The Rise of Felskein [Completed]

Session 12, Part 2

-Notes: Ahah! I was smarter this time. Typed it up in OpenOffice so the dreaded crash only took 1/3 of a page instead of the whole post!-


“This is... not what I was expecting,” Suniel said as they stood starting at the lizardfolk's lair.

An ancient looking male with cracked scales leaning on a long staff stood at the front of about two dozen of what Suniel assumed were females and young. The old one raised his staff and bared his teeth, then dropped it and prostrated himself on the ground.

Harold, Kezzek, and Suniel looked at the small tribe and glanced at each other. Keeper stood by impassively.

“Do you speak Common?” Kezzek said, tugging on a tusk as he took in the tribe.

“I speaks your tongue, boat-dwellers,” the lizardfolk elder said, still prostate.

“Why did your tribe attack us, old one?” Suniel said.

“And where did your owl go?” Harold said, still glancing about warily, bow drawn and arrow nocked.

“We show strength to all boat that come, we board, we take food, they go.” The old one said. “Our Shaman we not see since battle.”

“He abandoned you?” Harold said, looking about suspiciously.

“He serve the Spirit Totem. Spirit Totem killed by orc, Shaman leave,” the old one said.

“Half-orc,” Kezzek growled.

“Stand old one,” Suniel said, helping the ancient lizardman to his feet. “You were boarding ships for food?”

The old one nodded and gestured to the small tribe. “We fled from the other Tribes, Shaman said Spirit Totem knew of promised place up great river. We lost most of tribe coming up and now Totem dead and Shaman gone...”

“You were boarding ships with weapons drawn, what do you expect?” Kezzek said.

The old one raised his hands. “In our ways, you must bear teeth and raise weapons to show you are not weak before you can negotiate, otherwise they just kill warriors and take females and young.”

“Well, that sure worked well for you,” Harold said, finally putting away his bow.

“It was all we knew to do. We travel and run out of food... none knew what else to do. And now we have nothing.”

The three companions exchanged a glance. Suniel nodded, Kezzek shrugged, and Harold sighed.

***

They stood at the rear rail and waved at the tribe as they steamed away.

“That was probably a waste of two days,” Harold said. “They aren't going to survive out here.”

“We gave them a chance,” Suniel said. “It's all we can do.”

“Who knows. Maybe they'll be able to domesticate those wild pigs we rustled up and set up trade with ships passing by,” Kezzek said. “They know better than to show their peaceful intentions by drawing weapons now at least. And Grok'nar will have some company tromping around near his grave. I think he'd have wanted that.”

Suniel nodded and glanced down at the hobgoblin's wineskin. He raised it in salute towards the tiny village they'd helped the lizardfolk build and tossed it into the river.

Kezzek grunted and gave a salute of his own, banging his gauntleted fist against his chest. Harold turned and looked downstream.

"Farewell Grok'nar. Never thought I'd say this of a hobgoblin, but you'll be missed," Suniel said. They watched as the village passed behind them out of sight.

***

Almost everyone else was already on deck by the time Harold made his way out of the hold. He pushed his way through Suniel's motley band, clustered about the bow of the ship, and turned to the Captain. “Why are we stopped?”

Guntl shaded his eyes against the noon-day sun and pointed downstream. “Look, there, you see?”

Harold squinted in the direction Guntl was pointing. “I see nothing, what are you pointing at?”

“This is bad,” Captain Shingleclank said, pulling his tricorne off and gripping it. “Thought we might get lucky again, but there she is.”

“There who is? What are you talking about?” He stared ahead, still unseeing. Then she moved.

The great green dragon was stretched out along the shore at the next bend basking in the sunlight, at least sixty feet from nose to tail, maybe more - the foliage was blocking part of their view of her.

Harold reached for his bow, but Suniel put a restraining arm on his. “I don't want to fight Ashcandia if we can at all avoid it.”

“So what are we going to do then?” Harold said, dropping his arm to his side. “Sit here until she comes to us? Wait, you know her name?”

“Yes, I've heard it before; Ashcandia Gloomwood, she claims this area as her territory. And no, we aren't waiting for her. I thought I'd go talk with her,” the elf said, glancing downstream. “I speak Draconic and thought I might be able to negotiate for us.

“I'll come too then,” Harold said.

“I thought you didn't speak Draconic,” Suniel said.

“I never said that.”

The wizard stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. “All right, let's go then.”

***

The largest trout Suniel had ever seen wriggled and twitched, impaled on one massive claw. Ashcandia didn't even turn to look as they approached, her lazy, half-lidded gaze watching the death-throes of the fish.

“Hail, Great One,” Suniel said in Draconic, bowing low. He noticed with much annoyance that Harold didn't duplicate the gesture.

She didn't respond, instead slowly and delicately extending a razor-sharp claw and popping the fish's eyes.

Harold cleared his throat as if he were about to speak, but one great eye turned to them. “You may pass,” she rumbled back.

“We are envoys from the Crystal – what?” Harold said, Suniel echoing him.

With a swift movement, the green's claws snicked and the fish flew apart in a spray of blood. Lazily, she dipped her bloody claws in the water and watched the water ripple around them. “I said you may pass.”

Suniel bowed deeply again. “Thank you, oh generous one, we are most grateful and will be on our way immediately.”

“Why do you let us pass so simply?” Harold said. Suniel stared at him and took a few steps back, reminded again that this man seemed to be afraid of nothing.

She arched her graceful, slender neck and turned to regard him. “Bold, human. But she likes them that way, I can see why she would pick you.”

“Who? What do you speak of?” Harold said, taking a step closer.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously and Suniel took another step back in spite of himself, half expecting Harold to disappear in a flick of those claws and a spray of red. “Do you try me simply because you bear Gilderalin's mark? Do not think that her protection makes you invulnerable.”

“Whose mark? Do you speak in riddles, dragon?”

The green's eyes widened then, one eyelid arching up. “You mean you truly don't know? Very interesting. Why would she mark you in secret?”

“Who is Gilderalin?” Harold said.

Ashcandia arched her head back and there was a throaty rumble that Suniel took to be a laugh. “Oh, this is too rich. Marked by her and they don't even know it, probably off on one of her fools errands. Priceless.”

Suniel saw Harold's expression darken and he quickly stepped forwards. “I'm sure we'll discover in due time. We won't trouble you any more, Great Ashcandia.” He gave yet another deep bow. “We will be out of your territory as fast as we can travel.”

He pulled at Harold's elbow, first subtly, then harder as Harold continued to stare up at the dragon. Finally, the archer turned and followed him back towards the ship.

Suniel cast a quick glance back and saw the great green regarding them coolly, all traces of amusement vanished, eyes calculating as she watched them go.

Session 13, Part 1

-Note: Short post, late night, early morning. Also seemed like the best place to break-up this session. I'll probably type the entire rest of the session up next week, should be a pretty long post, but it was a pretty... eventful session.-


It was dawn the next day when the Steamship was stopped by a massive Treant standing in the middle of the river. Suniel had called an alarm as soon as they came around the bend and he saw what seemed to be a tree growing out of the center of the river, but the Captain hadn't been able to stop the ship in time.

Right before they collided, its two largest branches swung down and slammed into the boat, stopping it and lifting the front out of the water with a jerk that would have sent Suniel to the deck if Keeper hadn't caught him.

He thanked Keeper and slowly walked towards the again-immobile tree, its branches gripping the gunwales like huge many-fingered hands. Suniel was examining it when Kezzek ran up on deck, quor'rel in hand, looking quickly about before stopping and staring. He walked up beside Suniel, never taking his eyes off of the huge trunk before them.

“Suniel, is there a tree holding on to our boat?” Kezzek said, still staring at it.

“Yes, Treants they are called, I've seen a few before,” Suniel said, experimentally reaching out and touching a branch.

As he did so, Kezzek drew in his breath and stepped back, but the tree remained inanimate.

Suniel was about to try something else when a high, light female voice called out to them from the bank. “You there, aboard the abomination. Don't touch Gnarlknot!”

Suniel and Kezzek exchanged a glance as they walked carefully back down the deck to get a view unobstructed by the tree.

A beautiful naked woman stood in the river beside the boat, the river lapping at her navel and her long, thick, green hair gracefully concealing her breasts and running into the water. The dawn light struck her at a perfect angle, causing her skin to seem to glow with an inner radiance.

Others were coming up onto the deck as well, but Kezzek motioned for them to stay near the aft-castle. The Greywarden turned to the woman.

“Is this your tree?”

She laughed, a clear, clean sound that made Suniel's heart flutter just to hear. “Gnarlknot belongs to no one, nor do I.”

“Why does he stop our ship?” Suniel said, trying unsuccessfully to not stare. She began to run her fingers through her hair and no amount of propriety could make him turn away and miss any glimpse of her he could get.

Her beautiful face darkened and she pointed at the metal hull of the ship. “That monstrosity chains elementals, binds them against their will as slaves until they are used up, spent, discarded. It should not exist.”

Suniel tried to get his mind to work, to formulate words to negotiate, but just as he found the words, Harold ran up on deck, bow in hand, taking everything in in an instant.

He nocked an arrow and aimed it at the woman. “What do you think you're doing?” he demanded.

Her skin transformed, wrinkling and hardening almost like bark. Her eyes began to glow, shining like the first bright beams of dawn light cresting over a hill. Then the glow flared brilliant gold, filling Suniel's sight before he could turn away.

As soon as it had come, the golden glow faded away, leaving Suniel in darkness.

***

The gnome priest finished chanting his absolution and the darkness that had taken Kezzek's sight for nearly three weeks began to fade. He wept unabashedly as the first grey outlines of the temple walls began to register on his brain, then the forms of Suniel and Harold kneeling at either side, then the haggard, dirt- and soot-covered face of the priest.

“I see!” Suniel croaked, voice breaking with his gratitude. “I thought I might never see again.”

Harold stood without a word and walked outside, squinting his eyes almost shut against even the dim sunlight that broke through the thick black smoke and raining ash outside.

Suniel stood, crying as well, and took the priest's hand, kissing it and saying something to him in what Kezzek assumed was elvish. The gnome smiled sadly and patted them both on the head, his eyes distant and mournful.

“In spite of all that has happened to my people in the last few days, I feel that perhaps you have suffered more than I,” the gnome said. “Please, I would hear what happened, even for a few minutes' escape from what goes on outside.”

Kezzek stood and shook the priest's hand and stared out the doorway, seeing the devastation, the glow of fire, hearing the distant howl of wind, the crash of water, the crack and rumble of distant earthquakes somewhere to the east.

“It began with a Treant and a... I believe a Nymph, from what I dredged
from the recesses of my memory in our dark, helpless time,” Suniel began.

“They had stopped our Steamship not far, by my reckoning, from where the Greenpath meets the Crystal Deep, though what their intent was I do not know, for before I could truly learn, Harold, the archer who was here,” he gestured towards the door, “came to the deck and aimed his bow at her and she stole the sight from our eyes.”

He took a deep breath. “We lived in the darkness of the blind from that moment until your absolution a few minutes ago, so I saw nothing of our journey here, but I have the words of my... Keeper and the members of the Black Carriage for what we saw, and I can tell what I heard and felt.”

“It began with the roar of a Treant, a sound like timber breaking in a tornado, a sound that will forever be imprinted upon my mind and associated with the onset of our darkness and helplessness. It began with that roar, a lurch of the ship, and a blind, helpless tumble, swallowed by a river and sinking in the drowning dark with no idea of direction...”

Iron Sky said:

He drew an arrow and pointed it at the woman. “What do you think you're doing?” he demanded.

Click to expand...

Earmark this page, here begins the slide, the dimplomacy roll of ready, fire, aim.

This journy down the river was crazy. Being blinded sucked.

Session 13, Part 2

-Note: Had hoped to finish session 13 tonight, but I'm falling asleep as I type. Here's most of it, I'll see if I can finish the last bit sometime this week. No promises though. Enjoy.-


“When I pulled myself onto the shore, blind and half-drowned, the river was a maelstrom of chaos behind me. Again, most of what I tell you is what Keeper and the others told me, since in my sudden blindness, everything was confusing and afterward my blindness seemed to steal from all of my other senses as well.

“It was about the time that the Treant pulled the front of the ship apart that Two-Peg was releasing his creatures. I heard later that, ironically, the Owl Bear that killed Grok'nar killed Two Peg as well as soon as he freed it, but it did some damage to the Treant as it fled the sinking ship. It was really Bingor the Machinamentalist that saved us.

“He released the elementals and ran - and for good reason. The long-imprisoned elementals unleashed their fury at the first thing they sensed as they tore their way out of the ship; the Treant. It was a battle of two extremes of nature and fortunately for the rest of us they destroyed each other. The fey woman slipped of some time during the fight, when everyone else was distracted by the elemental destruction unleashed on the Steamship.

“Keeper and the others gathered us together after the fight. Surprisingly, none of my companions were killed or even seriously hurt, though the Captain and Two Peg were killed and the Steamship destroyed. Bingor was inconsolable and mute for several weeks at the loss of his brother.

I found that Kezzek and Harold were blinded then as well. We spent much of the morning sitting on the river bank in a daze, the three of us wondering what to do as the others did their best to salvage what was left of our belongings and the Steamship. Somehow my carriage survived as well.

“It was decided that we'd try to build a raft. Stumbling blind through the Gnarlbend Forest with its wild dangers or the Stoop Oaks and their capricious Fey didn't appeal to any of us so it was decided that we'd take what we could salvage from the Steamship, cut down some trees, put it all together and see if it could get us to Steamport. I wasn't optimistic, but Keeper said his access to the Nexus was strong enough that he could build the raft. He took charge.

“It was humbling for the three of us to be so useless, sitting by helplessly as the Ambassadors and my entourage did all the work. It took almost a week of hard labor for them to finish it – though at least nothing lumbered out of the Gnarlbend and none of the fey found us chopping down their Stoop Oaks. We were in no condition to fight.

“Fortunately too, our journey down the last of the Greenpath was uneventful and the weather was clear and calm as we crossed the Crystal Deep. Guntl told me of it as we crossed its clear waters, so clear that he could see schools of fish a hundred feet below us and caught glimpses of far darker, larger things moving in the depths even further below. Fortunately as well, none of those unnamed monsters took an interest in our crude amalgam of lumber and metal.

“Guntl and Keeper saw the first faint ruddy glow of Steamport burning after a bit more than a week crossing the Crystal Deeps. The others saw it a while later and said it was like a sunrise but in the south, though occasionally it would flare up enough that the whole sky lit up and there was a sound like far distant thunder...”

***

“Bingor said it looked like the Elemental Reactors that powered Steamport must have been breached, judging by the earthquakes that sent rocks rattling down the cliffs and waves washing high against our raft, by the tornadoes that roared through the inferno that was the ruins atop the plateau where Steamport had been built, and by the waterfalls that crashed down the cliff-faces or boiled away into the black clouds.

“I saw none of it of course, but even from the distance I could hear the wind, feel its heat on my skin and the quake-waves in the motion of the raft, smell the ozone of lightning and the char of falling soot on my skin. Keeper described it all in detail as we approached, the almost unbelievable destruction and the hell-storm that had engulfed what was once the largest and most advanced city in Felskein.

“We landed on one of the few docks that was still intact, amidst the wrecked hulks of Steamships of all sizes that protruded from the water about us. We'd just finished securing the raft when Guntl growled.

“'There's someone else on the dock,' the orc said in a low whisper. 'Surrounded by bodies looks like, maybe one-hundred paces.'

“A gnome? 'What does he look like? What's he doing?' Harold said. Keeper told me later that Harold pulled out his bow and Kezzek reached for his quor'rel in spite of their blindness.

“'He's just standing there. Not a gnome, something else,' Keeper said.

“I sighed then and reached for Keeper's cool metal arm and had him help me along the dock. When we got near, Keeper stopped.

“'Hail,' I called. 'Who goes there?'

“'I'm too late,' the other said, his voice strangely familiar. 'He's already come and gone, gone where I can't catch him.'

“'Annandor?' I said. 'Is that you?'

“'Thessalock was here. This is what he leaves in his wake. And now he's gone back to his Ashen Tower where even I cannot follow,' Annandor said.

“'Thessalock was here?' I said.

“Annandor gestured to the maelstrom of energy and destruction that was Steamport, Keeper told me later. 'Here and long gone. The Crone must be my hope now, to the South. Perhaps she has the cure.'

“'Who is the Crone? And what of Thessalock? Will you just let him go?'' I said. High above there was a great roar and a flash of heat that flattened me to the dock.

“Keeper said that Annandor turned to us then as Keeper pulled me back to my feet. 'Thessalock is what I hunt, not that which hunts you. I've seen the iron machines in my dreams. I've seen them coming, casting their shadow over the whole of Felskein until all the decay and destruction of this continent is under their rule. Only the Crystal Tower Defenses will stop them.'

“'You know of Iron Sky?' I said.

“Harold had apparently stumbled his way to us and overheard. 'My people? The Crystal Towers are the defense of the continent? What do you mean?'

“And he was gone. Keeper said that he smiled, a sad, mocking smile, just before he vanished.”

Session 13, Part 3

-Note: It would make more sense to take the time to type these up earlier so I'm not falling asleep as I type them all the time... Anyway here's the last of Session 13. Next session: A guest star from the Black City and the party is again four strong(Grok'nar's "reincarnation")-

“We stayed the night on the dock. Everyone was exhausted from a week of rowing across the entire Crystal Deep, so there we slept, even though the smoke was so thick it was almost choking. Our sleep was fitful – and not just due to the smoke.

“We'd hoped we'd find refuge, some bit of civilization after more than three weeks traveling through the wilds, and maybe someone to restore our sight lest we live the rest of our lives in the darkness.

“We started meeting refugees not long after we landed the raft and started across the burnt grasslands whose blackened stalks crunched under our feet. From them we pieced together... maybe not the story, but at least a story of what happened.

“They told us about the Cabal's celebration, and the initial reactor explosions that came simultaneously with the Airship unveiling and the announcement of the new-forged alliance with the Crystal Towers. Many of them blamed the Crystal Towers for bringing the Ashen Tower down upon them. And there was no doubt about who it was: too many reports of the dead rising on the streets even as the Elemental Reactors exploded and the city collapsed on itself. I think Harold took it harder that they blamed the Crystal Towers than the news that the largest city in Felskein had been wiped clean off the map.

“I wish I had gotten to see Steamport in its glory, the massive elemental reactors, the magilifts to the skytowers, the steamwalkers that roamed the streets. I heard your city was a wonder of Felskein and you have my deepest condolences for what has happened to your city and your people...”

***

Kezzek walked next to where Suniel and Keeper stood on the wall and looked out over the chaos of the settlement, overflowing with a thousand refugees. Ash still rained down and the landward horizons still glowed from the great grass fires that now burned across the plains and to the east, the clouds whirled and flashed and glowed with fire where Steamport still burned and shook and crumbled.

“They say the elementals have destroyed their entire country, their entire race – except for what we're looking at down there,” Kezzek said as he leaned on the wall beside them.

Suniel shook his head. “What a waste. I'd heard it was the greatest city ever constructed. Peace, trade, technology; three words that summed up their whole society. All gone like that...” he gestured like he was brushing away a cobweb... “and only this one ragged, overcrowded settlement left of an entire race.”

Kezzek growled in thought as they stood watching a boat pull up to the small harbor – this one made of wood for all the metal Steamships lay wracked in their harbors or sunk in their rivers or at the bottom of the Crystal Deep or Landspear Lake. Finally Kezzek spoke. “Maybe it's justice. How long have they been enslaving elementals? Elementals straight from wherever their plane is. Heard those giant reactors that blew had rifts straight to their planes, pulling them in to use like firewood. Only firewood that thinks, maybe feels, probably hates as it burns.”

“You call this Justice? One thousand, maybe two, left of an entire race.” Suniel turned to Kezzek, his expression incredulous. “You call this justice?”

Kezzek thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Maybe. The elementals seem to think so. Maybe the gnomes 'used up' a couple species of elemental, enslaved and wiped out a couple of whatever they have for races. What do we know, really?”

Suniel shook his head again, but didn't reply, instead looking back out at the huddled remains of what had been Felskein's most advanced and prosperous race until less than five days past. Keeper met Kezzek's eyes as Suniel looked away, the electric flicker of the construct's eyes and the brown metal of his face giving no insight to whatever he was thinking. If it thinks at all, Kezzek thought, watching Keeper out of the corner of his eye long after the machine had turned back to look over the settlement.

He's a constant reminder, Kezzek thought. A reminder that there's more out there somewhere beyond the scope of all we know about our world. Something that we know almost nothing about but might still hunt us, hunt our continent even. That thought alone was boggling. And all we have is Suniel's guess that we can trust him. Trust it.

He pulled his journal out and flipped to a random page, reading it for comfort in a world that seemed out of control. At least crime I understand, criminals I can catch. Justice is simple and swift. Who ever thought I'd look forward to a hearing about something simple like a murder, something so mundane as a robbery?

“There's a word for this, though I don't know where it comes from,” Suniel said, breaking Kezzek from his reverie.

Kezzek looked from his journal and quirked an eyebrow. “A word for what?”

The wizard gestured across the entirety of the gnome race that huddled under crude shelters, packed into a small scrap of land. Suniel met Kezzek's eyes.

“Genocide.”

Session 14, Part 1

“Elorn Stoneprow? I think his is that ship over yonder.” The gnome gestured vaguely to the ramshackle docks, full to bursting with all manner of craft – except Steamships, of course. “Heard he deals in metals usually, but somehow got his hands on a boatload of food. Good thing he's got thugs for a crew, 'cause people's already getting hungry round here...”

Kormak turned towards the dock, ignoring the gnome's ramble, drawing a few calls of protest from the gnome as he walked away.

He saw what had to be Elorn, the fat dwarf sitting atop a stack of boxes behind a line of burly looking gnomes, goblins, and all manner of rough and tumble. The crowd pressed up against the crude barrier they had thrown up to keep the hungry gnomes away from their shipload of food. Kormak's eyebrow shot up as he overheard what exorbitant prices they were already charging.

He slipped into the shadows below the docks where ramshackle huts were already springing up. Satisfied he was alone, he pulled out a blank sheet of parchment, pulled up his sleeve, and pressed softly on the quill tattooed on his forearm.

He's here, as expected. Continue?

***

Kezzek sighed and wiped his brow as what was left of the gnomish nation moved about what passed for streets in the shantytown that had sprung up around Watersprock. Most of them seemed to be wandering around in shock or despair, while a few possessed of more angry and vocal temperaments vented about the Crystal Towers bringing the Ashen Tower down on them. A few whispered curses at Thessalock, though not without many sideways glances as if he was about to step out of the shadows.

Several long, hot, and dusty hours asking about the Crone that Annandor had mentioned had yielded only one lead. After a deep drought from his waterskin, he wiped his mouth and pushed through the mob that filled the dock Elorn's ship was moored against.

“I'm looking for Elorn, may I speak with him?” he said to the goblin that sat scribbling down transactions at the edge of the barricade.

The goblin waved Kezzek off without looking up. “He's busy, bugger off unless you're here to buy something.”

Kezzek stared at him for a long moment, then leaned over the barricade – mostly designed to stop gnomes judging by its height – and slammed his Greywarden gauntlet into the planks the goblin had set up across a couple barrels to create his makeshift desk, sending parchment and ink bottles flying.

“Hey!” the goblin said, jumping back, half-drawing a long dagger. He took in Kezzek's orcishness and Greywarden gauntlet quickly. His knife was sheathed and Elorn himself stood before Kezzek in under a minute.

“This is your ship?” Kezzek said.

Elorn smirked and rubbed his gray-streaked black beard. Kezzek disliked him immediately. “Yes, full of foodstuffs by way of Port.”

“Port?”

Elorn snorted. “Yeah, they named their port that, bloody Freeholders. Being the primary port of the Freeholds, it changes hands faster than money's changing hands here on this dock.”

Kezzek looked at the despondent and desperate looking gnomes pressing against the barricade, trading the scant treasures they had fled Steamport with, sometimes even the clothes off their backs, just for a few meals. “Fortunate for you that you happened to have a hold full of food and enough guards to protect it...” Kezzek said, tugging at a tusk as he surveyed the ship.

Elorn chuckled. “Not guards, just my crew. But you are right, lucky indeed. Fortune smiles upon me at last. But I'm sure you didn't have my First Mate come get me just to talk the trade.”

“Indeed, no.” Kezzek cleared the local predicament from his mind. “I heard from someone that you know someone who knows of the Crone.”

“Ha! That's a roundabout way of finding something out. What's that, fourth-hand information?” The contrast of Elorn's cheery mood to the general mood of Watersprock did little to improved Kezzek's initial impression of the dwarf.

“Regardless of how I came about the information, is it true?”

Elorn scratched his head. “I heard about this captain named Witherleg who supposedly had a gimpy leg cured by her, but that's about it. Haven't seen him in a while though, might well be in Steamport or at the bottom of the Crystal Deeps for all I know.”

“Hm. Is that all you know about the Crone?”

“What does that make it, fifth-hand information now? Ha! Anyway, I'm 'fraid so Greywarden. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a fortune to make here.” Elorn gave the barest of polite nods as he turned back and began yelling at his crew as they lowered another pallet of grain-sacks with the ship-board crane.

Kezzek tugged at a tusk again and growled to himself, then pulled out his journal.

One Captain Witherleg may have more information about this “Crone” that Annandor mentioned. Location unknown. Status unknown.

He sighed again as he pushed back through the crowd. Chasing rumors of rumors of a ghost...

***

Angelo knelt, whipping his silver-traced longcoat back as he did so. The tracks were fresh, clumps of baked dirt strewn in its wake. He rose and looked toward the horizon, half wondering what calamity wracked the north where the sky burned, the land rumbled, and from whence damp ash rained and coated everything in a dull gray.

He stood and pushed long strands of white hair away from his face, then rested his hands lightly on the rune-traced silver of his pistols.

The sooner the hunt is over, the sooner I can leave these strange lands, he thought. When the Huntmaster learns how far I've had to pursue this one and how many have died to it...

He shook the thought from his head, sending a black dusting of ash raining from his hair and collar. Just as he was about to continue his pursuit, he noticed a bit of color beside his quarry's trail, half-buried in a drift of ash. The brightly dyed wool sleeve was like many of the others he'd found; torn and blood-spattered, though this one was small, as if from a gnome or a child.

He gritted his teeth and threw it aside and set off at a taxing pace. No more die to you, nightmare, he thought as looked ahead to where its trail met the horizon. No more, if I have to run for three days straight to catch you.

***

Suniel came out of his trance with a start as someone knocked loudly on the door to his carriage. Keeper glanced from the door to Suniel, his sleepless, flickering eyes following Suniel as he stood and pulled his robe on.

“What is it?” he said as he opened the door a crack and peeked through.

Guntl pointed towards the bay. “The food ship, out there where they anchored it in the bay for the night. Was fighting on-board and now it seem the ship's abandoned. The gnomes are heading out to it in anything that floats, heck some are even trying to swim all the way out there.”

Suniel only had to think for a second before he reached a decision. “Guntl, go grab Kezzek and meet us at the dock. Keeper, go find us a boat while I gather my things.”

Guntl nodded and disappeared into the night while Keeper rose and headed out the door. A sudden worrisome thought stopped Suniel as he gathered his things and he put a hand on Keeper's shoulder. The flickering eyes turned to him.

“Don't kill anyone out there. And that goes in general, unless I specify otherwise. Like if we're defending ourselves, understand?”

“Of course,” Keeper said, staring back in his indecipherable, expressionless way until Suniel waved him on.

Suniel hoped that his warning was unneeded, but in some ways it seemed the more time he spent around Keeper, the less he understood him.

How can you really know someone – some thing – that doesn't think, whose thoughts are just information pulled from some unknown source out there in the sky somewhere? What is it like to have your thoughts not be your thoughts, but like ten-thousand pages pulled from books in a library that you've never even seen?

Then he was on his way to the docks and pushed his contemplations aside. Keeper and Kezzek were waiting for him with a boat they'd found somewhere. They nodded to Suniel as he climbed in and together they made for the ship, hoping to beat a hundred starving gnomes – and the chaos that would likely follow – to the ship.

Session 14, Part 2

-Note: Couldn't get it up last night(this post I mean) since the database was down when I was trying to post it. This is the first opportunity I've had to post it today. Enjoy.-


Kezzek growled in thought as he stared at the disarray of the cabin. “He was murdered,” he finally said.

“By his crew?” Suniel said from outside, glancing landwards at the hundreds of gnomes swimming or paddling their way out to the ship on whatever they could find that floated, then seawards towards the two packed rowboats that headed out in opposite directions, presumably holding the ship's crew.

“Mm, no,” Kezzek said, walking over to a window with broken shutters. “Look at the hinges, this window was forced open by someone on the outside. Why wouldn't a crew member just come through the door?”

He glanced out the window at the wet smoothness of the ship's hull. “Whoever did it was skilled too, if he did it without bringing the crew down on him and if he was able to climb this. Strange too, he managed to kill Elorn without stabbing him, no blood, bruises on his temple, crushed wind-pipe even after Elorn had drawn his weapon...”

“Maybe it was a thief and Elorn just got in the way?” Suniel said, pointing to small chests that lay strewn about the floor of the cabin, silver and gold glinting here and there in the light of the orb of brilliance that floated on Suniel's palm.

Kezzek shook his head. “Why wouldn't the thief just take the chests? They're small enough to slip into a pouch. It looks like these were smashed open, but that would make too much noise.” He picked one of them up and tossed it to Suniel.

He squatted near the bed where Elorn's body lay looking about the scene for a moment, then at the dozen gnomish, goblinoid, and dwarven crews' bodies that lay sprawled out on the deck. They killed each other. Mutiny after the captain died?

He was about to make a comment on it when Suniel hissed. Kezzek spun, hand going to his quor'rel.

The wizard stood shining his light on the small chest, staring at the broken lock. After taking a deep breath, Suniel turned it towards Kezzek. “Do you recognize this symbol?”

After looking at it for a long moment, Kezzek nodded. “Wasn't this on the chests that Annandor had? The ones from-”

“The Ashen Tower,” they said together.

“I found something,” Keeper said, standing next to a dark alcove in the corner of the cabin. He walked over with a weathered, leather-bound journal.

Kezzek took it and stepped outside the cabin, taking in the gnome flotilla that was just reaching the ship. A handful of half-drowned gnomes were already pulling themselves up the netting on the side of the ship.

“Lets look this over later,” Kezzek said, motioning to the cabin with the hand that held the journal. He turned to Keeper and pointed at the escaping rowboats. “Keeper, can we catch one of the rowboats with the ship that you commandeered?”

Keeper replied without even looking at the rowboats. “It would take us approximately eight minutes to pursue and acquire the the smaller vessel with the current wind velocity and their rate of traversal. Chances of locational synchronization with the more massive transport are of questionable predictability.”

Kezzek and Suniel stared at Keeper for a few seconds before Kezzek spoke. “So that's a yes on the small one, right? Good, let's go.”

Kezzek walked over to the first gnomes that were pulling themselves gasping over the rail and onto the deck. He loomed over one and pointed at the captain's cabin. “The ship's current ownership is unknown, but I'm authorizing you to take as much food as you can carry. Oh, and if anyone touches anything in the cabin, I'll consider it a crime against the Greywardens and come seeking justice. Let the others know that too. Got it?”

The gnomes nodded quickly.

Kezzek, Keeper, and Suniel climbed down to their fishing boat, setting out after one of the rowboats.

***

Kormak dropped to a crouch and froze, staring out to the sea as a rowboat full of dwarves and gnomes emerged from around the blackened trunks of a once-forested promontory, followed close behind by what looked like a crude fishing boat manned by an orc, an elf, and a rusted construct.

Wanting no part of it, he started to move off quickly down the beach when he saw something that stopped him cold.

It was probably sixty feet long, the deep green-black of its skin glistening as if it were coated with slime. It had forty or fifty insect-like legs, seemingly none of them symmetrically paired and, even more bizarrely, some of them had bits of colorful cloth wrapped about them and a what looked like a backpack strapped on the back of its many-mandibled, many-eyed head.

Kormak stared at it for a moment in shock, even as the rowboat crushed into gravel of the bank behind him. It wasn't until a rough hand planted on his shoulder and spun him around that he snapped out of it, grabbing the hand and breaking it's owner's arm out of reflex.

***

“What is that thing?” Suniel shouted, pointing to the monstrosity that reared it's body like a snake or centipede, head swiveling towards the skirmish that had broken out on the beach.

Kezzek stared at it, quor'rel drawn, as its legs churned it closer. Without a word, he leapt into the still knee-deep water and started wading towards shore, on an intercept course.

Suniel sighed and turned see a stocky, bearded figure ringed by cutlasses and clubs by the rowboat. Two of the crew members already lay still in the gravel.

“Keeper, this is one of those times when we try not to kill anyone. Take them alive if you cane,” Suniel said before muttering an incantation.

Keeper splashed into the water, eyes flaring, as Suniel unleashed a spell.

***

Angelo swore as the Bent creature's head shot up, antennae swiveling down the beach. It's spotted prey again, he thought. No choice but to attack it now. Damn.

He sprinted after it, drawing and firing his brace of pistols at point-blank range before leaping on its back. It twisted and thrashed as he did so, gouts of greenish fluid spurting from the bullet wounds as he landed, but it didn't stop its charge.

Gripping tightly with one hand, he used the other to draw his rapier and drive it into the thing's back. It screamed in an oddly human voice and flipped over, sending Angelo flying from its back. He hit the burnt grass and rolled, coming to his feet as it stopped its motion and turned on him.

“Come get me, Bent One,” he snarled, crouching and waiting for its charge.

Instead, a hulking gray figure lept from the side, slamming a strange double-bladed sword into the thing. It twisted and curled back, flicking the figure off with a dozen bristling legs.

Angelo didn't waste the opening, rushing in and and severing the first two legs that shot out to pierce him and ducking underneath, slicing up and leaping out before it could drop its weight and crush him.

When he climbed to his feet again and turned, the gray figure – what seemed to be an orc with a strange, massive metal gauntlet – was beside him. They stood, weapons ready as it reared back on it's last dozen legs, its main bulk rising forty feet above them. It made a sound then, half between an insect chitter and a human laugh as one of its mandibles hooked back and slid something from its pack and ate it.

“Was that a potion it just ate? What in the hells is this thing?” the orc said, his accent almost indecipherable foreign.

“A Fae Bent,” Angelo said, reloading his pistols quickly as he did so. “I'll circle right, you go left. Whoever it doesn't go for kills it before it can kill the other, ok?”

“A fey what?” the orc said over his shoulder as he circled left.

Angelo didn't respond, instead focusing his attention entirely on the creature, waiting for it to make its move. When it did, it was almost blindingly fast, one moment risen high and swaying back and forth like a snake, the next on the orc in a blur of slender piercing legs and chitinous bulk.

The orc was trapped in a forest of barbed and thrashing limbs, slashing desperately with his weapon, his dark blood flowing freely.

“For the Black City!” Angelo screamed as he charged. May I live to see it again.

Session 14, Part 3

-Note: Angelo's player was the same as the Sky-monk way earlier. He'd come on leave from the Navy from time to time and play for part of a session, then be gone for six months. I really liked this character too, thought it might introduce the group to the Black City and the Fae Wood. Instead, they didn't really get to see the Black City until... well, you'll see.-


Angelo clung to the pack straps on the creature's head and buried his rapier into it. It kept thrashing, trying to kill the orc that still fought underneath its bulk. Angelo swore and drove his rapier into it again and again, until finally the thrashing stopped and it started curling up.

As Angelo leapt clear, he saw the orc crawling away from the thing, leaving a trail of blood in the grass. Sheathing his sword, Angelo stared at the Fae Bent creature as it twitched in its final death throes. The orc walked up beside him, spattered with blood and gore.

“So what was that thing we just killed?” the orc said.

“Something that wasn't supposed to exist,” Angelo replied. He turned away, mentally preparing himself for the long journey back home.

***

Kezzek watched the mysterious hunter walk off to the west, leaving the giant many-legged horror twitching in the burnt grass.

Suniel walked up beside him, staring at the creature with sheer curiosity.

“What was that?”

Kezzek bent and picked up a colorful bit of cloth, like the many that adorned the thing's legs. “Something that wasn't supposed to exist I guess. A fey something.”

“Fey? That's not like any fey creature I've ever heard of.”

“Well, whatever it is, it's dead now or just about.” Kezzek tossed the cloth aside and glanced back at the rowboat. Keeper and a simply dressed dwarf stood over a pile of bodies. “They all dead?”

Suniel didn't look away from the dying fey-thing. “They shouldn't be, Keeper and I at least were trying to take capture them. I'm not sure about the dwarf.”

Kezzek sighed, winced again, and walked towards the rowboat.

***

“You killed these three? Why?” the bloody Greywarden said, staring down at Kormak.

“Wow, that thing sure uglied you up, or is that normal for your face?” Kormak said. He glanced at the dead and unconscious dwarves, goblins, and gnomes and shrugged. “One of them put a hand on me so I tried to break it off.”

“And you killed them with your bare hands?” the Greywarden said, eyes narrowing.

“Why the suspicious look? The elf here took out these other ones with his bare hands - well, and some arcane whatever-you-call-it. Your machine here shot energy from its eyes and used its bare hands.”

“The captain on the boat that we pursued these sailors from was killed by someone using their bare hands,” the half-orc said.

“Oh, so I must have been the one that done it then? You as stupid as you are ugly?”

The Greywarden didn't react, just staring down at Kormak and tugging at one of his tusks. “Well, I suppose capability does not mean guilt. I'd like you to come with us back with us to Watersprock none-the-less.”

“Sure, why not?” Kormak said with a nonchalant shrug. “Was heading that way anyway.”

***

“So the log here says that Captain Elorn traded in metals. Is that correct?”

The captured dwarf, Ragnen, swallowed as he sat bound in the bottom of the sailboat, looking up at the hulking bloodied Greywarden as Keeper steered them back to the ship. “Yes, that's right.”

“So why the sudden interest in foodstuffs after trading in metals for...” the Greywarden stopped and flipped through the Captain's log. “Six years? It's almost like he knew somehow that food was suddenly going to be worth a whole lot more than metal suddenly.”

Ragnen looked over at the wizard and his rusty metal construct, then to the hideous dwarf that had killed Patch and Teral with his bare hands, then back to the Greywarden. “I dunno, I was just following orders.”

“The log doesn't say you carried anything on the way to Steamport. Why was that?”

“We had passengers, but we didn't see them much. Got off at Steamport in the dark.”

“Passengers? Where did you pick them up from?”

“The mouth of the Greenpath, they were just waiting there.”

The Greywarden and the elf exchanged a glance. When they looked back their expressions were hard. “And you delivered them the night before Steamport got wiped out. Who were they?”

“I don't know, but I saw them hand over something when they got on. Gold, several chests worth. Elorn didn't let any of us see them, but for that glance I got, hid them in his cabin. Lookit and his bunch got to the cabin first, so I don't know any more than that.”

“And you're saying you don't know who they were? Not at all.”

“Naw, Elorn didn't tell me much,” he said. “He kept it between him, that log there, and Witherleg.”

“Witherleg?” the Greywarden said, one eyebrow quirking. “Elorn told me yesterday that he had only heard of Witherleg in passing. Fourth-hand information and whatnot.”

“I don't know 'bout that, what the Captain said's between you and him.”

“So, the Captain died how?” the wizard said.

“Dunno,” Ragnen said. “Lookit found him dead, or so he said. I think Lookit might have done it himself.”

“Lookit, wasn't that the goblin?” the Greywarden said.

“Yeah, little backstabbing runt. He's the one that 'found' the Captain dead and said he was Captain now. I said no, I'd be the better Captain.”

“So you had a disagreement?”

Ragnen nodded. “It got... violent. Some sided with Lookit and pulled weapons, those of us who thought I should be Captain pulled ours in defense-like. We... disagreed a bit, then saw all those starving gnomes coming for us and decided to bolt with what we could take.”

“So, you were the First Mate then?” the wizard said.

The Greywarden's eyes shot down to Ragnen and his eyes narrowed.

Ragnen's thoughts churned. The Greywarden was on the dock yesterday. He talked to Elorn. How much does he know?

“Well,” the Greywarden said. “Were you First Mate?”

Ragnen swollowed hard. If I lie and he knows, he might just kill me now.

“No, I wasn't, Lookit was,” he said. He dropped his head.

“Didn't think so. If I remember correctly, Elorn called Lookit the First Mate back on the docks.” There was a pause.

“Mutiny then,” the Greywarden finally said.

***

Harold looked down as the others' little boat bumped up against the side of the ship.

“What the hell is going on here? Where have you been?” he said.

“Long story,” Kezzek said as he pulled himself up onto the ship.

“What's the short version?” Harold said, crossing his arms as he watched them clamber aboard.

“We're still figuring it out,” Suniel said as Kezzek and Keeper helped pull him up.

“How about searching the Captain's cabin, some things in there that might be of interest to you,” Suniel said.

“Oh?” Harold said, sizing up the ugly, plainly-dressed dwarf that climbed aboard after the others.

“What you lookin' at?” the dwarf said.

Harold stared at the dwarf for a moment then, without another word, headed towards the Captain's cabin.

***

Suniel rubbed his eyes in the early morning light as they climbed out onto the rocky beach.

“Long night,” Kezzek said as they pulled the three still-bound crew members out onto the beach.

Harold leapt over the gunwales of the boat and stormed off into Watersprock still carrying one of the Ashen Tower coin-chest he'd taken from Elorn's cabin.

“Figured anything out about that crystal that Harold found?” Kezzek said.

“It's cold and I have a feeling it has something to do with the whole dead-rising-in-the-streets-as-Steamport-burned thing that we heard about,” Suniel said, putting his hand in his robe to where the chill purple crystal was hidden.

Kormak the dwarf climbed off the rowboat after them, looked up and down the shore, and whistled loudly.

Suniel and Kezzek stared at him for a minute, then there was a bark from up the beach and a dog with a miniature set of canvas saddlebags strapped to its back came galloping down the beach. They watched the dour dwarf play with the dog in bemusement until he turned to them and said, “this here's a dog. Never seen one before, huh?”

Suniel and Kezzek glanced at each other and shook their heads, then turned to the three crew members on the beach.

“So what do we do with them?” Suniel said.

Kezzek looked at them for a long moment, then seemed to make up his mind. “The Captain's log says he and this Witherleg are... were partners. Ship belongs to Witherleg since Elorn's dead, says so in the contract. Cargo's split between the crew in shares. Figure since we only have three crew left that have returned to the ship, in a manner, that the shares of cargo are theirs. And they're guilty of mutiny.”

Suniel had a sinking feeling at the grim matter-of-factness of how Kezzek was speaking. Kezzek stared at the three for a long moment.

“What are you thinking Kezzek?” Suniel said. “They've already lost enough, haven't they?”

Kezzek pulled out a coin from his pocket and looked at it for a long moment. “I'll be right back.”

Suniel waited, unsure of what to do – and, more importantly, what Kezzek was going to do – as Kezzek disappeared into the camp. Several minutes later, he returned with an armload of wood and what looked like a small crucible. In minutes he had a hot little fire going and a gold coin melting in it. Kormak looked on in interest, the three sailors in apprehension.

“Kezzek, what's going on?” Suniel said.

“Justice.”

“Justice? Justice for what?”

“Mutiny, theft.”

“Theft? What are you going to do?”

“I figure they were fighting over the cargo. When I questioned the other two, what they say mostly matches with Ragnen's story. Right now, that cargo is worth more than just about anything you could pack in a ship short of gold. And in a sense, by mutinying, they were trying to steal it. Sounds like Lookit and his crew drew their weapons first, so the murder might be self defense, but the mutiny was theirs.”

“Sound enough reasoning I'd say,” Kormak said.

“So? Why are you melting gold coins?”

“It seems fitting, they were motivated by greed, they wanted the wealth for themselves, willing to kill others for it. Common penalty for thievery is losing a hand.”

“That sounds about right to me,” Kormak said.

“What? Wait! You're going to pour molten gold onto their hands?” Suniel said, shocked.

“More like into their hands than onto with that much gold,” Kormak said. “Probably burn right through the skin, go inside.”

Kezzek was silent. The sailors eyes bulged.

“You can't do this!” Suniel said.

“What would you suggest?” Kezzek said, not turning his eyes away from the crucible.

Suniel's mind churned. Kezzek won't be able to be talked out of this. Justice is his life, Suniel thought, weighing options quickly.

“So they still have rights to the cargo, right?” he said.

Kezzek thought for a moment. “I suppose they do.”

“So how about they give it up to the local authorities, the people of Watersprock. Then they go free. That way they still don't get what they were killing for, they get justice.”

“Naw, I say they just lose the hands,” Kormak said.

Suniel shot the dwarf a dark look. When he looked at Kezzek, the Greywarden seemed to be contemplating it. Finally he lifted the crucible from the fire and walked over to the now-pale sailors still sitting bound on the beach.

“You three are guilty of mutiny, attempted theft, maybe murder. By rights of the contract you signed with Elorn, the cargo belongs to you three. I've decided to give you a choice. You can keep your cargo, worth a large fortune considering the circumstances here, and lose the use of your hand...” he gestured towards them with the crucible. “... or you can keep your hand and surrender your cargo to the local authorities.”

“What about the ship?” one of the sailors said. The other two glared at him.

“Hm, good question,” Kezzek said, looking out at the ship. “The ship belonged to the partners, Witherleg and Elorn. Elorn's dead, so rightfully it's Witherlegs. I say we find him, deliver his ship. At the same time, we can see what his part in this illegal action against Steamport was.”

He looked back down at the sailors and gestured again with the crucible. “So, what is your choice?”

“Hand!” they all said in unison.

“Aw,” Kormak said, his expression falling. Suniel glared at him. “What? I've never seen molten metal... you know.”

Kezzek cut the three sailors free. “Your shares in the cargo are forfeit. You can come or go as you please. Justice is served.”

Ragnen rubbed his wrists and looked up at Kezzek, a calculating look already on his face. “Say, I heard you might be needing some sailors to man a ship you just acquired.”

“Not acquired, commandeered until its rightful owner can be found,” Kezzek said.

“Ok, commandeered. I know a dwarf who'd make a right good first mate, and I'll bet he can find you a crew out of this sorry refuge camp in no time.”

“Cheeky, aren't they?” Kormak said, apparently talking to his dog.

Kezzek cast a questioning glance at Suniel, who just shook his head and walked away. “Come on Keeper, let's get some rest.”

They were half-way back to the carriage when he heard Kezzek finally reply to Ragnen's offer.

“Done.”

Session 14, Part 4


“You made how much?”

“Maaaaster,” No Tongue said, proudly showing off his handfuls of coin.

“Little runt made more selling those wooden statues of his than Lunt and I did keeping those gnomes away from Master Elorn's food. Gnomes think they're good luck or something,” Stabber said, eying No Tongue's new-found wealth.

“Don't touch it, it's his,” Suniel said, picking up a statue that looked remarkably like Kezzek. “This is really good. Wait, you were working for Elorn?”

“Yeah, till he bought it,” Stabber said, drawing a finger across his throat and glancing at the forgotten coins that littered the dirt about No Tongue's feet.

“Don't even think about it Stabber,” Guntl said, walking over to the impromptu gathering by the Carriage. "He made a carving for Shruka and I too. I asked him if he could carve a sign for our makeshift healing and husbandry business, made us this instead.”

Keeper shot his hand out and caught whatever it was Guntl tossed to Suniel. They all stared at the sudden almost violent motion. Keeper held whatever-it-was for a second then slowly lowered his arm and handed a little carving to Suniel. It was a finely detailed turtle with what looked like remarkably like the Black Carriage on its back.

“Huh,” Suniel said as he examined it. “He's got an imagination at least.”
Harold strode up to the group, quickly finding Suniel. “Council meeting at sunset, by the old mill,” he said. He nodded once to Suniel and walked away.

Suniel glanced at the rapidly descending sun. “There's a council?” He tossed the turtle back to Guntl. “Guess I'll see you all later. Apparently I've a council meeting to attend.”

***

“So I'm staying behind,” Ambassador Stevens said, motioning for Harold to sit back down. “Now now, there's not much for me to do at the Crystal Towers, but there's plenty for me to do here.”

“What can you do here for the Crystal Towers? Their nation is destroyed,” Harold said.

“I can do the same thing I've been doing the last few days. Not much left of the gnomes, like you say, but allies are allies and these ones lost everything just for becoming ours. How would it look to any future allies to see this, hear about it?”

“I suppose,” Harold said, looking out at the hundreds of camp and cook fires burning across Watersprock. “I've been doing what I can to convince them it was the Ashen Tower that made all this happen, not the Crystal Towers.”

“That too,” Stevens said. “And just maybe I can take what's left of them and help make them into allies worth having again. Feel kinda guilty about what happened – I mean, reports have come in. There's nothing left of what they had; Watersprock is it and they don't even know why it's still standing. Said the fire roared right up to the walls, but then just... went away.”

“Who knows. Maybe they just got lucky.”

“Maybe. Anyway, I think this council meeting was good. Food from the ship by the Greywarden's orders, permanent council here with me as adviser, the wizard's town layout plans, your militia training. I'm glad you are all sticking around for a few more days at least.”

Harold nodded. “We need a few days to get a crew together. I'm also thinking about heading to Steamport, see what happened there with my own eyes. Remember for when we pay the Ashen Tower back.”

“I'll leave that part to you at least,” Stevens said, shaking his head. “I hope I never see anything like Steamport again.”

They turned and looked to the east, still aflame, like a second sunset on the wrong horizon.

***

“We're ready to sail first thing tomorrow,” Ragnen said, grinning at Kezzek.
“Found you a crew like I said I would. Now there's one last position that needs to be filled and I was thinking that I would make a-”

“I'm Captain,” Keeper said, walking past them onto the ship. Kezzek, Suniel, and Ragnen watched him head to the aft-castle, the gnomes still pulling food from the hold giving him wide berth.

“Okay then, I guess that solves that,” Ragnen said with a wry grin. “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Harold said, walking down the dock to join them. “If we're agreed that we're going to investigate Steamport, no time to waste before we get to it. Been here in Watersprock for three days already and I for one would like to get back to our journey. Long way to go to get to Crystal Towers yet and Steamport is at least half-a-day's sailing in the wrong direction.”

Suniel turned to Ragnen. “You heard the man. Tomorrow morning it is.”

***

It was almost sunset by the time they reached what was left of Steamport. As they disembarked onto the one somewhat-intact dock, they all stared in awe at the raw elemental carnage above them.

A constant waterfall ran down the entire north face of the plateau upon which Steamport was situated, enough water that even from hundreds of feet away they could hear its roar. In the east was a giant pillar of fire that seemed to reach into the clouds, burning through even the black smoke that still rose from the rest of the city. In the west, a giant tornado whirled and turned, sending debris raining down constantly amidst the ash and mingling its roar with the waterfalls. Rock and mudslides seemed to be a near-constant thing, frequent earthquakes large and small shaking the plateau apart rock by rock.

“I'll scout ahead,” Kormak said, not waiting for a reply before ducking low and moving quickly down the dock. The dock itself was warped and buckled and he had to leap here and there to get past the larger gaps.

Eventually, he found himself on the rubble-strewn shore, clambering over broken masonry and loose stone, twisted metal, and broken, smoldering wooden beams. When a roughly humanoid watery shape suddenly rose up from the crevice he was contemplating jumping, he nearly lost his footing.

“What is it that comes to the cursed hill?” it said, its voice nearly indistinguishable from the roar of the waterfalls. “Does it come to fight the fires?”

“Uh, nope. That is, not expressly,” he said.

“Why does it come then?”

“Uh, it comes to see what the hell is going on here. That's what it comes to see.”

“Then this goes,” it said. Before he could reply, it disappeared back into the crevice with a soft splash.

“Well, that was different,” Kormak said to nothing in particular. Then he turned and headed back to the ship.

***

Suniel approached Steamport from the south, working his way carefully up the cracked cliffs and constantly rumbling and shifting scree that was the whole southern side of the Steamport plateau. He was almost a third of the way up when a huge boulder suddenly detached from where it rested near a distant rocky escarpment and hurled down towards him.

Scrambling, he tried to get out of its path, but it seemed to shift its course to follow whichever way he went. It's an elemental, he realized suddenly as it was almost upon him. Instantly, he supplicated himself, grabbing a handful of coins from his robe and pressing them into the dirt in front of him.

The boulder's flying tumble stopped abruptly three feet from his head.
Tentatively, he rose to his knees, then his feet. “Hello?” he said.

It sat like the boulder it was. He tried again in elvish. And dwarven. And on through all the languages he knew.

When he reached gnomish, he just barely was able to hurl himself out of the way as it suddenly rolled over, slamming into the dirt where he had been standing and sending rocky debris, ash, and dust flying.

He prostrated himself again, groveling in the rocks at the base of the boulder and pressing more coins into the dirt.

It went still again and he remained on his stomach, at an impasse.

And there they sat.

***

Lava flowed not ten feet from where Harold's horse's hooves clattered on the hard black lava-flows. He wrapped another cloth about his face to ward off the smoke and burning sulfurous fumes that rose from all about the western side of the plateau.

When he stopped for a moment to figure out his route onwards, his horse suddenly whinnied, kicked, and sidestepped. He spun about, bow and arrow in hand in a heartbeat, and saw a bit of flame, no larger than a torch-flame, floating in the hot wind behind his horse. It flickered and shifted, darting to one side of him, then another, burning a bit of his cloak, then his horses tail, then nearly burning off some hair.

“Whoa there, little flame-thing,” he said, putting his bow away and raising his hands. “Look, I come peacefully.”

It didn't seem to understand, still darting here and there, sending little licks of flame across clothing and skin. Then he had an idea. He pulled out his waterskin, pulled the stopper, and upended it onto the hot ground. The water came out in a dozen large chugs, sending steam billowing up off the rocks. When he turned to see the thing's reaction, he had to duck to avoid getting his face burned off.

His horse bucked as the flame moved about them as if in a frenzy, burning where before it had singed. “Whoa, stop!” he said. After another near-miss with his face, he snarled and his great sword flew from its sheathe to split the flame in half, apparently putting out whatever life-spark kept the the thing burning. It drifted down in ash about him.

***

The cliff was nearly sheer and irregular winds blasted down its face, but Kezzek had found a chimney that he thought might be climbable. Making sure all his gear was securely fastened on his back, he began the ascent, bracing one leg on each side of the large crack and slowly working his way up.

He had gotten almost thirty vertical feet when suddenly the wind gusted so strongly that his arms slipped off the smooth, wind-carved rock. Frantically, he tried to brace himself with his feet, but they too slipped. He landed on his back, gear clanking and crunching in his pack as he landed on it.

By the time he had recovered his breath and was back on his feet, he noticed a dust devil whipping across the scree at the base of the cliff and meandering towards him. When the edge of it was just rippling into his clothing, he nodded to it and motioned to the scree.

“Rock,” he said.

He wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but it seemed to blow more strongly.

He pointed at it again and said, “Rock bad?” He kicked a rock.

In response, the dust devil's winds strengthened, forming a small tornado. Rock chips and debris flew all about him and glanced sharply off his face and hands, but he made sure to not even wince. He picked up two rocks and smashed them together. The winds spun faster and faster as he repeated the performance.

Finally, it had apparently seen enough. It engulfed him and he felt the ground fall away from under his feet. He tumbled like a rag doll inside it as it carried him away.

***

Kormak peered into the crevice again. “Hello there? Water thingy, you there?”

He called for several minutes before it appeared again. “What does it want?” it gurgled.

“It wants to see the big water. Water leader or elder or lake or whatever you call it,” Kormak said. “What do you think I want, to sit here in this ruin talking with a ambulatory stream?”

“Does it speak in water-speak?” it said. Then it frothed up and blew what he thought of as a misting of spit across him.

“What's the big deal?”

It did it again, thoroughly dampening him. “Alright, I didn't come here to get soaked by a spit elemental. Go bugger off!”

He stormed off to his tent and called his dog over. “Hmph. Maybe the others will have better luck with theirs, 'Cause I'm done with mine. It spit on me, Dog, can you believe it?”

As usual, Dog didn't reply, just wagged his tail and lick the elemental spray off Kormak's hands.

Session 15, Part 1


Kezzek flew out of the whirlwind and landed hard in the rubble. He stood, grunted, and brushed himself off as the little tornado drifted off to the west.

Around him, the city was blown flat, except where bits and pieces had been tumbled together or dropped. Ash blew past him and various bits of debris occasionally fell from the sky to land around him.

It was the giant black tornado farther west that really caught his attention, it's roar audible even from what might have been a mile. The tornado was so large and the city so flattened around it, it was hard get a real sense of its scale, but it had to be immense.

Half-watching the rubble under his feet and half-watching for the rubble that occasionally rained from the sky, he worked his way towards the giant column of twisting wind. He had only traveled a couple minutes when he stumbled upon the bizarre combat.

A giant splintered jumble of obsidian was locked in mortal combat with what he assumed was the whirlwind that had carried him. The whirlwind blasted and gusted at the heap of glassy rock, occasionally sending bits and pieces flying, but apparently having little effect on it. There was sense of desperation to the whole thing.

Then he saw a where a fist of obsidian shards extended into the whirlwind, keeping it pinned as the animated rock-pile slowly smothered it.

With a roar, Kezzek drew his quor'rel and charged, sending flakes and jagged bits of obsidian flying from the thing as he slammed his blades into it.

He had a sense that the thing had turned towards him, though he couldn't be sure what it was that gave him the impression. It exploded towards him, razor-sharp blades of obsidian sliding to jut out of its surface as it slammed into him and sent him flying into a pile of loose brick. He got up, spitting rock-chips and bleeding from a dozen cuts, and leapt aside as it drove a rocky limb into the brick-pile, sending fragments flying in all directions.

With another roar, he brought his quor'rel down, severing the rocky limb from the main body of the thing, the rocks that composed the limb tumbling apart into the dirt. It released the whirlwind, which immediately flew off into the blackened, churning sky, and shot two jagged spear-head sized bits of rock out.

Kezzek managed to parry one, bits and flakes of obsidian flying, but the other pierced deep into his side. Snarling he stumbled back, then lunged back in, driving his quor'rel straight into the center of the elemental, his gauntleted arm plunging deep into the rough jumble of rocks. The thing froze for a moment, as if in shock, then compressed like a vice on his arms. He thought he heard something pop, then his arms were free.

There was no time to even so much as raise his hands to protect himself when it slammed full force into him, sending him falling back, the roar and blackness of the giant tornado seeming to fill his senses.

***

The fire erupted suddenly, sending steaming-hot fragments of rock raining all over Harold. He scrambled up the scree as another vent opened up, the blast of heat that billowed out from it drenching him in sweat instantly. Then he was clear and sat panting and wishing he hadn't dumped his waterskin on the ground for that annoying scrap of flame, or left his other two skins on his horse when he sent it back.

He wiped his brow and turned back to his climb, senses hyper-alert to the change of temperature or shift of the rock that warned of another vent opening beneath him.

Finally he reached the last lip of the cliff, free-climbing a short ways before hauling himself up over the edge and crawling a dozen feet to be sure of the rock before standing – and discovering he was surrounded.

They were shaped roughly like candle-flames, though some were as tall as a tree or wide as a house. They flickered in all colors of flame, most reds and oranges and yellows, some flickering blues and whites and purples. An unmistakable sense of hostility emanated from them – aside from the heat.

He raised his hands, thinking quickly. “I come in peace, don't be hasty. I bring food.”

Thank the Crystal Towers for our superior equipment, he thought, pulling one of his many javelins from his quiver. He turned to the largest elemental, a monstrous bluish flame the size a small tower. “Here, food,” he said, tossing the javelin to it sideways. A lash of flame shot out and seized the javelin from the air and pulled it into the core of the flame. Surprisingly it didn't burn instantly to cinders like he would have expected, instead slowly blackening.

Maybe it's savoring it, he thought.

“Take me to your leader,” he said. The flames sat flickering but otherwise immobile around him. He repeated it several times, turning to different ones each time. “You have a leader?”

Finally, the big blue one started moving away from the others, deeper into the city. He looked around quickly and hurried after it, not wanting to be left behind.

If it weren't a giant blue flame, he might have lost it in the smoky haze. Everything was blackened and singed, all the wood burned and even some of the stone melted here and there and even through the double-handful of cloak he had pressed against his face, his eyes watered and he coughed regularly.

As they traveled he glanced about him, looking for anything that might be useful – to him or the Crystal Towers. There was nothing but a scorched and blackened ruin, not a trace of the fantastic wealth the gnomes of Steamport were said to have left behind.

When the flaming pillar suddenly stopped, he nearly stumbled into it, singed some hair in the process. “We there already?” he said.
It didn't reply, instead spitting out a red-hot metal javelin head. He dodged out of the path of the glowing bit of metal and reached back into his quiver. “Don't worry, I have more for you here. Take it.”

He tossed it to the thing quickly to avert it from taking it from him and burning his hand off in the process.

Seemingly content, it moved out again across the rubble, occasionally deviating to pull in some scrap of wood or cloth that had somehow survived the hellish inferno that must have ravaged the place. It cost him four more javelins to reach the Rift.

Even standing a hundred feet away, he could feel the heat rippling out from it in waves. Its edges blurred in the heat, but it looked just like he would have imagined it; like a tear in the fabric of the world to a place of pure flame, a giant column of fire and heat blazing out into the ruins and rising into the clouds. Directly beneath it, the rock had melted away and flowed slowly deeper into the plateau, venting gouts of sulfuric steam.

Nearby was a giant green bonfire, maybe sixty or seventy feet tall. It seemed small compared to the giant rift that rose burning into the clouds, the giant blue flame that had guided him seeming even smaller.

He approached as close as he dared and stopped, sweat running freely down his face and under his clothing as his guide drifted to the giant green flame. As it did so, he noticed a large metal cage nearby heaped with small figures that he assumed were gnomes. If they were alive, they were probably wishing they weren't at the moment, smothered by each other and the blistering heat of the Rift at the same time.

The giant green bonfire seemed to take notice of him, working its way slowly towards him. Thankfully, it stopped twenty paces away. Any closer and he wasn't sure he could stand its heat.

“It isn't a cursed one,” it said in Common, its voice like the crack and splinter of logs in a bonfire.

“No, it is a human from the Crystal Towers,” Harold said, bowing before it. Slowly, he drew two more javelins and a couple spears from his quiver, tossing them towards it. “I hope these suffice as some small gift.”

It reached out with an almost-humanoid arm and picked up a javelin, burning it to ash in seconds. Then its attention returned to Harold. “What does it want from Greenpyre?”

“I have heard that the fire fights the water here.”

It snatched up the other javelin, burning it apart in seconds. It held onto it until even the metal tip melted and ran onto the ground beneath it. “Water and fire are enemies. Water must close its Rift and leave the Hill of the Cursed Ones to the flame.”

Harold thought quickly, clearing his throat to buy some time. “Well... I heard that Water was trying to ally Air and Stone against the Fire.”

It suddenly burned hotter, forcing Harold to take several steps back. It motioned to the blue pillar of flame that had been his guide. The pillar moved to the cage and, at its approach, the gnomes began to squirm weakly. Somehow it opened the cage, and wrapped a tendril of flame about a gnome's leg, dragging him screaming from the cage.

When it got back to them, it threw the gnome towards Harold and Greenpyre. The gnome landed hard and whimpered, clutching at the hideous burn on its leg as it tried to crawl away. Greenpyre approached slowly, watching the gnome writhe in its heat until finally Greenypire lunged forwards like a treetop fire in a strong wind, and engulfed the gnome. The pitiful thing thrashed once or twice and cried out, then burned away in layers until only the bones remained.

With a flicker, Greenpyre hurled the bones back to the rift, where they flashed like a wood shaving in a forge and were gone.

“Air and Stone will never stop, as Water and Fire will never stop,” Greenpyre cracked and rumbled. “The one before me will bring us more Cursed Ones, so our vengeance for their slavery and cruelty can get its fill. Will it bring us Cursed Ones?”

It moved towards Harold again, sending him scrambling away from its heat. He raised his hands to placate it. “Yes, yes! I'll bring you more gno- Cursed Ones!”

Just as quickly as it had been advancing on him, it was moving away, back towards the Rift. “Fire Pillar will escort it from the Burning and it will not return unless it brings us more Cursed Ones.”

Harold sighed and wiped his brow again, wondering where he could find water in the ruins. Non-hostile water that is, he thought, following as Fire Pillar's blue flickering mass moved past him and deeper into the ruin of Steamport.

Scratch one faction off of the Crystal Towers list of possible allies I guess.

***

“Take us to biggest rock,” Suniel said, or hoped he said as he thumped on the ground and clattered rocks against each other. As Keeper approached, the construct had what Suniel might almost interpret as a quizzical expression on his face. “I'm trying to talk to this earth elemental in Ignan,” he said, motioning to the boulder that had almost flattened him.

“Yes, that is what it looks like,” Keeper said.

Was that irony? Suniel thought, staring for a moment at the inscrutable construct. Finally he gave up and turned back to the boulder, banging his rocks and stomping for several more minutes. Just as he was about to give up, suddenly the boulder shifted, sending scree skittering a Suniel and Keeper's feet, and began rolling uphill.

“Look at that, it's almost absurd,” Suniel said. He said to his sky-metal lightning-eyed friend, he thought, rolling his eyes.

“Come along Keeper, with any luck, it's taking us to the leader of the Stone faction, assuming there is a leader.”

“As you say,” Keeper replied. Suniel glanced over his shoulder and squinted at Keeper.

“You know, the problem with you, is everything you say is with a straight face,” Suniel said.

“My face is molded in the rough likeness of a humanoid,” Keeper said. “Though there are twenty-six surfaces on it that could be labeled as straight, depending on your definitions and margin of error.”

“Exactly my point,” Suniel said. “That's exactly what I mean.”

After that they climbed in silence, following the boulder as it rolled up the side of the plateau.