm in passing, having heard of her assignment, and expressed sympathy. "Not at all," she'd protested, shocked, citing the honor of the task and her willingness to submit herself to the Prophet's ends. "In such as task, it is very easy to lose oneself-- even the self that serves the Purpose--" he had said, and sighed. _Which is the point--_ she had thought, but did not say out of respect for his age, if nothing else. She had gone on about her preparations, and put Brother Moy out of her mind. 


_That was self-righteous._ she accused herself now. _And unwise to listen to those with experience when you had none._ She had not recalled until later that Moy had been assigned for years to be a fishseller in the markets of the Carthagian capital. 


_Brethren--_ the words seemed capable of flying across the miles, though she did not speak. _I so hate the world-- _


* * *


Mel rushed out into the relative cool of the courtyard, seeking solace in the muddy, steadfast mind of Pierre, whom she found under a trough not far from the monastery gates. She collected him gently. 


_'The wrong impression'! Why did I say that? One of these days he's going to get the _right_ impression, and then no more lessons. _


She took a handful of water from the trough and dumped it over her familiar affectionately, even though this soaked the arm of her dress. She was still a little trembly. The lesson hadn't turned out nearly as comforting as she'd hoped; quite the opposite, in fact. 


_You didn't have any trouble with those machine-people, did you? What an odd lot. Not natural at all. And wasn't Kale just a picture with them!_ Even Mel hadn't failed to notice the cold yet febrile automatism with which he'd been functioning since Wolf's death. _He might have been trying to buy a clockwork heart from them!_ she joked to Pierre, and then suddenly had to choke back a great big sob. 


_I want one, too! _


It was in looking around to make sure no one had overheard her squeaking attempts to stifle tears that she noticed Ebri Zol up on the wall. Now there was someone almost as comfortable as Pierre--friendly and easy to talk to. Mel pocketed her toad and gathered her staff and sword, then made her way up the stone steps. She was beginning to shiver as the cold mountain evening air slipped through her threadbare dress to the still perspiration-damp skin beneath. It would soon be time for a warm bath, a warm meal and a warm bed, but for now the chill suited her mood. 


Atop the wall she found a stunning view of the Sarokeans, blushing rose on their west flanks but revealing a jagged, shadowy, purple dark side where they faced away from the setting sun. When she was able to tear her eyes away from the panorama she immediately noticed the tracks of tears on Ebri Zol's face. 


"Oh, Ebri, I know _just_ how you feel," she sighed with deep sympathy. 


_That would be a trick,_ Ebri decided, as she herself was having significant difficulty knowing how she felt. _Have you developed psychic tendencies? _she asked sarcastically in her mind. _But you are irritable, and it will not serve. Shape yourself-- _


"It is rather a difficult evening--" she answered blandly. In the momentary lull, she observed her ward, noting that she was obviously distressed, or had been recently. _An opportunity, then._ Melisande seemed to find her presence comforting and soothing, or had. 


Mel sniffled. Her cracking voice was full of earnest distress. "It sure is. I mean, we can't feel so much grief for Wolf as we can for ourselves, since we didn't know him all that well, but I keep wondering who's going to be next and it's really painful." 


"Mortality is a thing we must all learn to live with--" she observed softly, more to the distant horizon than to Mel. "This is a natural reaction, surely. But the worry about it makes the fear worse, I find." _There are others she cares about more than Wolf._ Ebri thought, perceiving a possible cause of the fear. 


Melisande lowered her eyes to the stone of the wall, disappointed in--though not surprised at--the impersonal response Ebri gave her. Ebri was easy to talk to, it was true, often _because_ her answers were so sweeping and vague, and she always listened patiently; but what Mel needed right now was something personal, something _human_, which Ebri Zol too often seemed to resist. "But can anyone not worry? And if you're not worried, why are you--I mean, you seem upset, Ebri," Mel probed heavy-handedly. 


_Others are more likely to form a bond with those they see as being like them, sharing the same responses and worldview..._ "I _am_ upset." Ebri replied, letting her eyes water somewhat more to accommodate her ward. "I grieve for the ills of the world, and the death of Wolf is but one more example of this. The endemic, senseless violence we live in... " she shook her head. "As for worry, faith is some comfort. I must believe in the goodness of the gods, and that they empower us to cure the world as we do so many wounds of the flesh--" 


Mel turned to stare at Ebri Zol. _She was standing here weeping over the woes of the world?_ But what Ebri said about faith captured her imagination. "They empower us, yes, but we have to do the work, and that is cause for worry, don't you think? And faith can't possibly make your heart into stone--or clockwork--no matter how hard you believe in your quest." She paused a moment, a look of genuine confusion on her face (which was tinted almost violet in the pink sunset). "Can it?" 


"If it could, we might as well be metal and steam, as those creatures today, and their vehicle, and not people as we are. No--" she answered, with an approximation of conviction. "But I think you did not come here for a lecture on religion... I am sorry you are distressed. I am somewhat fearful, myself, thinking on our road ahead, though it shames me to admit it. 


"It does help to be prepared... did you find your lesson with Sebastion helpful?" 


Mel flushed and suddenly found the view very interesting again. "I do feel--er, well, actually, no." She gave a nervous laugh. "I mean, it's good to have a little more combat experience under my belt obviously, but he's very--well, you know how he is. Brooding." 


"We were on the subject of quests too," she went on, trying to cover her flustered fidgeting by hugging her elbows against the chill. 


Ebri raised an eyebrow. She did not need a review of the encounter, having listened well and thoroughly but a short time ago, but she _was_ interested in Melisande's perceptions of the lesson, and how she would talk about the soldier. The pair were clearly attracted to one another, and she had been observing _that_ for some time. "Yes?" _A casual word, but so useful to keep a subject talking... _

"Oh yes. You know I've always found him a little ridiculous with his warlord ambitions. I know the feeling is mutual, of course. But now since we met Klavius I've changed. I think I know what he's looking for. I'm on a quest now too." At this she smiled, suspecting what others might think of her ideas and unable to express the profundity of the sentiment. 


_Indeed?_ At the revelation, a jolt of awareness shook Ebri out of her preoccupation with the horizon. _Your job is here-- and obviously you have not been paying attention-- _"Really?" she came closer to the blue woman, and sat down facing her. "I would be interested in hearing either of those things -- what Sebastion seeks, and about your quest. Come, do tell. Hope for the future sweeps worry away, my mother's people say." 


_Hope?_ The word gave Mel a pleasant jolt. She was not expecting to be a source of hope to anyone quite yet, though that was on her agenda for the future. She sat down as well, her eyes alight. "It's like this. When we met Klavius, the tiefling, I realized something. 


"Being blue has been a burden, but it is only the outward sign of something essential, which is more like a gift than a burden. Now, I can choose what to do with the gift, and seeing what Klavius was able to do_ against his very nature,_ I decided to use my gift responsibly. 


"That makes it all a burden again, but one I've accepted, so it's not so bad." Clearly, she'd been working this reasoning out and was reciting it at a quick, enthusiastic clip. 


"I am planetouched--not by hell, like Klavius, but by the celestial. I have a purpose here. I want to do good. I want to rescue slaves and fight evil. I want to serve Naskha. I don't want to destroy Carthagia for what it is but I would like to do my part to change it." 


"That--" Ebri said slowly, at last digesting the longish speech, "--would be a very worthy endeavor..." Her smile now was not entirely feigned. She began to see at least some evidence that Mel was _worth_ protecting. In addition to severely needing such. 


"Oh, I'm glad you think so! I don't know if that's all--there's so much going on with the cults of the old gods and all, I'm sure Carthagia is only one small part of what needs to be done..." Mel was staring out at the mountains with intensity now, not realizing how ludicrously over-reaching she sounded. 


"You will need others to help you bear this burden if you are to succeed." she observed, solemnly, trying to match Mel's heroic mood. 


This was a sobering thought. Mel came out of her trance and looked fearfully over at Ebri. "I do hope it's not going to be too lonely," she said in a meek voice. "For a long time now I've known I was on a lonely path--being blue and all--but now that I have friends, it's harder..." 


"Surely we are some comfort!" Ebri chuckled, attempting to inject some lightness. "We are not all brooding like Sebastion...? And if you worry that you must part from us to serve your quest, do not fear for my sake. I would follow you and help you, for my part." But she knew it was not that which was truly troubling the girl. Loneliness was easy to get used to; it was as they had been saying at first. Caring for those around one made it more difficult to commit to the risky and dangerous path... _But it also makes it so much easier to keep them in arm's reach... _


Melisande almost wept with gratitude. She seized Ebri's hands suddenly. "Would you? I can hardly believe anyone would. Oh, that makes me feel so much better. Thank you, Ebri! I think you just gave me the big dose of courage I needed." 


_I believe,_ Ebri thought wryly, _this is what low-level negotiating scum call 'pay-dirt'... _


"But what about Immar in all this? What about your own quest, if you have one?" 


"It is no more than the truth. The world needs the courageous, and others to help them. You need not fear for my quest... I have been explaining to Sebastion for some while, and to Kale. I have none. I follow Immar, and his road is a wandering one. To have a goal and quest in mind would distract me from my experience of the world about me." She noticed how nimbly this oft-repeated line flew from her tongue, now, completely naturally. 


"Well, for as long as you're willing to devote yourself to mine, I'll be happy." 


"This is following Immar most happily: the lack of our own preordained plan allows us to respond flexibly to the endeavors of others. It will be my pleasure, and an honor..." She paused momentously. "Have you a name for your quest? Or some emblem that will represent your aims?" 


Melisande was in an ecstasy of validation. That someone she respected as much as Ebri Zol could not only approve but ally herself to Mel's quest was more than she had hoped for. Still, this question dampened her zeal somewhat. "Oh, I don't know.... It's just a sort of idea...." 


"Do not back down, but move forward..." she encouraged. "If you were sparring with a foe, this would be the moment to press forward, not retreat... " 


"Oh, you're right. I don't know...." Mel's eyes searched the mountains frantically for a sign--a symbol--anything! "Something blue?" she suggested with a little laugh, utterly at a loss. "I'll have to think about it, pray to Naskha maybe.... Do you have any ideas?" _That was a failed attack,_ she thought in embarrassment. 


_A great many..._ Ebri's mind snapped, but she said only, "The inspiration will come to you, I am sure of it. You should pay attention to your dreams in the coming days. And why not blue? You yourself said earlier that your hue is a burden and a gift." 


Mel nodded. She was thinking excitedly of "Red Talons", "Black Knights" and "Blood Ravens". Yes, she'd have to meditate in the coming days. "Thanks for your advice, Ebri. I knew I'd feel better if I came up here and talked to you. Maybe we can fix the world a little bit, and then you won't be so sad." 


"Just so..." she made herself grin. 


The sun's last sliver was disappearing fast below the mountains, and Ebri turned to appreciate it, nodding at the horizon. "You were asking about the Nephians earlier..." she smiled. "This is said to be their country." 


Mel looked sharply at Ebri Zol, surprised by the change in conversation and wondering if it had anything to do with the quest idea. "Then if what you say is right, we won't find them unless they want us to. I do wonder what connection they have to the shadow-people. Maybe this 'Umbral' tower is a base of theirs!" 


"One never knows..." she said, lowering her voice conspiratorily. "It is curious, though. Many folktales associate the Nephians with shadow in more ways than one. Which is not incomprehensible: if they exist, they must blend into them..." 


"It is a subject that has always fascinated me, for a very personal reason. Sebastion is teaching you the Four Elements martial style, is he not?" 


"I know there's a connection between the Nephians and the Great Prophet, and it was a shadow-man who gave me the scrying amulet in the Great Prophet's symbol. But what those connections are I don't understand. I would so like to know what that is all about. Yes, he is teaching me the elemental maneuvers. Why?" 


"No reason, particularly. But I fight in a different manner, if you have not realized. It is called - perhaps coincidentally - the Way of Shadow. I do not mind telling you this, since we are bound together to a common purpose. I learned it from an old priest when I was a postulant. He was fierce, and stern, and a very good teacher, but he never spoke one word about his past. Sometimes I wonder if--" she smiled, mischievous, "--he was a Nephian. But he is dead, now, and I suppose I will never know." 


"I wondered how you seemed to know so much about them! I mean--not to imply--but I would like to know more about the Way of Shadow. Can it be adapted to sword-fighting? Could you teach me?" 


"It can, certainly, and I will do what I can to help you. That is my task now, remember?" _My very consuming task. _


"Let's start tomorrow, then!" Mel smiled. How buoyed she felt, except.... "I hope Sebastion won't mind." 


"I am sure that Sebastion will support whatever helps you to grow and be better able to defend yourself... Perhaps he too worries about the safety of his companions." Ebri made the suggestion thoughtfully. "We will start tomorrow, but for tonight, pay attention to your dreams, and think about _things between._ For that is the nature of shadow, ultimately... I feel much comforted, I must say--" 


"So do I, you can't imagine," Mel said brightly, trying not to take what Ebri said with too much unreasonable optimism. She rose and started down the steps, happy to be headed for a warm bath, a warm meal, and a warm bed, with all these brilliant new opportunities blazing in her heart. It was almost shameful to feel like this when morning would bring a burial. But it was all in homage to Wolf, too, she knew. 


_Much comforted..._ Ebri repeated to herself, and it was the truth. Her mission had been lagging, lackluster, and her spirit fading and subject to temptation, but now she was back firmly on her path. The Prophet was surely pointing out the folly of her proposed retreat from the world, and she thanked him for the lesson.


But it seemed that the trials that the Prophet had in mind for her were not yte finished this day, for even now, Sebastion approached, doubtless on some last evening errand before he himself went to bed.


"You're still awake?"


_The scenery,_ Ebri sighed, trying to drag her unwilling mind back into the role. _What was it the Immarian cult said about the natural world...?_ Her mind was behaving as a puppet with half its strings cut, dangling, and not responding to her commands. _In a pinch, be what the other expects, and encounters go easier. They cease to see you and see only their own assumptions._ "Yes, well, naturally, I too must be affected by the death of a companion..." Ebri shrugged, and wiped her eyes. 


Sebastion blushed slightly, hoping it wouldn't show too obviously in the darkness. "Actually... that was what I was surprised at." he admitted. "I didn't think you... would." 


"Though I cannot say I knew Wolf well, still, events such as these have a way of recalling other sorrows to the mind--" She showed no response to his opinion of her, but added, "--and it is a pity my gifts could not save him." 


"Strange how you don't think of missing them until they're gone, isn't it?" For a moment he wondered just what might have drifted about through Wolf's history, what untapped veins of wisdom and experienced had been snuffed out of the world so simply. 


Hiking up her pants, Ebri seated herself on the wall, crosslegged, still facing north. "Strange, perhaps, but I should say it was a gift of nature. We are made not to think on it, for if we did we would surely go mad. My order teaches that one should not dwell in the future or past, but do ones best to experience the present moment. " _Order--_ she caught herself at the slip of the word. "That is, our faith bids us wander, with little goal or direction, for this very reason. 


"Seems sort of... aimless?" he offered, with a shrug. "Still, if it suits you..." His tone very obviously implied that he didn't think it did. 


_He would not make a good postulant,_ she decided. "It is far from _aimless--_" she said, though she felt much the same as he -- it was a completely useless, even lazy lifestyle she was imitating for her assignment. "It is a way of life engineered to focus on full experience of each day. Most people go about their lives constantly reviewing the past or planning for the future .Are they in the past or the future? No, certainly, but neither are they in the present. They are nowhere, caught between."


_As in shadow--_ she smiled to herself, recalling her lesson to Melisande. 


"But surely, to get the best out of today, you have to have at least learned the lessons of yesterday? More than that, we have to plan for the future - this monastery wasn't built in a day." 


"You gave quite a lesson to Melisande," she commented, as an aside, not really changing the subject. 


"I.. you... Excuse me? You... you watched?" He wasn't sure, exactly, what he thought of that, and fell silent. 


"I have been standing on this wall for quite some time," she noted. "It was not my intention to watch, but neither did I wish to interrupt. And, I confess, I can rarely pass up the opportunity to learn, whatever the subject. I beg you will forgive the intrusion. It was a well-taught lesson." she observed, carefully avoiding any hint of her other observations. 


"Oh. Did you learn much from it?" he asked, a little defensively. To act the teacher for a complete novice was one thing, or under the watchful eye of a more experienced head like Wolf, but to be examined by an equal was... he wasn't sure. 


"A great deal--" _about both of you_ -- Ebri nodded. "The Four Elements style is not my area of expertise, nor, as you know, are bladed weapons. A review of the principles is always good, if not for oneself then for studying the enemy. I am glad you are taking care to teach her... Sometimes, I think she needs a bodyguard..." 


"You sound like a mother." he chuckled. "Hopefully she'll be able to take care of herself reasonably soon... I wish I knew what she was looking for in all this, though." 


She looked sidelong at the soldier next to her. _And if she were looking for you?_ "Only she could answer that properly. But I would say, perhaps she seeks a better understanding of her identity. Perhaps that is what we all seek, but Melisande has a rather obvious puzzle to solve--" _And a wondrous new purpose in life--_ she thought with a smile. "Answer the question for yourself, soldier--" she challenged, half lightly. "What are you looking for in all of this?" 


"If I knew that, I wouldn't still be out here looking for it." He thought back, again, to his father, settled and comfortable in his small stable. "Hopefully, I'll find some answers out here... maybe I need to find the right questions first." "What of you? Why are you out here?"


"Ah," she chuckled, "as to that, it is an easy answer, as you might guess. I am not here to seek anything, but only to find. Remember, I have no goal. I am an observer, and I serve my god and those I come in the way of. As I came in the way of you." This was the right answer, of course. _Because I am obedient to the will of my superiors and I am commanded to watch a foolish woman who does not know her own worth nor the precariousness of her position-- And I must suffer the company of you and they and not mind the encroaching filth of the world--_ was more to the point. But now, after the unlooked-for success of her last conversation with her ward, there was a second right answer: _I am supporting the quest of a blue quasi-celestial being to defeat at least some small portion of the world's evil..._ On the whole, she supposed the second one was a better right answer than the first, had she no other better purpose, which she did. 


"'Be not the hunter, nor the hunted. Do not seek, do not run, do not hide and do not flee. Simply be, and all will be yours.'" he said, quietly. "It keeps coming back to that, today." 


"Your father was wise to have learned this, I guess." She recalled that Sebastion spoke often of the man: he had done so during today's lesson as well.


"You were closer than I thought." 


"I find this earring to be an excellent souvenir of my travels," she grinned. 


"What does it do?" 


"I have discovered it enhances my hearing appreciably..." 


"Ah..." he sounded vaguely disappointed, for a moment. "Do you know much of magic?" 


"Only that magic which is the divine gift of Immar- I find I have no need for any other. Why do you ask?" 


"I think something's happening to my father's sword, but... well, I don't know much about it. I tried asking Melisande, but the explanation... it didn't seem to answer any actual questions." 


"Something happening--? Can you be more precise? _What_ is happening?" 


"I'm not sure, that's why I want to talk to someone about it. I had a... vision? During the battle, yesterday, a glimpse of something the sword 'saw' - perhaps? Now it feels lighter, easier, smoother... something different. Better, though, definitely better." 


Ebri looked her companion over more carefully. Grief and shock reactions could be strange and idiosyncratic. "Can you describe the vision? Are you sure it is your sword and not yourself that has changed?" 


"If it were the Black Blade, or my bow, I might say yes, but not this. I've trained with this sword every day for nearly a decade now, I know it like my own hand... knew it. I saw a battle... red armoured figures battling against Sir Angelo's order. My father was there... I didn't see a great deal." 


"And what happened? Was your father a part of the order?" she prodded. 


"I don't think so. I only heard his name, I didn't see him. He wasn't with the order, anyway, he was in Royal Service." 


_So he said... and I am a priestess of Immar..._ Her initial judgement, rarely wrong, said though, that this was a product of fatigue and battle fury working on Sebastion's mind, piecing together bits of present and past into a narrative to confuse him now-- and the sword an odd element in it, but obviously crucial to the life of a soldier... but she questioned on. "What, beyond any rational sense, would you say it means?" 


"Means? It means something's happening to the sword, and I'd like to know what?" His brow furrowed as he tried to find out what she was angling for. 


"It may of course be the sword, naturally--" she soothed. "There are any number of folktales that treat intelligent, magical, changed, or conscious weapons and their effects on their bearers... But I would say the solution lies elsewhere. You spoke earlier of your father, and how he would not allow you to read his journal.. It is only natural for a child to wish to understand its parents. Perhaps it is your mind seeking to discover the things you feel your father has kept from you. Accurate or no. It is well known that our minds deceive us and confuse fantasy with fact." In saying these things, she noted how much lighter she suddenly felt, almost exhilarated. Such mental questioning, the rigourous discipline of the mind, it had been by far her favorite part of her studies, and now, limited though this was, it recalled the joy of those hours to her. 


"Do you spend time thinking things like this up in advance?" he asked, after a moment. "Having spent so much time travelling, I should have thought you'd be more prepared to accept odd things - like magical ear-rings. Or did you first think that you were hearing strange voices?"

I
_Hours upon hours..._ If the soldier only knew how much preparation a non-stop role required... "There are things that are enchanted, surely. And no, I was not surprised. Ecurius and Wolf looked into the properties of these items, if you will recall. I was not unaware of its nature, though I am surprised at how well it works... Odd things..." she mused, going on. " There are so very many odd things, Sebastion, that "oddness" is more a condition of normalcy than not. What surprises me by now is that which is not curious in some way, shape, or form." 


"I'm just jittery, sorry..." he turned to stare out over the land towards distant Huron, wondering. "My father believed in giving you tools to learn, but not doing your learning for you - I should have thought he would have mentioned this, though."


"Have you thought of asking the order if they have a record of him?" she asked gently. "Not that I question his words to you, but it may set your mind at ease as to the falsity of your dream." 


"It just seemed a little strange that you'd feel more comfortable declaring me mad than accepting the possibility of a magic sword, that's all." "Not really. I'll return home at some point and ask him."Suddenly 'at some point' felt like it should be a lot sooner than it had before the conversation. 


"I do not think you mad--" Ebri said, a little sharply. "But if it is simply a magic sword, and it is normal, then why does it trouble you?" 


"Because yesterday it wasn't magical. At the turn of the year when I left home it wasn't magical. Ten years ago when my father first let me move through the Hunting Tiger sequence in the hayloft it wasn't magical...today it is. What happens tomorrow? This is... this is what stands between me and death, daily. It is what I do... and it's changing." 


"Forgive me--" she apologized, somewhat lately. "--it is a habit I have; All my life people have been coming to me with just these sorts of questions, and asking for answers. I am in the habit of asking questions that are too personal. Let us concentrate on the sword, then. I take it you know its exact measurements and weight, and so forth?" 


"No, not really." 


_No, of course not._"Hmm. That would be a help; if you did, you could now take such measurements again and see if it was the same or different. " 


"It is different. You'd know if your arms were suddenly longer, wouldn't you?" 


"Ah, yes, but recall the deceptions of the mind. The mind is suspect, while measurements- though suspect too- are less so than that which depends solely on perception. But no matter: it seems to me the answer is simple, if you in fact believe it has become magic." 


"It is? The answer is simple? I don't even know the question yet... so what do you know, then?" 


"If you wish to keep the sword, you must either come to understand its enchantment, and how you may use it, or dispel it. Or you must acquire a different sword for use. For I agree- a weapon which is not consistent and predictable is dangerous. But first, determine whether you are correct. Ask one of our mages to divine whether it is enchanted, or no." 


"You can do that? Just... find out if it's magic?" 


Ebri blinked._ He will never make postulant._ She had not taken the soldier for an intellectual, but had her judgement been so far off? _Perhaps a blow to the head?_ She spoke more slowly. "I do not know how, but it stands to reason that they can do this, at least. It is their trade. How can they work magic if they cannot recognize it?" 


"That's why I've been asking people.... Thank you, I'll take it Mel before she heads for sleep." 


_It is a reminder, at least, to be grateful for the gift of a basic education--_ she thought wearily, and decided to 'head for bed' herself...


----------



## Angcuru

Ah, roleplay-filled goodness.   

I am noticing that Wyshira seems to be taking a backseat to the others in this aspect though, quantity-wise.


----------



## Carnifex

A little bit of info on information gathering by the team that I forgot to add into the last update:


Kale's questions and inqusitiveness threw up some interesting answers. The ironjacks didn't really seem to have much in the way of long-term plans - not yet - though some of what the travellers said hinted there was some sort of internal split in their ranks that needed to be cleared up soon. The wizard spoke occasionally of 'mechanists' and 'trans-engineers' and of debates and disputes. And there were more Ironjacks still coming over the see as refugees. This band was amongst the first to have arrived, and had travelled forth from the enclave in Iril to explore how far they might extend their influences and to find places to shelter their people from the Sanguinials. Not all of them seemed convinced that even here was safe from their foes. 


He was able to learn a little about the monastic traditions of Grumand here too - or at least to see a bit more of it than he could find out from Cord. But what struck him was their answer to his questions on the fighting order of Immar - there _was_ no fighting order of Immar that they knew of. The organisation of that faith was too loose for such structures. Of course that didn't prevent the individuals from training themselves in combat and meditation. 


He found that eavesdropping on the sages threw up little - the two guards, the Naserian and the Huronese, seemed to keep a good eye out for trouble as well. 


Unfortunately, his questions that he asked of the mimir, about any links between Cryosians or ice mages with Gilamesh followers, Overton, Pendarme, Amegrion, Irilson, Ak'mun'tep, and Tasslik, threw up no answers of any relevance or that he had not already heard chattered from the metal teeth of the little silvery skull. 


The inquiries of both Sebastion and Kale about the troubles in the region led to some more interesting information gathered. The usual dangers of the region - mostly natural predators, the occasional goblin or dreadspawn band, and more rarely still undead or more vicious beasts - were all still present as ever. But unrest amongst such things was growing, and the native humanoid tribes of the Sarokeans growing more turbulent. It seemed that the monsters of the land could sense the sinister change in the earth as much as the priests of the Stonelord could. It was getting more dangerous to wander these lands now. Certainly, the monastery would be sending representatives to the Grumandic conclave to be held soon.


----------



## Carnifex

With the rising dawn, the rays of light that crept across the valley side found a gathering, a handful of figures around the final resting place of Wolf Kieresane. The lifting gloom threw the collected band into contrasts of dark and light, as before them the final rites were said, a prayer to Ishrak to take the man's soul to Her halls and a prayer to Grumand to keep safe the corpse in the womb of the earth. 


After a night of tears and uncertainty, Wyshira gratefully stepped into the role of ceremonial priestess. She intoned the proper prayers to Ishrak, and with solemn grace assisted the Grumandic priest with the funereal rituals. She hoped that no-one would be paying close enough attention to her to notice the dark smudges of blue that shadowed her eyes. The sleepless night had taken its toll on her appearance, making her seem even more frail and off-color than usual. 


Burl stood in silence as the sun’s rays rose in the sky. _Looks like a beautiful day for Wolf’s funeral _thought the necromancer as the last words were said over his friend and protector. When the priest finished, Burl walked over to the grave. Picking up a small handful of soil, he tossed it into the empty hole. 


“Goodbye friend. You will most definitely be missed, but I for one will never forget you or what you have done for us. Some day we will surely meet again.” 


Then the grave was filled, the muscled Grumandic monks shovelling the soil back in as the administering priest watched solemnly. 


As the party moved to gather themselves and their wits, Kale found that the priest had moved quietly to block his passage, something in his hand attracting the mercenary's attention. Something of yellowed parchment or paper. A letter. 


The strong, wise eyes of the priest settled on Kale's face. "When we were preparing the body for burial, we took from it all that was not to be grave goods, and we have left them by your resting places that you might take them onwadrs with you. But we also found _this_ on him. A letter. Addressed to you, Kale, or if you were not alive then to the others of your travelling companions." Then he handed the letter over, and left without a further word. 


The letter was crudely sealed with some wax. No symbol, seal-mark or stamp. Other than the directions as to who it was for, it had nothing more marked upon it. 


Breaking it, he could read the words written within. 


_I am not sure who will be reading this, but if you are then this means I am either dead - or you're a thief who has stolen it off me. If the latter is the case, I'd advise you return it promptly or else start worrying about how good you are at covering your tracks. If the former is the case, then you're Kale or one of the others. 

In that case, here's a thing: I've been wrestling with a matter for the last few days about what to tell you of the Azure Blades. If I'm dead, though, then I don't have the right to keep it from you any more, because you'll have been touched by the ramifications of it. 

There is a nobleman in Tarravus by the name of Tobias. He will tell you more of the matter than I wish to disclose in a letter that might fall into the wrong hands. Show him this and he'll do it. It's not like I hadn't already discussed this with him. But suffice to say, you'll get some answers. 

And if I'm dead, I leave you with two more things. 

The first is a gift. To get it, you must speak to one termed Bloodclaw in the common tongue (I won't attempt to spell it in the original language). To find him, you must hunt yourself an animal - any wild animal will do - and kill it, and use its blood to draw a circle on the raw soil of the land. Then put the carcass in the circle and throw a handful of wolves teeth upon it. I have such teeth in a bag on my belt. Bloodclaw will tell you the rest. 

The second is a request. To fulfil it, go to a pool of water - any pool - at midnight of any day. It doesn't matter when. Bloodclaw will have told you what to do then. If you're wondering why you might want to do this - well, I know that at least Kale has noticed that I don't sleep. Do this and you'll be told why. 
Perhaps this letter will soon be cast aside, and I'll have told my travelling companions the truths of what are detailed here anyway. But if it's being read before then, hopefully this might help to explain a few things. 

- Wolf _



* * *


As they prepared to move out, the day still early and young, Cord had something to say. "I must leave you to your own path now, my friends. It is not that I would wish to desert you now to the dangers that might lie ahead. Yet everything I have heard here just confirms what I already know, what I already _feel_. Something is wrong with the earth, and I must go to the Cathedral of Stone where the conclave is to be held. Even though I will be there before that, I need the time. I need that time to find out more of what is going on, and to put myself to the best possible use in aiding my fellows to deal with it." 



* * *


Wyshira had spoken with Cord privately the night before, and he had told her that he was going to the upcoming conclave of Grumand, instead of travelling further with the party. 


"Let me come with you!" 


She had practically jumped at the opportunity. "You- you shouldn't travel alone," she had offered as an excuse. 


But Cord had clucked his tongue and pointed out that this was a monastery of Grumand; he didn't think that he'd have much trouble finding numerous others to accompany him to the conclave if need be. 


"Why are you so anxious to avoid going on with them, Wyshira?" he'd asked gently. "You know I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself." 


"No! I- That's not it at all," she'd stammered in reply. "Of course I want to keep on with them. Why wouldn't I? It's just that..... well, I thought you might want a companion. That's all." 


She'd said no more about it then, though she'd noted the skeptical look on the old dwarf's face as she bid him good night. She doubted that she'd convinced him that she wanted to go on with the party to the tower. She certainly hadn't convinced herself. 


* * *


Yet they were also to be joined by another. After Kale's words with the Ironjacks the previous day, their arcane leader had decided to release one of the men to accompany the travellers for a while and to aid them with what they might find in the tower. Ansas'Turi, an Ironjack mechanic, and a tall and lithe woman, her dark hair cut short and tied into braids decorated with steel trinkets, clad in tough leathers treated with fire-retardant chemicals, and bedecked with the same array of tools and devices and with the same goggles as the rest of her kin. She was unaugmented, but then most of the Ironjacks were without such prosthetics anyway. She gave the band a wry smile. "I'm to be accompanying you, then, after your friend here's discussion yesterday," she said, gesturing at Kale. "Ansas'Turi, a mechanic and engineer in my homeland and on my home-rig, but here just a refugee. If this place you're going is as you say it is, I look forwards to practicing my machine training again." 


Burl took a moment to reflect on the new changes with Spike, his familiar. _Well, old friend, it is a shame that Cord won’t be making the joourney with us, but I really never took the time to learn more about him. However, this new one intrigues me a bit even though it will probably take a bit before I trust her. She is going to have big shoes to fill. _


* * *


The funeral and burial were over, and Wyshira still didn't know what she was going to do. She wished that Kale wasn't in such a big rush to get moving again. Not that she really wanted to agonize over this decision for another day. It was just that she felt she needed more time to figure things out. 


_Does the crew really need me?_ she asked herself over and over as she listened to Cord announce his intention to remain behind. _Or maybe the question I should be asking is: Could they do better by finding someone else to be their healer? _


The truth was, she had lost her confidence. She felt paralyzed by the fear that she might let her friends down again. They probably could recruit someone else while they were here at the monastery. There were bound to be clerics of Grumand willing to go along. They'd found the Ironjack mechanic easily enough, so why not a healer? 


She could tell Kale right now, and he would likely find a replacement before morning. They'd only lose a day on the road to the scholars. How far could a bunch of sages get in a day? One look at Kale impatiently herding the crew toward the stables, however, told her how he'd respond to that question. He was ready to move on NOW; he wouldn't delay an hour. 


In the end, it was easier to get on her horse when the time came and set out on the journey in her usual place. She had serious doubts about her ability to look out for the party's welfare now, but she couldn't abandon them either. She bid Cord farewell along with the others, and asked the Lady of Storms to watch over him. "I hope our paths cross again sometime," she said with feeling. Then she turned her back on the mountain retreat and rode off with the others towards the alchemist's tower. 


* * *


Cazamir woke early, as did the rest of his band. The sages were gathering their equipment up quickly - the old men were eager to make good time since they could quite possibly reach the tower today, and if they did they wanted a chance to make some preliminary investigations before the darkness fell once more. The quiet Naserian pathfinder, Jarvis, had made sure they were all up before the crack of dawn. 


* * *


Thus it was that despite Kale's best efforts to get out of the compound first that morning, the companions found that the Drakkath wizards were already on the path in the direction of the tower by the time they departed from the hospitality of the monastery.


* * *


Sebastion rose early, not long after most of the monks, and ventured down to the stables to prepare the horses for the journey. Despite a reasonable night's rest, he had a fearful headache, like a wet leather band slowly tightening around his temples and the base of his skull, where it met his neck. 


Fearing it was perhaps the tension he'd worried about the night before he tried some simple exercises, drifting through the single-sword forms with his new, black blade, calming mind, body and soul. By the end he felt content, and the ache had receded, though he was a little later than he'd intended in returning to the others at the breakfast table. 


Surprisingly, the compound was quieter than he'd expected, and it soon became clear why when they found that the wizards had stolen a march on them. 


"Perhaps it is not so bad a thing as you imagine?" he offered, to Kale's obvious disgust. "Though I wouldn't wish it upon anyone, if there is danger on the route it will befall them first. If there isn't, then at least we have an uneventful trip to look forward to. Besides, we are a smaller group, and there is every possibility we might catch them as we travel." he offered, trying to maintain a little good humour. It was difficult, with the ache and the memory of the past few days, but life had to continue. 


Setting his horse off at a gentle walk whilst the well-travelled path was available near the monastery, Sebastion took the lead for a while, then gently fell back to be near Melisande. He'd considered speaking with Wyshira about the sword, but he trusted Mel not to laugh at him a little more - only a little. The possibility of speaking with Burl about it never really entered his mind - he wasn't sure about the idea of travelling with a Necromancer, despite the fact that he seemed a decent sort. He wasn't, however, going to discuss magic with him at all. 


"Morning." he greeted, quietly, as the Aasimar came alongside him. "I was speaking with Ebri last night, and she said that there were spells to see if something was magical? I wondered.... would you be able to tell me if my father's sword is?" 


Melisande smiled a greeting as Sebastion fell back alongside her mare. Her eyes were a little swollen again from the overflow at Wolf's burial, but there was something else in them as well. Her conversation with Ebri Zol the evening before had galvanized her will, and it showed: there was more poise and less flighty distraction, as if heavier thoughts weighed down her glance. 


Since setting out she had been determinedly yet vainly racking her brain for the "symbol" Ebri suggested she'd need. _Things that are between? Things that are blue?_ Perhaps it was the influence of Grumand's monastery (as well as her own child's imagining of her origin, when her mother had disappeared into a mountain and came out pregnant), but she kept coming back to the image of an underground river. Sad there wasn't a cool name for that. Then there was the amphibian, like Pierre, a creature between water and earth. The Blue Newt? No-o.... Inspiration was not coming as easily as she might have hoped. 


* * * * * * *


She'd spoken to Ebri earlier on that same subject, as the group broke for the last time from Wolf and prepared to depart. 


"I did pay attention to my dream last night," Mel whispered to Ebri confidentially, "but I'm not sure what to make of it. 


"This is it: I was at Lord Ecurius' manor again, and everyone was there--you and all my friends, and some other important people, and Lord Ecurius was giving us all a tea-party. Even the Solar Beholder was there, but he was in the corner talking to the wizards so no one minded. Everyone kept coming up and congratulating me on my new quest, and saying such nice things that I started to get embarrassed. And then I realized I was naked. And then I woke up." She shrugged. "I don't think it was a sign." 


_More likely dinner..._ Ebri thought, and conveniently, loose gravel on the slope they were traversing caused her to lose her footing momentarily, providing her time to come up with a response. It does not seem profound, I agree, but nonetheless it may be useful to consider it... For instance, you were surrounded by companions and friends. Yet last night you expressed to me your fears that you would be lonely. Those around you whom you trust acknowledged the validity of your new endeavor..." She went on, calmly, focusing Melisande's attention upon the first dream, for she was certain she did not want her ward's mind turned toward the second. Karbal had warned of this, that the agents that opposed them would seek to work upon their target's mind through dreams, and this was a clear instance of it. As far as she knew, it had been the only case, but her reason told her that for Mel to recall the dream, to continue to be chilled by it as she said, could not be productive or safe. And that which you would normally find most threatening - the beholder - was revealed to be not so. Think, too... you were only embarrassed by the excessive praise of the others, not even realizing your nakedness. While odd, I grant you, it seems not without its lessons: it speaks of a new strength and confidence in you. Those things that make us fearful are very often the products of our own minds... As she reached a crest in the pathway, she paused to allow the other woman to breathe; most of the others were still un-used to the thinner air at these altitudes. "As I meditated last night, the image of a luminous sapphire came to me, hidden deep in the fastness of mountain rock, waiting to be discovered, for its light to reach the world... She shrugged, as if to discount the validity of the suggestion. "It may not serve your purpose, but it came to me, for what it is worth... Ebri demured, rather pleased with this particular bit of fiction.


After a thoughtful pause she added, "I did have a strange dream once, though. It was a while back, when we were traveling from Corvus city to Tarravus. I remember because when I woke up you were doing a sort of dance even though it was the middle of the night. In it I saw this sort of ring of shadow-men surrounding someone bathed in gray light. And when I looked closer--it was me. Then darkness rushed in and swallowed up everything." She shivered. "Ooh, it still gives me the creeps." 


Ebri pondered. "As for the nightmares, I hope they do not trouble you further, but if they should, I have always found the best approach is to talk about them right away, instead of brooding on them. My mother always said that evil spirits hated the sound of human speech -- that this was why they come to us in our sleep, when we are silent. Look there-- it is a Tadenvine-- " Not entirely feigning excitement, she pointed out the creeping groundcover trailing its way down the slope ahead of them. "Its roots are extremely strong, and do not rot; they are useful for cordage. The leaves are a poultice against sores of the mouth..."

Mel let herself roll along with Ebri Zol's comforting monologue, glad of the woman's understanding and that she hadn't laughed at Melisande's silly dreams (the naked-in-public theme was a recurring one on anxious nights since childhood, and Mel had taken it to signify simply how much everyone was laughing at her expense without showing it). 


But she could hardly contain herself when Ebri mentioned the sapphire vision, and after that hardly listened to the rest, waiting only for a pause long enough to leap into. 


"Yes--_Tadenacea tenace_--but the sapphire! Ebri, it's perfect! You're wonderful!" 


It seemed to Mel then that it _was_ the perfect symbol for her quest: the gift of Naskha, hidden, full of light, and tinted blue, that she must work to uncover and hold forth. Only later did it occur to her, when she was thinking of her mother, how hard, cold and cristalline--lonely and inorganic--that gem seemed. Not that that made it any less apt a symbol; only a more daunting one. 


As she rode she stole a glance at Kale, just to see if he was still holding up. _A clockwork heart for Kale, and a mineral one for me? Is that what we're striving for--or against?_


* * * * * *


Now Mel was grateful for the distraction from her brain-racking, and also for the opportunity to be of service. 


"I was speaking with Ebri last night, and she said that there were spells to see if something was magical? I wondered.... would you be able to tell me if my father's sword is?" 


"Sure! Just hold it out and I'll have a look." 


Melisande's divination magic brought the world alive with new hues of glowing colours that traced the movements of her companions, after a moment resolving around the enchanted objects they carried now - Ebri's earring bathed in its own silvery-blue aura, a blue-green shimmering from Kale's scabbarded short sword, Burl's wands sheathed in phantasmal glows, and the rest of the arcane bits and pieces they had. 


And Sebastion's sword, suffused with the glow of inner magic. She could see where the man had just so recently touched it to hand it over to her, the marks of where his hands had laid deliniated by particularly strong energy, welling up from the sword, reacting at his touch.


Regretfully, Melisande blinked away the beautiful aftereffects of her spell, waiting until her eyesight returned to normal before she spoke. 


"It's magic all right," she announced. "Funny you ask. Didn't you know? Or is that what it was about when you asked me if magic sleeps? If the magic in this sword was dormant before, it's definitely kinetic now--and it looks to me like _you_ are what activated it. There are _handprints_ of magic where you touched it." 


She passed the sword back to him--_carefully. _


"I've never seen anything like this before, though," she mused further. "Usually it takes an arcane word or gesture, or a certain action in certain circumstances, to 'wake up' magic. But the way the sword responds to you it's as if your own hands are what focus the arcane energy. When did it first start? 


"Oh--are you all right? You look... tense." 


It was not the first time she found herself wondering this: two days ago Sebastion had gone into some kind of shock after the battle, and now there was a slight paleness, a hollow look to his eye, that belied repressed pain. A second after she said it though, Mel winced under an onslaught of self-consciousness, and pretended to be very busy adjusting the height of her right stirrup. 


"I mean, we all are, obviously," she muttered dismissively. 


Sebastion nodded, sagely, after the confirmation trying to school his face to attentiveness as his mind skimmed over the technicalities. _'Dormant'_ he thought he understood - he'd heard it somewhere once - but _'kinetic'_ didn't sound like anything he'd come across before. 


Something of it, however, must have shown in his face, for she leant in slightly peering into his eyes. 


"Tense? I suppose, a little. I've a headache that feels like there's a cave bear sat on my shoulders trying to squeeze my ears together. 


I slept well enough, but... I don't know what it is, maybe the air will clear it as we go." 


Looking ahead, he desperately avoided staring at his hands, wondering what he had that could put magic into a sword - wasn't that the province of... who only knew? 


* * *


Ebri found occasion around midday to smile, introduce herself and give welcome to the newcomer. It seems we have similar preferences in styling our hair--" she jested, "--though I doubt anyone will confuse us..." Privately, she noted how much noise the woman's trinkets made, with even the slightest motion. Her own braids, though she loathed them, were wrapped securely with dark thread. _Either she has no need of stealth, or she believes herself the equal of her foes-- _"It is a pleasure to meet you on the road, Ansas'Turi," she said warmly. "I am Ebri Zol, a traveller and servant of Immar. As these others will no doubt tell you, I collect tales and lore in my wanderings. I have never encountered one of your folk, I confess. If you do not mind, I would love to hear how it is you perceive the world we walk through. Or any of your favorite tales. Or whatever you would care to impart..."" 


_The jolly, welcoming companion..._ But it was useful to make a good impression, and if the woman reacted badly, then she would understand her the better. But her humble admission of her refugee status did not indicate she would. 


Ansas'Turi, the Ironjack woman, glanced over with vague interest as Ebri approached her with her questions and inquisitiveness, the little metal trinkets wound into her hair shiftign with her turning head. "Immar? That's one of the gods here, isn't it? Some of your gods we know of over in Avoria, others we do not. Not that it matters to us. We have only a passing interest in such matters," she answered cooly. "_Why_ is it that you collect tales and lore?"


Seeming to happily acquiesce, Ebri picked up her pace, strolling along even more jauntily as she talked. "Oh, any number of reasons... " she began, taking a conversational, non-proselytizing tone. "It is a general duty laid upon us by our order, those who worship Immar-- the god of travel, and, some say, luck and fortune-- to collect information as we go about the world. I keep a "Register of Exceptional Destinations", for example, and generally note things of interest and things that have changed in places I pass through.


Our interest extends not only to the places, but also to the people that inhabit them... For the nature of travel is both to appreciate and foster diversity and mixing among those of different faiths, traditions, and lifestyles. In chronicalling and supporting these things, we honor our god. 


Also, in asking, in seeking out information, we are brought into contact with others, affording us the opportunity to both deepen our own faith and insight, and spreading the worship to others, though we would never bring it where it was unwelcome..." Ebri chattered on, enumerating the supposed benefits of this superstition. 


"It also preserves knowledge that might otherwise be lost, were no one to collect it and organize it and spread it. For instance, say a flood or a famine wiped out an entire village, or a clan were uprooted and forced to leave their land for a city-- their tales and wisdom, and any healing remedies, for instance, these might be lost entirely... "


Such had nearly happened to her own clan, _for instance,_ the priestess reflected, not feeling much one way or the other on this account. "And, also, to provoke interest in travelling, in sightseeing, among those who might not otherwise do so, well... it is good for prosperity in a land. Many a small inn could not survive without travellers on the road. And so, it is another form of service to the world." 


But, frankly, " she summed up, in a way that she thought might appeal most to the apparently unromantic woman, "--it does keep one awake on a long path. Tales are wonderful for passing the time... and for acquiring food and lodging, when one has no other means..."


* * *


Cazamir jogged forward, focusing his mind on his surroundings. The run itself was effortless – while in his old monastery, they would run for great lengths of time while concentrating on other disciplines. Cazamir had honed this activity for other uses, constantly sharpening his mind in the search for new talents. It was during such exercise that he had learned how to make the ground quake before him. He hoped it would yield more as his travels continued. 


He spared a glance back to the group of sages, reassuring himself that they were not under assault or throwing spells at one another. As a whole, they were more animated as they approached their goal. The possibility that this ‘umbral tower’ could be reached by nightfall had spawned an even greater number of arguments. Cazamir wondered if they were trying to get the last bit of rancor out of their hearts before settling down to work. 


Satisfied with no signs of arcane warfare, Cazamir continued forward. He slowed his approach as he neared the low rise where Jarvis stood in silence. The Naserian watched ahead, scanning for something, but when Cazamir looked all he saw was a barren expanse of land. 


I now know why you scout forward, away from their constant debates.” Cazamir said, moving up beside Jarvis. “I’m thinking to take up a position far to the rear of the group.” Cazamir grinned at his jest, hoping in vain to earn a smile from the stoic Naserian. 


“The sages are curious to see what progress we are making. Of course, arguments and debates have sprung up around it. Johan suggested I check with you to placate them.”


As Cazamir caught up with him, Jarvis gracefully wheeled round to look upon the approaching monk and, further back, the scholars. The pathfinder gave a faint, wry smile at Cazamir's comments. "Tell them we're making fine progress. We'll be there well before sundown. However, you might want to take note of this..." he said, indicating further back down the path they had taken from the monastery. "The other large band of travellers from the monastery, the ones that arrived yesterday. They're coming the same way as us. From what I overheard one of the... blue women saying to a couple of our scholar companions, I thought they might even be going the same way we are. That confirms it." There was the distant but discernible image of the second band following their path.


* * *


Kale took point. Following along behind the dry footprints of their competition, it was like silent dusty testimony that he was already insufficient for the job. Absent feeling, the mercenary did not feel self-conscious, only darkly fatalistic. How would the team turn this around, successfuly deliver the goods? It simply could not do to return empty handed. 


Hours passed, Kale could not make account for how his mind had bided the time. But there still remained the same dilemma: how would they deal with the mages riding before them? 


Pulling back to the group to consult, Kale spoke in measured tones. "Unless we jumped ahead and jammed the door behind us, there's no way we're going to be able to keep that grip of bookkeeps out of our objective. We can forget about making our way easy out of there with anything we find. I think we'll have to make a deal... before we get to the tower." Kale rode on, not liking the prospects of negotiating with a bunch of scholars. "We can sell them on our mechanical expertise," he inclined a repectful eyebrow toward the IronJack, "to keep them safe from protective contrivances, and extra arms for the unexpected. In exchange, we keep the mechanic lore they're not interested in anyway..." _and we can learn from them some more about the shadows, besides..._ Recruiting some extra help was one thing, but taking on an entire alliance was another. The whole crew would have to be together one this one. Watching the road and watching his companions, Kale measured their reactions to their predicament...


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## Broccli_Head

Cool! They haven't done the Bloodclaw thing yet.


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## Carnifex

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> Cool! They haven't done the Bloodclaw thing yet.




Nope, and I'm wondering whether Kale's player has probably forgotten about it, not that they've really had a chance to do it yet. I'll remind the party after they've finished in the tower with a 'things yet to do' list 

I'm awaiting your gholl character info, since it'll be fairly soon that the party reach his location


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## Carnifex

Another little update from me today 




_We'll have to make a deal?_ Mel wondered. 


"Kale, I'm sure there won't be any problem with the wizards. We're both on scholarly missions. They're going to investigate the origins of the tower itself, and we're going to see what we can find of its latest inhabitant. There's no conflict there! Everything we gather will go to the Truth-Seekers or to museums anyway. We don't have to 'make a deal'--I'm sure it's in our mutual interest to work together. 


"Do you want me to go talk to Matthias about it?" she offered brightly, gesturing up the trail. At a fair gallop she could catch up to the wizards shortly, and as she was getting more and more comfortable in the saddle it actually sounded like fun to try. 


Sebastion could only shrug as Mel's capricious attention was diverted elsewhere, though he might have frowned if he wasn't afraid it would unscrew the top of his head. 


"I hope you're right," he offered, not changing pace as he guided his horse a little to the right, sighting ahead towards where he presumed the wizards were. "There's no reason to suspect they are lying about their mission, but equally nothing to suggest that they're telling the truth, either. 


As for dashing off to see them... if they're going the same way we are, we'll meet them soon enough. This isn't a region to be hurrying through." 


Mel sighed inwardly as once again her energetic good intentions were thwarted by caution. _He'd better not be acting protective again,_ she thought. _That is so condescending. _


"Fine. Although I'm sure if they had anything to hide they wouldn't have told us about the Umbral tower in the first place. Oh well, we'll see soon enough. 


"Pass me your sword again. I'd like to check it for arcane markings. Do you remember the precise moment it started acting magic? Was it during the battle with the bandits? Did you do anything unusual at the time--speak a certain word or make a certain gesture or anything?" 


Hanging back a little, Sebastion reached out with his sword - checking the ties that held on the two wooden sheaths - and passed it to her. 


"It wasn't really the other Treasure-seekers I was wary of..." he muttered, quietly, pitching his voice low so the others wouldn't hear. "The monks hinted that there was more than one band of bandits out here..." He let that sink in for a moment before turning his attention to her questions as he reached down to pat the colt gently on the neck as he trotted alongside, one of Sebastion's blankets across his back. 


"I wasn't speaking, that's for sure, and it was well after the battle. I started practicing, and then it got... it changed. And that's when I got this Gods-damned headache, too..." 


* * *


Cazamir acknowledged Jarvis with a slight nod, and turned to walk back down to his employers. As he moved, he tried to focus his eyes on the group that was following their footsteps. Would they come to a peaceful resolution if they sought the same finds, or would Cazamir find himself at odds with the capable travellers he had seen? Looking at the stern faces of the greybeards, his heart sunk. He moved to address Johan. 


“Jarvis says that we are making good progress, and we should reach the tower before sundown.” 


Cazamir waited, allowing the sages to have their moment of happiness before adding the second piece of news. 


“We are not alone, however,” he said, pointing in the direction behind him. The men turned in unison, trying to see from their poor vantage point. “The mercenaries from the compound. The ones with the blue-skinned females?” 


He knew this would spark a new debate amongst the men. For the first time in a while, he paid attention to their conversation. This would probably decide whether they would assist the party or work against them.


Cazamir's information about the following group sparked a low, interested wave of muttering through the band of scholars. It seemed that more than anything else, they were curious as to why they were being followed. "It's much too far down this path now, after all, for them to be going anywhere other than the tower." 


* * *


They met further along the path, a good couple of miles and just on the verge of reaching the valley in which, according to the varied maps and plans they had - the well-crafted maproll that even now Kale had unrolled across his saddle to peer at, that had been supplied by Ecurius and was carefully inked and drawn to be as accurate as possible, or the dusty roll pulled out of an ancient-looking tube that the sages peered at, a somewhat unclear depiction with Drakkath symbols scattered around it - was where the tower itself was positioned. As yet though, it remained just out of their sight. 


As it was, the band who had set forth on the request of Ecurius slowly caught up with the band of scholars, until neither could really ignore the others presence. By now it was more than fairly obvious that both had the same end in mind, the tower. It merely remained to be seen how they reacted to one another in this second meeting. 


The Drakkath wizards had halted to wait for their new acquaintances, the tall and impressive-looking Johan standing before the others to greet the adventurers. "Good day. We cannot help but notice that you travel the same path as us... a path that leads to the Umbral tower. I would not wish to seem rude, but we wonder why you are heading there?"


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## Maldur

Another new player   Cool!

I know I dont reply to this thread very often, but I do follow the story as it unfolds. Actually its one of thoe site I visit religiously


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## Carnifex

Yea, Burl's player recently dropped from the game and his character has become an NPC, so the gnoll will become a new party member.

I have been considering for a while starting a new thread for the story hour once the party reach the arcanist's tower - it'll be a suitable point for a new summary of the party & NPC's, and might draw in some more readers than this rather chaotic thread does  Thing is, that point is coming soon - the party are nearly there, and so this thread is likely to now have only a few more updates left...


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## Angcuru

Woo.    

I've just started reading the game itself as it plays out, and there's a nice little surprise ahead.


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## Carnifex

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Woo.
> 
> I've just started reading the game itself as it plays out, and there's a nice little surprise ahead.




Heheh, there are lots of little - and big - surprises ahead 

I may be able to get an update done today - possibly the last for this thread before I start the new one! - but if I don't, it'll most likely be Sunday or Monday before I do, as tomorrow I travel back up to university again.


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## Carnifex

Sebastion noted Kale's tense stance as he waited at the crest of the hill, nodding towards the gathering of scholars nestled in the glen between the ridge they were climbing. Mounting the top of the rise he stared down for a moment, not surprised thanks to the warning, and didn't change his pace as he rode gently down the hill. The long hours of riding meant that he wasn't concentrating really on guiding the horse - it was second nature - and he took the opportunity to size up the other group, seeing that there was little hostility in evidence, though a reasonable - and sensible - degree of caution.


"Good day." he greeted them, quietly, when he reached a reasonable distance, and drew the mare to a halt to swing down to the floor.


"We have been asked to investigate the tower, and to bring back anything of interest - a simple financial arrangement. Given that you obviously have more study in the area than we, we are at something of a disadvantage for bargaining, but might I suggest we work together?


You have our co-operation, should you wish it, and our labour of course, whilst I'm sure we could benefit from your knowledge. After the fact we can come to an amicable arrangement about dividing the findings?"


He was acutely aware, at that moment, of his companions arrayed behind him, and he wondered how many of them were wondering why he hadn't discussed this with them before acting - and hoped fervently that they had come to the same conclusion as he, that co-operation was the most sensible way forward.


Wyshira watched Sebastian ride down the trail toward the scholars. She didn't think he had anything to fear from the group up ahead, but she kept a watchful eye on them nonetheless. She sat her horse next to Burl's while she waited to see what would happen.


"You look like you would fit right in with an expedition like that," she said idly to the necromancer. "I wasn't paying very close attention to their conversation with Melisande back at the monastery...... I wonder what it is that they study."


* * *


Cazamir moved up to his standard position, off to the side of the head sage. He tried to appear calm and relaxed, although he was ready to spring into action if anything happened. His mind raced with choices - would he pull Johan to the ground for cover, or would he launch at the group? And who was more dangerous, the armed men, or the blue-skinned women, no doubt magic-wielders?


Cazamir calmed his breathing and honestly hoped that the sages were less likely to anger the mercenaries than they did each other. 


* * *


The scene was strange: in the absence of Wolf, with Kale in brooding silence, Sebastion suddenly metamorphosed into someone polite and well-spoken and took command when challenged by the wizard. Mel practically gaped. It was so odd it made her realize just how wary both the wizard and Sebastion (and everyone else, probably) were.


So she piped up, "Come now. I just don't see why everyone's so tense.


"We haven't been asked to bring back just _anything_ of interest," she corrected, "but only what the Truth Seeker who hired us is interested in, which is to say the thaumineering projects of the tower's most recent inhabitant, a Carthagian arcanist.


"After speaking with your companion Matthias I gathered your group was more interested in the artifacts of the original Umbral builders. So you see? There's no reason at all for us to be so very edgy.


"Personally, I'd love to work with you and hear more about the Umbral people. I'm sure you scholars do such interesting work. And you'll be happy to have us around if there's trouble: we're good in a pinch.


"Aren't we?" She beamed at the rest of the group, expecting approving nods.


"Er, I mean, that's not supposed to be a threat--I meant, we're good in a pinch with bandits and ghouls and such, which you're obviously not, ha ha.


"Er, so what do you say? Do we have an arrangement?"


It took Mel's words to make him realise it, but Sebastion was tensed, ready for a fight. His head ached, which possibly didn't help, but there was no real reason to believe the scholars - who had been perfectly polite the day before - had any more ill intent than they.


"She does have a point." he offered, with a wry grin to the lead scholar. "We do seem to have, at the very least, a few strong backs to lend to the cause."


_And why did it take her to point it out?_ he asked himself, as he waited. _Damn this headache... _

_DM's Note: Sebastion's headaches are actually an indication of what class he took his last level in  The character himself isn't yet aware that he is now a lvl 1 telepath psion as well as a lvl 4 fighter  _

* * *

Though she wanted to haul Melisande down to the ground and slap a hand over her mouth, Ebri couldn't reach easily, and to do anything now in the plain view of the others would excite even more suspicion and comment...


_And,_ she reflected with grim humor, _it would probably bring Sebastion charging to the rescue-- With his magic sword, no doubt._


She just stood, her teeth clenched, smiling, until Melisande's natural train of artless speech was out.


"That is what they _said_ they were here for, certainly..." she ground out, in an undertone, at Melisande's elbow.


"If such things exist..." she called, adding on. "It is disputed, but our employer is interested to know if the rumors are true, and to have a look at them if we find them."


_We must have a discussion about circumspection..._ Frankness was one thing. Ebri found that more and more, she respected and admired bluntness and honesty and openness, among those who could afford to practice it. In her role, it was denied her. But opening one's mouth like a sewage outspout was another thing entirely. W_hat a relief it might be to trust everyone..._ she thought. _Like a little child, safe with its parents..._


"However--" she continued in the previous tone, through her teeth, "--if they are dissembling, we will have the pleasure of their company at each step--"


She hoped they were not, though; she too was intensely interested in the Umbral culture, and the thought that anyone would fund a scholarly expedition to such a place was heartening.


_Frog and badger sit through winter
One in mud and one in den..._


In the momentary silence, the music came back again. _Let us move forward,_ her mind urged, desperate for activity.


* * *


Johan seemed to be listening carefully to what was being said to him, tilting his head inquisitively to one side. "I can see advantages in us working together. We've come across examples of Umbral structures before with still active defences and guardians, and even some rather strange forms of undead as well, so aid with those kidns of trouble would be welcome. On the other hand, if what you say about the last resident being a Carthagian, he might have tampered or deactivated the original systems, and perhaps installed some of his own... And we are skilled with arcane matters, are we not, gentlemen? So in that respect we may prove able to aid you."


The wizard paused for a moment to chew his lip in thought, turning his head to speak quietly to Cazamir. "I _think_ they're honest but be on guard for any trouble. We don't know much about what they're capable of, or what their reasons for being out here really are." Cazamir gave a tight smile and nodded at Johan’s whispered words. It was good to see that the scholar didn’t truly trust this group either. The world was full of unsavory types, and who was to say this group wouldn’t try to take advantage of the greybeards if opportunity presented itself?


Then the sage turned back to the assembled band. "Well," he said, raising his voice again so that all could hear, "I don't see any particular problems with us continuing onwards in each others company. But before we do move on, perhaps now might be a time to share what information we might have, for our guide says that over the next rise is the tower, and I'd prefer to be as prepared as possible before venturing towards it. Tell us, what do you know of this Carthagian thaumineer who you believe took up residence there. I find it most unusual for such an arcanist to have sought out and inhabited an Umbral structure..."


Sebastion tilted his head, slightly, in acknowledgement, and turned back to his mare calmly. "They know more about it than I do," he admitted, nodding back towards Mel, Wyshira and the others, "that's not my forte."


_And just about anybody else here knows more about it than I do ...._ Wyshira thought, as Sebastian bowed out of the conversation, leaving it to one of the other party members to explain about the Carthagian thaumineer.


Mel would probably be glad to take over, which was fine with Wyshira, although the young woman was inclined to talk first and consider the consequences of her words after. Wyshira hadn't been able to hide her smile when Ebri Zol had tried to curb the flow of Melisande's chatter a few moments earlier with her own whispered words of caution. It remained to be seen whether or not the pragmatic priestess had been too subtle.


Wyshira was surprised that Burl had not joined in the conversation. In fact he seemed to be trying his best to be invisible to the scholarly mages. _And I thought that he would enjoy their company, even though their fields of study are not quite the same._ To Wyshira, Death and Shadows seemed related somehow. Wouldn't a Necromancer be interested in studying this long-dead culture? Someone had mentioned Umbral undead at one point too, hadn't they? This last thought gave the water priestess a chill, and she shuddered.


Kale still stood stalwart and distant, his face mask-like, his eyes unreadable. Wyshira was becoming more and more worried about the once carefree mercenary. He seemed to have taken Wolf's loss as a call to grim watchfulness. Wyshira didn't think she'd heard him say three words to anyone since the funeral this morning. She made a note to try to talk to him the next time the party made camp. 


Slightly slackjawed, Mel looked over at Kale, wondering if anyone else had bothered to find out something about this mission. She'd assumed _someone_, Wolf probably, had dug deeper with Lord Ecurius and knew all there was to know. Now she found the embarrassing silence growing itchy. She cleared her throat. No one seemed prepared to volunteer much. She wished she'd had the presence of mind to say it wasn't her "forte" either and wander off to collect herbs. Too late.


Meekly, she offered, "He's er, dead. They say."


This didn't sound like much. "Did I say he was Carthagian? Yes, he was! And really a brilliant thaumineer, apparently."


There was another pause. "No one knows why he left Carthagia and moved into the tower to practice his art." Oh, that sounded better. Mystery. "No one knows," she repeated, nodding.


Glancing over at Ebri she whispered, _"There! I didn't tell them much this time, did I?"_ and then acted like she'd done this on purpose.


"Shouldn't we move on? We don't want our first encounter with this tower in the dark, I should think."


_You are wasting this moment--_ Ebri dragged her attention back to the scene in front of her, quelling the intrusive nonsense song once more. It occurred to her that this precise sort of situation would be an opportunity an Immarian priestess would beg for. Would _salivate_ for. Not being one, she had missed the significance immediately, but there was time to make up for it, fortunately.


"Mmm--hmm--" she said, in response to Melisande's obvious need for approval.


Helpfully, Kale remained affected by grief, or some other overwhelming and distracting emotion. She could be reinforce her role and gain ground in the leadership capacity in the eyes of the group in one motion.. She stepped forward, an hospitable and welcoming, very well educated social animal.


"Our employer was somewhat vague--" she called out, stepping briskly and enthusiastically over to the scholars. "Or perhaps, a better term would be 'inspecific'. He is a learned man, and no doubt, he did not wish to influence or prejudice our search. You're familiar with Killian's Rule, I assume? " As if to explain to her less learned companions, she half-turned to address them, casually. "It's a principle of scientific enquiry that encourages the scholar or observer -- or any seeker -- to begin study with an open mind, so as to more truly observe and see _what is_, rather than what one expects to find, or what one believes the truth to be. And, I must say, it is a principle very dear to the heart of my order. Immar is wholly behind it." Ebri turned back, chattering gaily.


"It may be that he feared we would seek only what he specified, or in only one place, and so miss much that would be significant. Or perhaps, like us, he had little information as well. We must simply be... flexible." she smiled, including everyone in her wrap-up.


"It should not be too difficult, despite the possible dangers. We are capable adventurers, all..."


_Even if some of us are more talkative than others..._


"Well done," murmurred Wyshira to Ebri when the Immarian rejoined the party. The mages ought to be satisfied with that answer. It sounded quite ... scholarly, especially that bit about Killian's Rule, or whatever it was.


So the two parties would be working together from now on........ Wyshira wondered if they had brought along their own divine healer. Of course if the need arose she would help them if she could. But they must understood that her own crew would come first in a crisis.


She looked over the other group with a critical eye. She noted the pair of sages that had spoken to them back at the monastery - the ones who had been so curious about her and Mel's blue skin. And there was an assortment of other old and scholarly looking gentlemen, including the stately one that had greeted their company as they met on the trail. There was one man though, standing apart from the others; he didn't seem to fit in with the rest.


_He must be their guide,_ Wyshira thought. _Or maybe a mercenary hired for protection._ He was dressed very practically, and appeared to be vigilant and on the alert. When he noticed her watching him, Wyshira gave him a guarded, but amicable smile. 


* * *


Johan listened to first the blue woman's words - who his compatriots said was an aasimar - and then the shorter woman's explanation as to what they could expect at the tower. The one called Melisande actually gave them some information, though not very much, and then the one called Ebri said a lot but told nothing. This was going to be interesting.


Jarvis was still lurking a way away further up the rise, so Johan spoke quietly to Cazamir again. "Keep an eye on them. I'm still not entirely sure what they're up to, or even what they _think_ they're up to, so we'd best be on our guard."


"Well," he said to the group at large, "It seems we cannot be particularly sure of what this Carthagian might have done to the tower, but I warn you now, Umbral constructions often contain rather strange-looking objects that, for one not learned in Umbral studies, the purposes is not immediately apparent. Since some of such devices are known to be traps, I'd advise you don't go poking anything until one of us has had a look at it. Hopefully it should be easy to tell what is of Umbral design and what was crafted by a Carthagian thaumineer."


So, with the two groups now allied, even if both still held considerable suspicion of the other, Ecurius's mercenaries and the band of sages started off on their trail once more, drawing ever closer to the arcanist's tower. It lay, awaiting their arrival, over the rise and in the valley beyond...


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## Carnifex

So, that's the last proper story hour update I'll be making to this thread - next time we rejoin the brave band, they'll be in a brand new thread  When that happens, I'll be posting a link to it here.


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## gerg_861

Well, I've read this story hour over the last three days, and have to say that all throughout your writing style has improved and it has been a joy to read.  I do however have to say that I'm dismayed to hear that Burl's player dropped, he was my favorite PC and seemed much more accessible than some of the others.  Additionally how many story threads do you just have to drop now that Burl isn't a PC?  How are you going to handle this?  Thanks for all the time that you've put into this SH!


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## Carnifex

gerg_861 said:
			
		

> Well, I've read this story hour over the last three days, and have to say that all throughout your writing style has improved and it has been a joy to read.  I do however have to say that I'm dismayed to hear that Burl's player dropped, he was my favorite PC and seemed much more accessible than some of the others.  Additionally how many story threads do you just have to drop now that Burl isn't a PC?  How are you going to handle this?  Thanks for all the time that you've put into this SH!




Thanks for the compliments   I'm lucky to have such excellent players to really make the game as good as it is 

I'm sad to have lost Burl's player as well, but I've decided that, where usually I try and drop ex-PC NPC's out of the party however I can, I will keep Burl on for at least a while as an active, party-member NPC. This is partially because otherwise they'd be seriously lacking in magical firepower, and partially because I rather like the character himself and the story threads that you mentioned that I've woven into the plotline based around him. He ain't out of the picture yet 

Anyways, it's been over 2 years since I first started this story hour, and now has come the time to finally move on to a new thread. I plan to at least get the introduction up to the new thread today, so stay sharp for a link over to it


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## Carnifex

And here's the link to the new thread!

http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=75957

Enjoy!


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## Melvar Kae'thal

*I love this...*

... I love your world, especcially the concept of manipulators... where can i get more details on it... I won't do anything worst than stealing it


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## Carnifex

Melvar Kae'thal said:
			
		

> ... I love your world, especcially the concept of manipulators... where can i get more details on it... I won't do anything worst than stealing it




Well, the steam-tech rules are in Steam & Steel: A Guide to Fantasy Steamworks, while the biothaumaturgy & manipulators are in the book that I'm currently still working on.

Also, as is linked in this thread, the new thread continues the story on a fair bit. More to the point, it may also get updated soon - the game went on hiatus for a bit but is finally getting close to starting up again!


----------

