A Sojourn in Sairundan [Judge: Manzanita]

"The mists themselves don't bother me. I find 'em kinda beautiful actually." Kurgahz says while switching his greatclub from one hand to the other. "Knowing that they're all magical for some reason though, that goes a little farther in unsettling me." he finishes as they look around the plaza. "We gonna keep goin' then?"

"Somewhere in this city, there must be items or devices maintaining and replenishing these spell effects," muses Conuld. "But now is not the time to go exploring! And let us be a little more cautious as we pass beyond the magically-altered road. If until now it has been keeping us safe, it may no longer do so."

[sblock=Conuld: ]The more powerful spells are beyond you, but you can at least identify two of the spells on the road. One is a simple cantrip known to all wizards that repairs minor damage to objects, and the other is a druidic spell, also known to rangers and clerics of Zephos, that slightly increases your land travel speed.

OOC: Mending and longstrider.[/sblock]

All ready then? I'll make a post later today.

OOC: Conuld and his third rate spellcraft teacher! He's done here.

The party decides to press on. As you pass the sign, your uneasiness grows. The road gave you a sense of calm and hope in the midst of this dark ruin, and now that it too has given away to the wear of time, this place seems all the more unsettling. Even the scant light from the sun does little to reassure you. Before you have taken a few steps, the uneasiness becomes depression, and then despair. An aura of immense sadness permeates this place, and you can't bear to be here any longer. Jilsa and Jilna stop in their tracks, tears streaming down their faces. Jonka holds Jilna tightly. Jonda growls something, but his words are caught in his throat as he chokes on a sob. Wordlessly, he pushes the other J's forward, eager to get out of this cursed place.

Only Kurgahz is unaffected by the crushing despair.

OOC: Everybody except Kurgahz takes a -2 penalty on attack rolls, saving throws, ability checks, skill checks, and weapon damage rolls.

It might be appropriate for each character (except Kurgahz) to silently recall their saddest moment.

'I have failed you all. There is only one choice. I must make things right. That or I might as well be dead. You know what I must do.'

'Very well, then it shall be so. You are no longer welcome in our shade, and our water you shall share no more, nor are you any of mine. No longer Lasair of the Durai Lyrane. You have no clan, no family, no vhal. I declare you Alant. Now be gone before you bring the shame of your disgrace upon those who look upon your accursed countenance.'

*Lasair makes a very small gasp, her lip quivers, and she clutches her chest. However, not a single tear stirs in her eye. Even so, those who have seen her for a substantial amount of time would know that the reaction she just made was extremely violent compared to her usual impassive response to stimuli of fear, sadness, or despair.*

*Still, Lasair has one thing up on everyone else--even though it's a pain sometimes, she's stuck with a living manifestation of her happy-go-lucky friendly side. Meliana's presence helps her bolster herself and continue.*

*In normal circumstances, it would be all sorts of taboo and disrespect for their vhal to show visible compassion to the tal zij, but this was hardly normal circumstances. As such, she moves back to Jilsa, who like Jilna is crying uncontrollably but unlike Jilna has no one to lean on, and she tries her best to lend comfort during this tribulation. Lasair will of course not initiate one of those physical hug things like Jilna and Jonka that Westerners seem to use a lot, but she is not averse to letting Jilsa hold her if the girl needs to do so. And of course, Lasair will not let her own despair show--appearing strong will help the others stay more calm, Lasair knows, and focusing on that, on keeping everyone else strong, is what Lasair needs to ignore it and press on, so she resolutely continues. She'll deal with the emotional aftermath of this some time later in private.*

Cludge Slatefist, Fighter 3 (HP:34 AC:15)

Cludge stumps forward angrily, his gaze fixed on the ground. Best we get through here fast as posserble, he growls. Ah don' like this place a'tall. C'mon you lot, he barks at the young people. Move yer feet. If ye canna keep up with a short-legged dwarf, y'er not gonna get far in life.
[sblock=Memories...] *blurry dissolve to the past* The Slatefist family wearily pulls its three empty wagons into the crowded forecourt of the grand cavern, grimy with dust from the road to the human lands. Cludge groggily lifts his head from his chest, waking from a semi-nap. Glad to be home at last, he drops down from his seat and plants his feet gratefully on stone. With a silent prayer to Azwan, he stretches his aching back, nodding to passersby. A few shoot the family odd looks as they hurry by.
What's up with them? Cludge wonders aloud.
Dunno, answers his brother Glaum. P'raps they din't get ale with breakfast.
Pushing through the crowd, Cludge's Aunt Fleat hurriedly approaches the family.
Krakut, she says breathlessly. Oh, Krakut. Something terrible has happened...
Cludge's grey-bearded father, a massive old dwarf with an enourmous pendulous belly, gives a last tug on the hobble secured to one of the dray ponies. What's wrong, Fleat? he says, straightening in alarm. His wife Sautre hurries to his side.
It's terrible, just terrible, Fleat stammers. Its Modr...
Modr? says Krakut. Is he dead? Is he hurt?
Worse, says Fleat. He's left. He's scarpered. Krakut... she hesitates. He's taken it all. Everything. The gold, the silver, the mithril bars that was to be shipped... Oh, it's terrible, brother!
Krakut stands staring. Everything? he says dazedly, staring into the distance.
We're ruined... whispers Sautre.
Cludge and Glaum step forward, bristling. He's WHAT? roars Cludge. I'LL TEAR THE BASTARD'S BEARD FROM HIS FACE AND FEED IT TO HIM!
Modr, hisses Glaum. I always knowed he was wrong in the head.
Whatever will we do? says Sautre. Krakut. Everything we had - gone! Your brother has made us poor.
Modr, says Krakut, staring into space, a look of pure shock on his weather-beaten face.
Cludge looks around at the now-quiet Grand Hall. In every face he sees pity, embarrassment. His anger burns, but it is also tinged now with shame...
I will find him, father, he fumes. My uncle will rue the day he stole from our family....
*blurry dissolve back to the present*
[/sblock]

Cludge trudges farther down the road. Let's go, he says impatiently. I'll no spend a moment longer in this place than I got to.

Conuld slumps in the saddle as the oppressive atmosphere of the dead city weighs on him.

Don't be stupid, boy. I'm not a boy, I'm seven and twenty! Then act like it! Give up those stupid dreams. I don't care what nonsense Drossford has put in your head. You have a good place here. It's been ten years, Baland! I cannot stay here forever, getting as dusty as... as your books. You were going to say 'as me', weren't you, Conuld? What if I were? I've mastered more magic in a few months than you have in your whole life. And what good will it do you if you get yourself killed by some orc or goblin or worse? You're a scholar, like me, or will be one day, if you keep at it. Adventuring is for those ninnyhammer wizards from the Academy in Medibaria, not for the likes of you. No, no, I need more than this life. More? You ungrateful- I gave you more when I promised your father I'd take you in. If it weren't for me, you'd be milking cows and shovelling dung, with the rest of your family! That's it, isn't it? You mean my sort aren't good enough for the Academy, aren't even good enough to be wizards. I'm just a peasant boy, a little smarter than most, living on your charity, an unpaid drudge to do the repetitive dull research while you report the findings to the sages' guild. I'm finished, Baland. I'm leaving tonight. Don't expect to see me again. Conuld! Conuld!

With effort, Conuld lifts his head, and grits his teeth. "Is that it?" he asks the city. "Is that all you can throw at me? An argument with an old man?" He spurs his horse forward.

Kurgahz rode and he thought...

'The mists are beautiful. For they hide the destruction and death that this place resonates with. I'd rather stay lost in the unseeing mists than to again wander a maze of dead staring eyes and bloody corpses. I found my way out of that madness once, but I'd not like to go down that road again.'

He rides in silence, listening to the others complain about nothing while the clomping of the horses on the road echoes out into the day.


OOC: As his thoughts are normally this dark and depressed, Kurgahz is not affected by the crushing despair!

'What if father really wants me for a political marriage? That was an awful lot of money for him to be sending. I won't be tied down on the arm of some want to be tribal leader!

Shadya's voice waivers in her singing, and signs of obvious regret cross her face.