A Rose In The Wind: A Saga of the Halmae -- Updated June 19, 2014

9x01

The stairway led up from the darkness of the Alirrian tomb into the blinding light of noon. Twiggy blinked as the sun and wind hit her face. She had expected to feel relief at coming into daylight, but she hadn’t realized how much she craved fresh air and an escape from the stale stink of those caves. She shuddered. The stink of death. Death that I helped make. She shivered as she realized it was Sedellus’ wind clearing the stink away. Sedellus, goddess of change, she tried to remind herself. Not just evil . . . change, too.

Whoever’s wind it is, at least it feels clean, thought Acorn, venturing from Twiggy’s pocket for a long quaff of breath.

Maybe it is, Acorn Twiggy replied, but I’m not sure I want it to.

Acorn squirmed. You’re not making sense, Chelesta. Are you lightheaded from holding your breath, like me?

Twiggy climbed out of the opening on to the wide ledge and looked back at what had once been the majestic façade of the Alirrian monastery, now cracked and overgrown. At least the plants have grown over it, she thought. Plants always grow over ruins. That in itself is a testament to Alirria’s strength. Somehow it didn’t help.

As the others emerged, Twiggy looked around the ragged group. It had more than doubled in size from their small band of seven to a veritable village of 24. And it put the lie to the concept of “strength in numbers”: Although they had gained the Sovereign Nyoko, who seemed to be able to take care of herself, they had also gained 4 infants and young children; two young men who had been beaten to a pulp; a woman too scared to speak; and four older dwarves who were pitifully weak from weeks under the whip. If they had been strong, they certainly weren’t anymore. And the two pregnant dwarves were certainly fierce, but they were also slow. Considering the distance to the main derro warren and the dwarves’ work blocking the tunnel, the best guess was that they only had about a 10-hour head start. With this group, even if they kept pushing ahead, the derro would eventually catch up with them.

Anyway, pushing ahead wasn’t an option. They had only been in the caves for one night, but it had felt like weeks without sleep. Their first task was rest, and whatever came next . . . was whatever came next. One by one, they all collapsed, exhausted, on to the soft ground.

“Where will you go?” Savina asked Sertani, when all had settled and the young children and old men had fallen asleep.

“I have discussed it with my son and sister-wives,” Sertani replied. “In our condition, we will not make it back to our holdings in the South. We will head first to allies Northwest of here. It is relatively easy travel, once we get out of the mountains, and there we can regain our strength.” She tilted her head toward Corani, whose chin was resting on her pregnant belly as she nodded off to sleep. “We have our future to consider.”

“We can stay with you until we reach the main road,” Savina offered, “and share our food and supplies, if you would find it helpful . . .”

Twiggy suppressed a chuckle as Kormick and Mena looked at each other behind Savina’s back. Kormick rolled his eyes as if to say “this girl will be the end of us,” but smiled as if to say “and don’t we love her for it.”

“. . . you have lost so much already,” Savina continued. “If there is anything more we can do . . .”

“Thank you,” Sertani replied, softly, before sitting up and shoving her shoulders back, proudly. “Until we reach the main road, then.”

“And now, as we say in Dar Und, it is time to trade nightmares for nightmares,” Kormick announced, yawning and stretching his arms over his head in the universal gesture for “I don’t give a damn what the rest of you do with your afternoon, but I’m going to sleep now.”

“I will keep first watch,” suggested Mena.

Twiggy thought about sleep. It was a good idea, she knew—but the idea of sleeping sickened her. How could I close my eyes on what I saw last night, she asked herself, without seeing it over and over again in my mind?

“Me too,” Twiggy offered. Mena was not the most comforting presence in the world, but Mama Rossi was a world away, and anyway, Mama Rossi was nowhere near as qualified as Mena to address the horrors of battle. No one joined the Defiers of the Wind without having a serious trauma, and the scars on Mena’s hand bespoke something far worse than misfortune. Mena never talked about what she did before coming to tutor Rose—she had been firm but vague every time Twiggy had asked—but it must have been dramatic. Mena had been so young when she came to the Estate. Sixteen, at most—if she had even reached the age of majority. And by that time, she had already had, and ended, a career with the Keepers of the Flame. Yes, Twiggy thought, Mena was very well qualified to counsel in this situation.

After everyone else was asleep, Twiggy broached the topic. “Does it ever get easier?”

“No.” Mena paused before continuing. “And it never should. The minute it becomes an easy choice to take a life, the minute there's no feeling of loss every time you kill, that is when you begin to lose sight of whether you are fighting against Sedellus or for her. It's one of the Dark Bitch's cruelest jokes that those who wish only to do good are sometimes forced to darker deeds in order to prevent a greater evil. And for that reason, the pain, the memories, even the nightmares while they last, all that is a tool you can use to remind yourself why you choose a kinder path whenever possible.”

“While the nightmares last . . .” Twiggy mused, “does that mean this will feel better?”

“Better?” Mena sighed. “No. But it does get more familiar. You know how you like to know the reasons for things? You will be able to focus on the reasons. Someday—maybe soon—you will be able to sleep without nightmares. You will know that what you did was necessary. Moments like these will become part of your past.”

“Like your past?”

“I hope not.”

This was one of those answers, vague but firm, that meant don’t pry. Twiggy pondered for a moment. "When you swore you were telling the truth to Zirkai, in there, you said your ancestors were the di Rossini family of Pol Henna.”

“Yes.”

“And . . . are they?”

“Yes.”

“But there isn’t a di Rossini family. Not in Pol Henna.”

“No.”

Mena looked sad, like her mind was far away. Twiggy thought Mena’s past seemed like the Ketkath—full of dangerous unknowns and things one would probably rather not know about. Twiggy still wanted to know.

They sat together for a while, chatting, watching the sun creep across the sky. It helped a little.

###

When Nyoko woke, night was falling, and the heathens were discussing what they would do next. She picked up her new bow and began to make small adjustments. Handling a bow was automatic, and it made her look busy so she could listen.

“Let us assume that at our top speed, it is five days’ trek to the spring, and that we have a ten-hour lead,” said Mena. “If we push ourselves, we can stay ahead of the derro. But we cannot move at top speed—the dwarves cannot keep that pace. We will also need to forage for food. We have more mouths to feed now. And we will not be able to obscure our path—there are too many of us. We should move as soon as possible.”

“Is it safe to bring her?” Twiggy asked, motioning over her shoulder to Nyoko. Nyoko found a small blackroot plant and craned her ears to hear as she chewed on its stem.

“I believe it is,” replied the Justicar. “As we were standing watch today, she told me a joke—‘How many Inquisitors does it take to kindle a torch?’” He paused as the group stared at him, blankly. “…‘Is this a cover for the worship of Ekht?’” Kormick chortled a bit, apparently to himself. “It is funny, no?”

Blank stares. Well, at least one of them has a good sense of humor, Nyoko thought. Even if he is a very strange sort of Justicar.

“Regardless,” said Tavi, “I do not think we could leave her if we wanted to.” That seemed to be Nyoko’s cue. She slung the bow over her shoulder and strolled over to the group.

“We have a dangerous journey ahead,” Mena announced, addressing Nyoko, “but you are welcome to travel with us.”

“Any journey through the Ketkath is a dangerous one,” Nyoko replied, “and I am in your debt. But I am ill-served in ignorance. Is your journey more dangerous than any other?”

The Justicar smiled. "Well, it's nothing, really, just that a decade and a half ago a girl made a crazy deal with Sedellus, and now this young lady"—he gestured toward Rose with his thumb—"is being chased across the Ketkath by the Goddess of Evil. But nothing to worry about."

Perhaps I spoke too soon about the sense of humor, Nyoko thought.

“We will not be taking the most direct route to Cauldron,” added Kormick. “Will you be missed there if you come with us?”

Nyoko considered the hazards of the Ketkath for a woman traveling alone. “If I do not come with you, I think it’s fair to say that I will certainly be missed in Cauldron.”

“Then it is settled,” said Mena.

ellinor said:

The Justicar smiled. "Well, it's nothing, really, just that a decade and a half ago a girl made a crazy deal with Sedellus, and now this young lady"—he gestured toward Rose with his thumb—"is being chased across the Ketkath by the Goddess of Evil. But nothing to worry about."

Click to expand...

I do not think I will ever get over my inner amusement with the double-think required when another player has to explain to Nyoko what Lira did in the old campaign. I love it.

For the record, Nyoko has a whole repertoire of torch-lighting jokes. They are hilarious.

9x02

For the first time in what felt like weeks, Thurran awoke without chains on his ankles. There was a familiar smell in the air—not the stench of the tunnels, but something else. Something comforting. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was surrounded by family. His mother was nearby, tending to his kin-mother, Jalissi. Ah, that was the smell: Mirtal was cooking, standing over a pot, stirring furiously.

Thurran felt the cold of the small stone that now hung around his neck. “You are Lord Rockminder, now,” his mother had said. It was too much to take in. One moment, his family was in a caravan. The next, there were derro, and whips, and dust, and zombies, and his kin-mother crying, and that amazing human with the warhammers . . . and not his father. He missed his father—his strong, gentle hands; his funny gray hair; his thoughtful authority. Now Thurran would have to make decisions. He didn’t even know what decisions he’d have to make.

He watched the bustle of the camp. A few steps away, the red-haired human, Arden, brought food to the older dwarves, but they bowed to her and refused. She didn't seem to understand: she tried again to hand them the bowls of food. They shook their heads politely, still bowing before her. She said pleading words in her language: “eet, eet.” When they bowed once more, she opened her mouth as if she was going to say something else, but no words came out. A tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, as if she didn't want anyone to know she was sad.

The human healer, Savina, saw her anyway. “What have you done to upset Arden?” she asked the dwarves.

Thurran answered. “She saved their lives. They must honor her, and cannot eat until she does.”

“It is my job to take care of her,” Savina replied, “not theirs. But she may eat with them.”

Savina went over and said words to Arden. Arden still seemed sad, but she nodded to the healer, took one bite of food herself, and then waited to have any more until the dwarves began eating.

Thurran followed Kormick around the camp, mimicking his movements. If he wasn’t going to have a father, at least there was this man. Sometimes, the man would try to talk to him, and he would try to talk to the man, but they didn’t understand each other.

Eventually, Kormick called Mena over. He kneeled in front of Thurran and, with Mena translating, said, “You know, I’m not just a strikingly handsome fighter and skilled woodland guide. I’m also an envoy of the King of Dar Und.”

Thurran’s eyes widened. A king!

“I would like to offer a treaty of friendship between Dar Und and the Rockminder clan.” He held out one of his warhammers. “That means that if someone from Dar Und asks a Rockminder for help, you’ll help, and we’ll help the Rockminders if they need it.”

This was the most exciting thing in the world. “I pledge my clan to you!” Thurran squealed.

“An agreement between my King and you is sufficient,” the man replied. He handed the warhammer to Thurran. It was half the boy’s height. “I will use this in my left hand,” he said, brandishing a derro battle axe, “and you keep that hammer. I would advise you to study its uses with your kin-mother Corani. She is very . . .” (here Mena paused in her translation) “. . . brave.” I have to remember the human word for “brave,” Thurran thought. “ah-nor-ably mur-dur-us.”

Thurran’s cheeks ached from grinning.

“We should be off,” Mena said. “We have hard travel before us and angry derro behind us.”

One by one, the humans picked up their packs. Mirtal quenched the fire. And Kormick, together with one of the human women, led the way into the dark of the forest.

DM’s Note: Travel mechanics were handled as an Obsidian style skill challenge. More info will be provided in a post below.

###

Arden watched the four dwarven men she had saved, Romek, Vorret, Bronst, and Pulan, as they stumbled into a clearing to make camp. The group had walked hard all night and most of the day, and everyone was tired. It was clear that the four of them, especially, had made it this far by force of will alone.

For the second night in a row, Mirtal cooked. “I thought it best to give him something to do,” Savina said of the dwarf.

Arden made herself useful, too, stirring when Mirtal gestured for her to stir and helping him serve the crowd sitting around the fire. As they had yesterday, Romek and his companions waited to eat until she did. Their bowed heads continued to disturb her. If only she could speak to them, she could discern for herself how they truly felt about her – and how she should feel about them.

At first, she had worried most that they were treating her with fearful subservience beaten into them by the derro. Last night, however, the Blessed Daughter had told her that the four were simply thanking her according to their customs, and Mena had reassured her that she would do more injury to their pride by rejecting their gratitude than by accepting it. It still felt wrong… but if I respect the dwarves, and if this is their code, she told herself, then I should abide by it. She sat down with her dinner self-consciously, nodded to Vorret, and took a bite. He nodded back and the dwarves began to eat.

But she was still worried. Has anyone even told them I'm a slave? What if they don't know, and when they find out, they're disgusted that they've honored me? And what if the Blessed Daughter decides I’m putting on airs? And … what if I've freed them from one enslavement only to force them into another, with me as their new mistress? Gods, why can't we just talk?

After dinner, Mena approached her. “The former slaves are exhausted. Do you think there is any way we can keep their spirits up? We cannot risk losing them, but if we slow our pace any more, we risk losing everyone.”

Arden looked down as she considered how low their spirits must be. They had gone from being driven by Lurx’s henchmen to being driven by a group of crazy humans. One enslavement to the next, she thought again. “I’ve been where they are,” she replied. "And there's no easy answer."

No easy answer… but… if we could just talk.

“No one will be left behind,” stressed Mena.

"No," Arden agreed. Whatever it took, she was not leaving these men behind. "I wish I could speak to them."

“You can speak to them through me, if you wish,” offered Mena.

“Just . . . I thank them.” She would keep Mena's offer in mind – but first, she had to think.

###

After two days of hard marching, Twiggy needed a rest. She hadn’t slept well since they emerged from the derro cave, and their trek required an immense amount of concentration. The trail from the Alirrian monastery to the spring might have been clear at one time, but it was overgrown and obscured now. And although Kormick was, technically, the group’s guide, Twiggy had learned all about plants from her father, and her half-elf instincts made her as good at tracking in nature as Kormick was at maneuvering in urban settings. In this foreign environment, both of their skills were taxed to their limits. For Twiggy’s part, the process was a combination of instinct and analysis: extrapolating from what she knew of familiar plants, and applying it to the strange flora of the Ketkath. Which shoots were new; which branches showed signs of exposure to the elements; which mosses might have grown on fresh soil so many years ago. Keeping the pace up meant guessing sometimes. Twiggy didn’t like guessing. She squinted at the faintest of signs and motioned the group forward.

The hard-driving pace had taken its toll on several of the others, as well—Nyoko and Tavi were each looking a bit ragged, having had very little time to recover from their ordeals in the cave, and as for the dwarves who had been enslaved, Twiggy imagined that the only thing keeping them on their feet was Mena’s constant patter of heroic tales from Dwarven history, inspiring them on.

It was a relief when the group decided to spend part of the third day resting and foraging for food.

As they prepared their camp for the night, Savina made an announcement. “It is time to prepare for Alirria Ascendant.”

Twiggy thought for a moment. Savina was right—Alirria Ascendant, a day of peace, fasting, meditation, and contemplation to celebrate Alirria’s life-giving nature, which fell on April 15, would occur in just a few days.

Savina continued. “I intend to begin preparatory rituals tomorrow. Will anyone join me?”

Twiggy was reassured by the blank stares and quizzical looks on the other faces. It wasn’t just her. “Pardon my ignorance, Savina. What is involved in the preparatory rituals for Alirria Ascendant?”

“There are special prayers and bathing, at dawn.”

Twiggy heard Acorn’s voice in her head. Bathing! Do it do it do it DO IT!

“It would seem,” said Twiggy, “that following Alirrian tradition for Alirria Ascendant would qualify as ‘following Alirria’s path.’ We still need to do that if we are going to find the Spring, if the Honored Mother was correct.”

“Plus,” Kormick added, elbowing Tavi in the ribs, “maidens in the nude.”

In the morning, the women found a nearby stream to bathe in as Savina said prayers. Arden walked off a little way, finding a secluded spot downstream before removing her clothing. Twiggy took the opportunity to pepper Nyoko with questions.

“So . . . tell me more about what Adepts do.”

Nyoko got the same quizzical look she had when Kormick had asked her about Adepts before. Clearly, Twiggy thought, one thing that Adepts did not do was explain what Adepts did. In the Sovereignty, Twiggy realized, everyone must already know what Adepts do. “The answer is different for every Adept,” Nyoko replied, after a little thought. "We are all trained in a variety of disciplines—music, dancing, oration, martial arts, visual arts, history, archiving, scholarship—and we all serve as witnesses in the justice of Kettenek. But different Adepts have different specialties.”

“And your specialty is . . .” Twiggy trailed off, questioningly.

“I have not yet chosen one. But there are certain things I am good at. I play the flute. I sing. I dance. I am a competent archer.”

Twiggy smiled. Apparently, Adepts were also trained in understatement. “So,” Twiggy continued, “you will probably become one of those.”

“Well . . . let us say that I am unlikely to become a composer.”

# # #

While the womenfolk bathed, Tavi and Kormick broke camp and watched the sky. It was a gray day, and cold for April. Suddenly, just as the women returned to the camp clearing, Tavi heard a loud squawking noise.

Above, an ugly winged beast—it looked like the derro lizard-dogs, but with wings—circled their camp. “Uh, guys—” Tavi began. But before he could even finish—THWAP. SHUNK. As Tavi watched, a stone from Arden’s sling punctured its wing, leaving a hole, and an arrow from Nyoko’s bow pierced its side. It shrieked. Out of the corner of his eye, Tavi could see Twiggy casting.

The creature twisted and rolled in the air before swooping down toward the party. In one fluid motion, it seized the warhammer from Thurran’s back and swooped away toward the trees. “No!” cried Thurran, jumping ineffectually after it.

THWAP. Another stone from Arden’s sling, and the beast fell from the sky, landing at the edge of the clearing. Kormick ran toward it and cut its head off with the derro battle-axe he had picked up back in the caves. “Can’t do that with a warhammer,” he announced, swinging the axe theatrically before pulling his old hammer from the beast’s talons and handing it back to Thurran.

“A scout,” mused Tavi. Mena and Kormick nodded assent. “Time to move.”

For the rest of the day, they stayed under cover of forest, following the trail and watching the clouds darken.

ellinor said:

"I would advise you to study its uses with your kin-mother Corani. She is very . . .” (here Mena paused in her translation) “. . . brave.” I have to remember the human word for “brave,” Thurran thought. “ah-nor-ably mur-dur-us.”

Click to expand...

This bit was hilarious and awesome.

As promised, details of the travel skill challenge:

Travel gameplay was handled by way of an [postid=4475187]Obsidian style skill challenge[/post]. This basically involved 3 rounds of rolls, wherein each player got to roll one skill check. The PCs required 12 successes in those 3 rounds for complete success, 10 or 11 for a partial success; less than 10 constituted a failure. The DC on the checks increased for each day they traveled without an extended rest (18 on the first day, 19 on the second day, 20 on the third day, etc).

In addition to these 12 successes, the PCs had to make separate skill checks to keep the Dwarven morale high. The number of checks required increased each day they traveled without an extended rest (0 on the first day, 2 on the second day, 4 on the third day, etc).

Obsidian rules basically allow any skill that fits the general category of challenge (physical, mental, or social) to be used, provided the player comes up with a good explanation/rationalization of what they're doing. DMs are encouraged to give bonuses for particularly clever ideas.

After the travel checks, the PCs had to make endurance checks for the rough terrain or lose a healing surge. Failure or partial success on the main skill challenge cost the PCs time on their lead and imposed a cumulative penalty to this endurance check.

Failure to hit the Dwarven Morale targets resulted in automatic failure of the endurance check on the part of all the dwarves. Any dwarf with no healing surges who then lost another surge died.

Arden’s four rescued dwarven slaves had only 1 healing surge each.

The PCs did a lot of math planning this one out…

9x03

Sorry for the late posting! But now back to the trek...
_________________

On the 13th, Rose woke before dawn. She and Whisper watched as the smallest hint of light began to grow from the horizon, but shrank back when it reached the foreboding bank of clouds above. It was another grey day, and dark, like twilight without the romance. Rose pulled her cloak around her. A chill wind cut through its heavy wool and whipped her silvery hair about her face, tossing dust in her eyes. Wind, but no rain. Of course no rain, she thought, wryly. Rain would be Alirria.

A lizard flew overhead in the distance. It was getting harder to evade their patrols. She wondered if that meant the derro knew where they were.

As her hair lashed about, Rose thought the same thing she had thought nearly every morning: “Am I doing the right thing?” When Kormick had said they were being chased across the Ketkath by the Goddess of Evil, Rose knew in the pit of her stomach, he was probably right. But whether they were doing the right thing was not her question to answer.

It had been nearly a month since they had left the Estate. Rose wondered what things must be like back there—her mother must be going crazy. Well, crazier than usual. She wished she could send her mother a reassuring thought. But she couldn’t send thoughts, and anyway, there weren’t many reassuring ones to send.

She heard Tavi stir. As he stretched his arms above his head, Phoebe flew around them in figure-eights. Some things could still make her smile.

# # #

Arden pulled her hood up and pressed forward into the wind. It was hard going: bad visibility, uneven ground, sapling branches whipping at her arms…and somewhere behind them, Arden was sure, the derro must be marching, gaining. She turned to watch Romek and the other dwarves who trudged just behind her. Their grateful eyes just made it harder.

Arden let herself move automatically, one foot in front of the other, as her mind wandered back to the previous night. As she'd been washing dishes and fretting silently over the exhausted dwarves, the Blessed Daughter had apparently noticed her worry. She had pulled Arden aside, saying “I will take care of you, Arden. We di Infusinos take care of what's ours."

Arden’s cheeks burned just remembering. The Blessed Daughter’s voice had rung with such pride as she said it. All Arden had managed in reply was a quiet “thank you.” She knew that the Blessed Daughter had been expecting – and arguably deserved – greater gratitude, but she hadn't been able to make herself show it. She'd been too humiliated by the girl's intended kindness. Why is this so hard? she thought now. I can deal with abuse, disrespect, neglect… or friendship among equals…but a kind owner? Being thankful hurt, and it never got easier.

Savina didn’t understand, of course: Arden didn’t need the kindness. Gods, the warren was bad, but I'm used to that. It's Savina we should be worried about. That thought gave Arden a flash of inspiration: she was worried about Savina.

Arden pushed ahead to where the girl was walking. She was clutching her cloak around that comical armor, picking her way among roots and swatting at branches. Yet she, too, looked lost in thought. "Blessed Daughter?” Arden had to speak up to be heard over the wind. “Please you, if I may ask, are you all right?"

"A little tired, Arden, but I – I don't need anything right now. How are the dwarves?"

"They're survivors, Blessed Daughter. But about you – I meant – after everything we've been through. Are you all right?" Arden looked over, tentatively, to glimpse Savina looking startled.

"I – I guess so," said the girl. "I mean – I will be..."

The girl’s hesitant words felt like a vindication. "Blessed Daughter, if I may take a liberty," she said, venturing to look at Savina a little longer, "I worry about you. It is no easy thing to fall so quickly from happiness into—into something horrible. It changes you."

"Yes, it does," Savina replied, quietly. She ducked to avoid a branch. The two pressed forward to keep up with the others.

"You remind me of me, when I was your age," Arden heard herself say, spontaneously confessing a private thought that she'd been entertaining for some time now. She hadn't expected to speak it out loud, but suddenly she wanted to counsel Savina; she wanted to help. She looked up again, glad that they could form this small connection—

—and she saw that the Blessed Daughter was insulted. Very insulted. I just told a daughter of the noble house of di Infusino that she reminds me of a slave, didn't I. Good choice, Arden.

She returned her gaze to the trail beneath her feet and said, "Forgive me, Blessed Daughter. I forgot myself. I didn't mean to say – I'm sorry." She added a tremble to her voice, aiming to stir Savina's sympathy. Some tricks worked both ways.

"That's all right, Arden. You don't have to be frightened. I told you last night I will care for you, and I will."

All the shame came flooding back with Savina’s humiliating kindness. "Thank you, Blessed Daughter." Arden pulled her hood up again, wondered if the Blessed Daughter could tell that the blush in her cheeks was not windburn—and if she could, if she would ever understand why.

# # #

They bathed quickly, huddled, at dawn on the 14th. Their bodies were sore from the long days of hiking. The wind was stronger now, colder, joined by thunder. Still no rain.

Twiggy held her arms close to her chest, hugging the warmth, as she scouted ahead, searching for a path shielded from the wind and the lizards’ eyes. Behind her, three dwarves were sharing her cloak. She could hear Kormick providing what she now knew was his version of encouragement. “See that depression there, under that tree? We could leave you in that one. Or that other one. I want you to know you have options.” Twiggy was glad that Kormick didn’t speak dwarven. Perhaps, to them, it just sounded like cheerful patter.

But the four former slaves were exhausted—so exhausted that Twiggy could imagine them taking Kormick up on his offer. As one of them flagged and finally fell, Arden ran over and knelt beside him. The other three dwarves swayed on their feet nearby. Unable to speak their language, Arden looked around desperately. "Dame Mena!" she called.

Mena hurried over to the little group. Arden said something low-voiced to her – Twiggy couldn't make it out. Mena responded with a quizzical look, but nodded, turned to the dwarves, and quietly told them something. The four dwarves all looked at Arden. Arden held out her hand to the fallen dwarf and waited.

He reached up, gripped her hand, and rose to his feet.

Perhaps she said we’d let them take a shot at Kormick if they kept going, Twiggy thought. Whatever it had been, it had worked: the other dwarves gritted their teeth and, with Arden in their midst, all four pressed on.

It was a long, cold day of trekking through the underbrush. As they made camp that night, they calculated that if they left soon after dawn, they would still be about four hours ahead of the derro—and a few hours away from the Spring.

As darkness fell, they didn’t bother to find a clearing. Tired, freezing, wind-burned, and sore, Twiggy fell grumpily on to her bedroll and—for the first time in days—fell fast asleep.

# # #

On Alirria Ascendant, Savina rose well before dawn to begin preparations and join Kormick on watch. First, she checked on the dwarves, who were sleeping fitfully. Three were shivering intensely. One was so exhausted that he didn’t even shiver. She placed her hand on his head and prayed. There was a blue glow. He began to shiver, and she adjusted the cloak that was covering him. She put a small flower on every pillow and woke everyone softly.

The wind was as loud as ever as the group walked down to the stream. Even the men bathed this time, discreetly separate from the womenfolk.

As she had on the previous days, Arden turned to find a secluded place in which to bathe. Savina called to her. “Arden, please bathe with us today.”

“I will if you ask it, Blessed Daughter,” responded Arden, quietly, but turned her face away and hesitated before disrobing.

“There is no shame in anything Alirria has made, today,” said Savina. “Nothing to hide.”

Quietly, Arden removed her tunic and approached the water. Her back was covered with whip scars. Alirria, Savina thought, ease the pain she feels from these injuries long healed.

Savina said prayers of grace and thanks, and asked for Alirria’s blessing on their quest on this most holy of days. It was fitting, Savina thought, that they would probably reach the Spring on this day. She prayed that the party would be able to honor the traditions of the day, and avoid killing or eating. It was unlikely, she feared, to be a quiet day of contemplation.

Savina planted a few apple seeds that she had been saving for this occasion, and waited for the sun to crest the cloud-darkened horizon. It never did. The clouds were too thick.

When they returned to camp, Mirtal cooked for those who were pregnant or ill, and thus permitted to eat. For the first time, the four former slaves ate without making Arden eat first.

And then, blessings said, they shouldered their packs and set out for the Spring.

10x01

The wind howled.

Kormick slogged forward, periodically grabbing his brimmed hat as it attempted to take flight and tugging it back down as low as he could on his forehead. It was daytime, but it was dark. And cold.

He spared a glance around at the group and wished he hadn't. The wind drove like a dart into his eyes and, as he blinked them clear, he saw Savina clutching at her once-fine, now travel-stained cloak, pulling it close over her dirt-spattered armor as she struggled over a log. Tavi tried to give her a hand but he only made it worse, tugging her forward too quickly so that she tripped and let out a sound that might be tears, if it were not so full of frustration.

Then there were the dwarves: the pregnant women, the children. And the former slaves with the current slave in their midst, putting one foot in front of the other with the grim fortitude of the choiceless – or of the vengeful. Arden happened to glance up as Kormick was considering that last point, and Kormick thought he read comradeship rather than murder in the gleam of her eyes as they met his from the shadows of her hood.

Of course, in his experience, comradeship and murder often went hand-in-hand.

Mena and Twiggy trudged on either side of Rose. Mena was stoic, as usual, but Twiggy and Rose clung to one another in a combination of determination and misery. “How are you doing?” asked Twiggy—a question she asked often of Rose, and this time (like most others), she got a standard reply: “Fine.”

“No,” Twiggy pressed, “how are you doing?”

“Ask me tonight,” Rose replied. After we get to the spring, thought Kormick, silently finishing her unspoken point. If we get there.

With a growl of thunder, a barrage of rain pelted down out of the roiling clouds for the first time. The wind howled in answer and blew the raindrops nearly sideways. Kormick grabbed his hat again and thought murderous thoughts of his own about bickering goddess-sisters.

The path, appropriately, chose this moment to vanish almost entirely: between them, he and Twiggy made their best guess about its direction and they pressed on, hoping they'd guessed right. They grew soaked from the fitful rain as they clambered over moss-covered rocks and forced their way through knee-high scrub, wet leaves and twigs fluttering against their faces and striking their knees. Kormick's boots began to squish and squelch with every step.

And then, at the bottom of a slope, he pushed through a tangle of branches into sudden openness and saw that they'd arrived.

He'd stepped into small valley that was rimmed by high, tree-covered slopes and overhung with storm clouds. The wind gusted through the trees but the valley itself was sheltered from the worst of it, and before him, at the center of a meadow, fed by no streams, lay a pool of water, heavy rain dancing on its surface. It looked like nothing special, and yet he had no doubts. They'd found the spring.

"What do you know," he muttered to himself.

As the others caught up to him, they spread out along the treeline and stopped, their gazes arrested by the sight before them. No one moved and no one spoke; they would have had to shout above the noise of the wind in the trees and the splattering rain. Kormick looked a question at Mena, but before she could answer, Savina stepped forward.

The girl in the flowered armor and the torn blue and green robes, her tangled hair streaming out behind her, made a strange but lovely sight as she walked alone over the grass toward the water. She even skipped a few steps, the movement light, like a child playing or a barmaid dancing the grifter's galliard: incredulously, Kormick had to concede that she looked happy.

Suddenly Rose set out behind her, Twiggy followed Rose, and then the whole group followed Twiggy.

Savina was kneeling by the water by the time they reached her. She looked up at them with a radiant smile and announced, "This is it! I can feel it!"

She bowed her head and began to pray.

Kormick glanced warily back at the tossing treeline. With the storm swirling around them, they wouldn't be able to hear an army of ten thousand bearing down upon the valley, much less a stealthy pack of derro. Nyoko and Sertani had clearly had the same thought – they were standing guard at the back of the group. Nyoko had an arrow on the string, just in case.

Satisfied, Kormick turned back to see what the famous spring had to offer.

Savina continued to pray.

Nothing happened.

"Anybody remember Mother saying anything in particular about making this thing work?" asked Tavi.

"I couldn’t exactly ask her to write down the procedure for me before we left," said Rose dryly. "That's why I brought an Alirrian priestess."

"They just prayed, and the oracle spoke," said Twiggy. "At least that's all Dona Giovanna ever said."

Savina opened her eyes and looked up at them. She wasn't looking so happy now – she looked nervous. "I – I'm not a priestess yet, not really," she said. "This is a little bit out of my experience… I'm trying... but I don't know exactly what to say."

"The gods don't care exactly what you say," said Kormick. "Think of me saying those funeral prayers. I didn't know exactly what to say, but it's not like Kettenek is a stickler for proper grammar."

Everyone from Tavi to the slave spun to stare at him with the expressions of bemused skepticism that Kormick was coming to know well.

"Joking," he proclaimed, with a too-hearty laugh. "Joking, joking . . . of course the God of Law and Justice and Rules and Death and whatever else is terrifically fussy about verb tenses. But Alirria is not, yes? Carry on praying."

"I wonder … " said Twiggy. She reached down and touched the water carefully. "No," she answered herself. "It's just water. I don't think it would help to enchant it."

Rose knelt beside Twiggy and Savina and touched the water for herself. Kormick saw Mena stiffen and instinctively braced himself, too, but again – nothing happened. The water drops ran through Rose's fingers, the rain continued to pour down, the treetops on the hillsides continued to shudder and bow in the gusts of wind.

"We could try doing something with that vial of spring water from the underground chapel…" mused Twiggy.

"I don't think we want to waste that," said Tavi.

"It wouldn't be a waste if it gave us what we're after."

"No, but I don't see how it would help – "

Kormick didn't, either. Strangely, he thought he knew the answer to this dilemma. And it wasn't an answer he would ever have expected to be endorsing.

"Friends, friends," he called out over another roll of thunder. "The young lady simply needs to keep praying. Give her some time."

"There has to be a reason that Alirria gave us that vial, though," said Twiggy.

"Am I the only one here with faith?" demanded Kormick. He really did have faith, he thought, no longer surprised. At least, he had faith in her faith. "Go on," he told Savina's nervous face. "Keep it up, keep it up."

Savina bowed her head once more. Tavi stepped up and put his cloak around her, trying to shelter her from the storm as best he could.

"Signora," said Kormick, addressing Rose. "It could not hurt for you to pray, too, could it? Of course not."

Rose raised her eyebrows, but then bowed her head.

Might as well set a good example for the kids, Kormick thought. He scrounged around in his pack and found his holy text. It only contained Kettenite prayers, of course, but surely the goddess – once we accept the premise of a magical spring with a magical talking goddess, we can’t be too stubborn about the rulebook – would cut him some slack.

Kormick stepped up beside the girls, took his hat off, knelt down, and opened his book, ignoring the looks he was getting from Tavi, Mena, and Arden. "Hoo-kay," he grunted. Sheltering the book with his cloak from the worst of the rain, he opened it at random and silently began running his eyes over the words, mentally changing the ponderous invocations from "Earth Father" and "Lawgiver" and "Just Justice of the Just" to "Holy Mother" and “Lifegiver” and “mumblesomethingmumble” whenever he remembered.

So they prayed, the three of them.

And the rain came down.

And time passed.

###

After nearly an hour, Savina had used every prayer she could remember and a few she had probably gotten wrong. She was cold, her knees were sore and wet, and she was exhausted. This was not how she'd imagined her first Alirria Ascendant away from the Temple. Alirria Ascendant was a day of peace, of rest, of quiet fasting and contemplation. For Savina, it had been a day of discomfort, followed by delight, followed by insecurity and desperation.

She mentally recited the closing words to one more prayer and then her mind's voice fell silent. She felt blank, emptied out. Or maybe she didn't feel anything at all.

Into that still, calm emptiness came a voice, watery and echoing, like drops in the well of her mind.

"Call to me and I will answer."

Without another thought, Savina put her hand into the water and spoke. "Alirria. Come to us." And she channeled the power of her divine goddess through her soul and into the Spring.

She felt bubbles against her fingers, and then currents, and then the waters of the pool began to churn from below. "She's coming…" Savina whispered.

Next to her, Kormick stood and put on his black hat. She felt the others gathering close behind her. She spared a glance at Rose, next to her, who was pale but still, watching the water.

A column of water spun itself up from the center of the pool and took the shape of a woman, her features changing and flowing – older faces and younger faces washed past. Savina thought she saw her mother's. Maybe her sister's. Behind her, she heard a quick intake of breath from Kormick and a murmur of surprise from Twiggy. She wondered if they were recognizing different faces.

The figure looked down at Rose, and despite her changing features, her expectant expression was obvious.

Rose stood up. She had to speak loudly over the pattering rain and the gusting wind. "Do you know who I am?" she asked.

The women's faces smiled. I know who has laid claim to you, she said. Who you are remains to be written.

Rose hesitated, then took a deep breath. "I wish to know what destiny holds for me … and how I can thwart it, if I may."

The figure cocked her head and began to speak: Find the last breath –

Suddenly, there were arrows everywhere among the raindrops.

Nyoko shouted a warning. The derro had caught up at last.

Those motherfrickin derro. That just made my stomach drop. Again.

I've been reading the original Halmae Thread and this once over the last month and a half, and I've finally finished. I have to say, I love the characters, the setting and the writing. This is an amazing story hour, and I look forward to future updates.

Thanks so much, Falkus! We have an awful lot of fun playing and writing, and it means a lot to know that you're enjoying reading about our exploits.