Insight's "Against the Blackstag Cult" (IC) - Chapter One: The River Barge Incident

[sblock=Prelude]
It had been far too long since Archeaun Fiersall had communicated with his otherworldly patron. The truth was that the method required to make the communication possible was straining - both physically and mentally. Archaeun would not, of course, reveal the reason for his lack of communication. His patron would be most displeased with any sign of weakness and Archaeun knew that he was easily replaced.

Archaeun spread black and silver dust in a circle and knelt in the middle. He lifted his cowl and, when he was sure no one else was around, produced a small, black, leather-bound chapbook from his vest pocket. He opened the book to a well-worn page and began to read aloud its contents.

"J' felhívja önnek, hogy szörnyű arca Mag Tureah! J' felkéri a memória a király de Thrumbolg és minden ő leszármazottainak! Kérem, azokat a alázatosan kérem, Lord Oran! Hallgasson meg én hívás!"

The reaction was at first a puff of purple smoke in the corner of the room. The smoke grew and grew until it roughly resembled a humanoid form.

Archaeun bowed his head, knowing what was to come.

The cloud of smoke coalesced into that of a shady, humanoid figure. Its head was definitely elf-like, its body sturdy and stout, and stood upon furry, knee-back legs, like those of a satyr or faun. The being was over 11 feet tall and carried a twisted wooden cane tipped with the head of some poor creature. It was Lord Oran of Mag Tureah in the Feywild.

"Arise, my servant," it said. "We speak in your tongue since you have yet to master mine."

"Thank you, Lord Oran," Archaeun said, coming to his feet and looking briefly upon the realized form of his otherworldly master.

Despite Archaeun's years of arcane study and the fact that he had been in Lord Oran's presence several times before, each time, he had to learn anew to stand with confidence and courage, even though every mortal bone in his body was screaming to flee the feylord's presence.

"Tell me, Archaeun," Lord Oran began as he approached his servant. "Have you yet captured the Black Stag?"

Archaeun was downcast at this query and could not look Lord Oran in the eyes. "We need more time," he replied.

Lord Oran stopped dead in his tracks and scanned his servant for any sign of deception. I am most displeased," he said. "I have bestowed upon you and your lowly minions a great deal of arcane power. Much more so than should be required. What is the cause of this delay?"

"We have not secured the forest. The Black Stag must be somewhere. It... it must be hiding."

"The Black Stag is a dumb creature! It has no way to know you seek it."

Archaeun looked away from Lord Oran. "I know that, but... "

Lord Oran grabbed Archaeun by the shoulder, roughly turning him around. "I will have my prize, Archaeun," he said. "You will bring me the Black Stag and I will finally have it. I will finally have everything I need to..."

Archaeun watched Lord Oran as the feylord's voice trailed off. It was as if Lord Oran was considering some action, or perhaps the consequences of some action.

"You've taken far too much of my time as it is," the feylord announced. "Do not contact me again unless you have something important... like the accursed Black Stag in your clutches."

The feylord vanished before Archaeun could respond. He donned his cowl and walked to the nearby window. Opening the shade, Archaeun could see afternoon shadows starting to creep across the grounds of his complex. Cultists were busy assembling armor and weapons, engaging in combat training, or cataloguing the latest loot grabs.

To most eyes, all was going well. And yet, if Lord Oran detected any more failure, it would all be over as soon as it began.
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Against the Blackstag Cult, Chapter One: The River Barge Incident
Haylen's Ford was abuzz with excitement, up until about half an hour ago. Mayor Jinthaleer Haylen called a general town meeting, which everyone assumed was regarding planning for Springtide, the annual after-winter festival held in Haylen's Ford and a source of great interest after a long snowy season. Instead, Mayor Haylen announced that Springtide would be cancelled this year. He explained that, because of the mass influx of refugees to Haylen's Ford, and the ever-present threat the Blackstag Cult poses, it would be wiser for citizens, merchants, and visitors to gird themselves for protection against the cult's actions.

Among the disappointed was a Tiefling named Iados, who had just come to Haylen's Ford, helping to lead a group of refugees from North Cleft, a small settlement near the Tiefling settlement of Broken Temple. Iados and the refugee leaders had hoped that Springtide activities would help ease the minds of the recent arrivals, allowing them to focus on something other than their current plight.

As the North Cleft refugees gathered to discuss what to do next, one of them, a traveling minstrel named Ian Bareander, offered to entertain the huddled masses in a square near the bridge tonight. That seemed to calm some fears, at least superficially for now.

Also among the disappointed was Erevan Somarta, an Eladrin emigrant to Haylen's Ford, though Somarta had personal reasons for wanting the festival to go forward. The object of his affections, an Eladrin woman named Feoala Thindrian, also a newcomer to Haylen's Ford, had promised Erevan a dance at Springtide. Erevan was hoping for a chance to get closer to Feoala, who was being good-naturedly playing hard to get, as was custom for an Eladrin woman in her situation.

Ulrik, a mage who had returned to Haylen's Ford along with Erevan, had his own romantic concerns. Quincella Coldsmith, daughter of the local farming family, had been betrothed to Ulrik before he went off to train in Grand Valley. With Ulrik's return to town, the relationship between he and Quincella was awkward to say the least. Ulrik had promised to spend Springtide with Quincella, to see if there was any spark remaining in their nascent relationship.

Martin Dolbrick, Haylen's master blacksmith, announced after the Mayor finished speaking that he also had some bad news. Due to the recent cult attacks, trade routes to Broken Temple, Storm Peak, and Farthing Pass have been all but cut off. Because of this, the smithy was now out of critical supplies and could no longer produce finished goods. Dolbrick warned everyone that unless some of these trade routes open back up, the smith might be forced to leave Haylen's Ford.

Regdar Quinn, a human warrior and mercenary guard, could certainly attest to that. He had been part of a merchant caravan that had crossed the Surrim Forest from Vouchsafe and north to Haylen's Ford. The caravan had been harassed many times along the way, and Regdar could well imagine other routes are likewise being affected. Arjhan Khudrat, a Dragonborn warrior and Regdar's fellow caravan guard, agreed that something had to be done, but what? The Dragonborn had come to Haylen's Ford following signs and portents from his deity, the Raven Queen, and had found Haylen's Ford a place worth saving. Unfortunately, the people of Haylen's Ford were mostly disorganized and unsure of what to do to deal with the cult threat. Khudrat was hoping that was soon to change.

As the town meeting was dispersing, Billiam Grone the town's piermaster, asked everyone to wait for an important announcement. Accompanying Grone was Harriet Forester, matriarch of the powerful and influential family controlling the docks and most of the riverborne travel. Harriet announced that her family, seeing a need to organize the various mercenaries offering their protection services to the merchants and citizens of Haylen's Ford, would be forming a guild in Haylen's Ford to better enable the hiring and payment of said mercenaries. Grone added that river barges will all need regular protection in the very near future unless something is done about the cult.

At the Mensener's Alehouse in East Haylen, not far from where the town meeting had been held, many refugees and interested parties gathered to drown their sorrows and perhaps discuss a plan of action. Many were left unsatisfied by the Mayor's lack of specifics in his plans to deal with the cult. Many whispered that action would need to be taken regardless of official mayoral sanction.

It was at least the fifth time the story had been told, but it was being told again. It was all truth, for Erevan didn't have the energy to tell lies. Other things were on his mind now.

"I would probably be dead if they came during the day. I was outside, in full combat gear and saw their torchlight. There was at least a half-dozen of them. Damn cultists! They gleefully chopped at my garden as well as me. I could barely parry their blows, there was too many. Even as we fought among the flowers and vegetables, a pair was setting fire to my hard work, my livelyhood. I was at the edge of their light, that was my only chance of escape. I walked through the Feywild, appearing in my home, out of their sight for the moment. I had only one thing to grab. I ran through my house, grabbed what I came for." The eladrin pauses to catch his breath, in his hands is a pot with a single rose, stem partially broken.

"After grabbing the gift to my dear Feoala, I dove through the window, in the fall, the flower was damaged. I couldn't go around for that is where they'd be searching for me. I ran, as hard and as fast as I could. They search for me for long. I can still see the fire that was my house and my garden as they burned it to the ground."

The eladrin then hurries off after his tale, still searching for his Feoala. He had a gift for her, though damaged. He carried news to her as well, as he wouldn't be staying long. Mercenaries were in need, and he was still a suitable commander.

Iados is fairly quite that evening, mostly listening to tales, including that of Erevan, absorbing recent events, as well as discussion of them. It is not that he has nothing of his own to add to the living tale of trials and tribulation, but instead that he has some serious thought to put to the matter. While Iados does not encourage talk of the people taking matters into their own hand, without the mayor's approval or sanction, he does not discourage it, either. If asked, the tiefling warlock will give his honest opinion on the need and right of the People to protect themselves, organized resistance, regardless of whether town officials can do it.

Listening, too, Iados makes note of those who seem willing and able to do something, keeping track of Erevan, a good eladrin, and decided, ahead of time, to keep in his company should organization of adventurers and mercenaries goes forth. As with a spider tending its silken lines, Iados tends to the word of mouth of Haylen's Ford.

"Something must be done," stats Iados simply enough. "To do nothing simply invites being overran."

Hopefully, listening to the folk, as well as talking to them, instead of at them, helps quell some of the potential panic from recent events. At least that is Iados hope and goal of his efforts.

Regdar had been listening in on the conversation that evening though not adding anything. He had heard everything from suggestions of trying to appease the cult to killing every last cultist out of blood lust vengeance. Neither of these ideas appealed to Regdar. Still he stayed silent as he felt his own opinion on the matter would be unpopular to say the least.

Regdar believed that the gods must have some reason they were letting these events take place. The reason it self unknown but it could be anything from punishment to giving an opportunity. He wanted to find out about the cult and what they wanted then make a final decision on what to do.

Yet the current talk was still to highly emotional to suggest anything based on reason. He decided to wait until someone suggested something similar or to wait until the next morning when tempers were cooler. Until then he would sit, listen, and enjoy what could potentially be a highly entertaining argument.

Bilbray Mensener studies the crowd assembled in his alehouse. It was a rowdy crowd, understandably, but peaceable -- for now.

"Good people," he announced while banging on a large drum set aside for such occasions. "Good people. Please, have some ale. I have plenty. As long our good friends from Storm Peak continue to provide --"

"Oh no," a warrior mercenary called out from within the crowd. "What did Billiam Grone say? And Martin Dolbrick? Shipments from Storm Peak have halted."

Mensener looked downcast. The mercenary was right, of course. The shipments had stopped. And what could be done about it? Mayor Haylen seemed perfectly content to let the cult siege continue.

"Let's find these damnable cultists and kill them all!" a voice shouted out.

Similar voices agreed, while others cautioned patience, that town leaders would find a way out of the current crisis.

Ulrik had initially gone to the alehouse to reflect on his Quincella problem. On one side, he was definitely of the right age for this. On the other, his inner voice was urging him to seek out new magiks and test his abilities. His mind was wondering untill he heard Erevan's tale that his old family farmouse was attacked by the Blackstag Cult. "Those bastards never stop" he had told his eladrin companion, attempting to offer some comfort.

He was siping a warm drink, a pale comparison to the elven ales he go used to, as he listened to what wat was happening in the alehouse.

The black dragonborn stood above the rest of the crowd in Mensener's, but somehow still managed to disappear in the crowd. He spent time listening to the locals, offering a few remarks of agreement, but generally staying out of the discussion. He was lucky to have made it to Haylen's Ford from the sounds of it and was glad for his Lady's gentle tug, but he was still left wondering what purpose her words held.

"The roads to the Storm Peak, we could reopen them. Haylen's Ford will need supplies and having allies amongst the dwarves and dragonborn of the Peak would help." offers Arjhan in his gruff but charismatic voice. His heritage makes his view somewhat biased, but true none the less.

At the Alehouse, Erevan finds comfort in his companion Ulrik. His love was not found at the normal place. The secluded beach nearby, amid the rocky outcroppings. They had shared many a picnic and more there. He came to the Alehouse, thinking his other mission could be accomplished.

Ulrik enjoyed a warm beverage, while the eladrin enjoyed a mug of mead. "Something needs to be done," he whispered. "I can become who I once was, my love thinks so."

When the gigantic dragonborn speaks, the eladrin raises his mug. "Something MUST be done. We live in fear now, trade is cut off. How long before the sacrifice victims within view of our walls? They have a weakness. I will lead a strike force. Those that can contribute greatly, that are skilled enough to oppose their plans. A force large enough to find that weakness, but small enough to avoid too much notice. Who will come, who is with me!" The eladrin looks around the bar, looking for takers.

Nodding at his Companion, Ulrik stands to bring some attention to the cause
"Aye friend, I am but a humble mage, but you can count on my staff".