The Romance of Arasil

UNDER THE VORINGIAN MOON​

An Introduction​

The Romance of Arasil is my homebrew setting – aptly named Arasil – in which my friends and I roll dice, try to role-play, and generally enjoy ourselves. Thematically, I tend to run campaigns on the darker side of things. I don’t pull punches and generally leave it up to the players to solve their own problems.

We’re playing 5e here and I have a fair set of houserules in use. I can get into the rules if anybody cares, just ask.

I won’t bore you with reading a treatise about the setting’s gods and history (and there’s quite a bit to be consumed), but instead will introduce you to the details via the narrative. That said, if there is enough interest for questions, please feel free to ask away and I’ll try to elucidate when I can.

Lastly, I haven’t really determined how I plan to stylize my writing here. I’m especially concerned about narrating all the combat encounters. I’ll likely gloss over many of these, but slow down to focus on those that I think prove interesting to the ongoing story (or are at least particularly entertaining).

When we started the campaign, the characters were 3rd level, which I basically equate to 1st level in older editions of the game as that is when characters (typically) gain access to a class archetype.

The Companions​

Watcher Charity, Sentinel of the Chantry (Tiefling Paladin – Oath of Devotion), rescued as a child by Orsik and Ilvander from a life of diabolic servitude in Nam Brakar. Charity become a ward of the Chantry in Akylon as a young girl. In time, her faith proved greater than the skeptics of the faith and she took the Oath of Devotion to the Archons and thus became a paladin.

Dazen Selhariel (High Elf Rogue – Swashbuckler), one of the Aldurfolk (read: elven peoples) that had somehow found himself eking out a living on the rough streets of Dharaan, a wretched hive of scum and villainy in the Kingdom of Merdia. Lovingly nicknamed ‘the Murder-Elf’ by the rest of the players.

Ilvander, Initiate of Lokela and Disciple of Ashu. (Human Cleric/Monk), who walks two paths. On one path, he is a devoted member of the Chantry, on the other he follows an ancient tradition of warrior monks. Quick with a small and a heart full of laughter, Ilvander is an embodiment of optimism in a grim world.

Orsik, son of Vondal (Hill Dwarf Druid – Circle of the Moon), a contrast of wisdom and hedonism rolled up into one ‘big boned’ dwarf. Orsik likes to eat…and eat more. He loves to spend his hours in the form of a giant toad gulping up as much as he can and gained some amount of fame amongst the locals for dealing with a small goblin infestation (“death by digestion”).

Tenoch of the Nephti, Huntsman of the Arumanji (Human Ranger – Hunter), escaped from the dark jungles of Arumanji, his tribe all but completely eradicated by another. He prays to the Great Feathered One, which is apparently some kind of powerful spirit-god.

Vech of ?…just Vech. (Human Warlock – Great Old One), an orphan from the streets of Dharaan. He has two friends; Dazen, whom has helped look out for him more than once, and his imaginary friend he calls Glyph. He talks to Glyph quite a bit, which is a little unsettling but (so far) seems harmless enough.


Monday, August 15 – NOW

Ilvander​

Ilvander sat in the reeve’s hall staring idly into the mug of warm cider. The fragrant, spiced drink seemed almost unrecognizable for some reason. I think I should be enjoying this more than I am. His hands were dirty and blistered, grime and – is that blood? – under his nails. His body was weary, his mind even more so. He wanted nothing more to collapse into unconsciousness and thought he might do so in that moment before being roused with a word.

“Ilvander?”

He looked up as a well-groomed man, draped in finery of crimson and gold, had entered the room. The man paused to pour himself a goblet of wine before sitting down on the opposite side of the table. Ilvander noted the meticulous attention the man gave to his own appearance, but quickly determined that the man was no fop. Behind the neatly trimmed beard and mustache were calculating eyes with more than a touch of arrogance.

“Huh?” the monk replied.

“You are Initiate Ilvander,” he was no longer posing a question, but making a statement. “Dispatched by the Chantry on behalf of your King, Erevekk the IV.” The man lingered just a bit on the word ‘your’ to emphasize the nature of the situation. “You – and your companions – were to investigate the so-called hauntings reported here in the Silverglades.”

Ilvander nodded slowly. Yes, that sounds familiar. Is that what we’re doing? Then shook his head as he debated to himself.

“No?” the man pressed.

“Hrm? No? No, yes,” he replied.

The man sighed and took a sip from his goblet. “Shall I start again?”

Ilvander took a long drought from the mug and righted himself before shaking his head more firmly this time. “No, I’m fine. Yes, we came to investigate the rumors of hauntings in the area. I’m sorry, you are?”

The man slipped a brief smile, which Ilvander noted as a sign that he liked to talk about himself, before answering, “I am Master Kaska RaVirr, Factor of the Scarlet Throne and humble servant of His Majesty.”

Ilvander’s eyebrows lifted just a twitch at the word ‘humble,’ which brought a quick frown to Kaska’s face. The monk was good at reading others. I should be careful here.

“Has the situation been resolved?” Kaska pressed.

“No. No, I wouldn’t say that at all.”

Kaska showed his impatience. “Perhaps it would be better if I spoke with the paladin. The tiefling? What is she calling herself…Charity? Watcher Charity?”

“Yes, that would be better,” Ilvander agreed. “But not possible.”

“Because…?”

“Because…it’s not possible,” Ilvander said with an empty heart.

“Maybe you should start from the beginning,” Kaska replied as he settled back into the large chair, his hands steepled before him.


Monday, July 4 – THEN

Charity​

They were ten days out from the city of Akylon; two days by galleon to the city of Delos and eight days on the Ralttway, the road that connected Arendal to the Raltt in the east beyond the Silverglades and Orsik was already snoring.

Charity laid down, pulled her blanket up to her chin and stared at the stars, eyes wide unable to sleep. Tomorrow. Tenoch said we’d likely be there tomorrow, she thought with a smile. I’ll finally be able to prove myself in the eyes of the Chantry. Maybe then I’ll be chosen by one of the archons!

Charity was a paladin. She could sense things unnatural, heal the infirm and the wounded with but a touch, and strike down her foes with the wrath of the archons…but she had no patron amongst the Vernal Gods. None of the Archons, of which there were now fourteen after the death of Naeros, the Archon of Hope, had chosen her. She had the power to call on the archons, but not the blessing of a patron amongst them. Within the Chantry of the Lantern’s sacred halls, it was whispered that the archons took pity upon the tiefling, but that none would chose her as a servant. Such was the curse of her infernal taint.


Tuesday, July 5 – THEN
Hushed whispers woke Charity up. The sky was still dark and the campfire now burned low. She could just make out Tenoch whispering quietly with Dazen. She sat up, grabbing her sword by reflex. “What is it?” she said, whispering just loud enough for her voice to interrupt the two.

Dazen shook his head as he came over and squatted next to her. “Probably nothing. Maybe something.” He looked back over his shoulder as Tenoch snatched up his macuahuitl before slipping out of the light of the fire and into the woods.

Charity looked at Dazen flatly.

“He said he could smell smoke. I said smoke, like from our campfire smoke? He said no, it was different smoke. Don’t ask me! He just said that I should take over his watch.” Dazen smiled as an idea hit him. “Hey! You’re up now, do you want to take his watch?”

“Don’t you just sit in a trance for like half the time anyway?”

“That’s not the point!”

~

A few hours later, the mystery had been solved. The Companions stood in the village of Roundtree…or at least what remained of it. Most of the humble homes and barns had been reduced to piles of charred wood. Nearby, a patrol of guards out of Traveler’s Rest were speaking with a handful of the survivors while others sat in shock or wailed in agony. A man walked by, carrying a child’s body covered in a blanket. A protruding hand bounced with the rhythm of the man’s steps. He wasn’t going anywhere in particular. He didn’t know where to go or what to do.

Charity cried. And I was eager for this!

Ilvander and Orsik were off talking with the sergeant of the guard. Tenoch and Dazen were scouring the area for clues and Vech was talking to himself.

“Disjoin?” Vech asked nobody.

Charity turned away from him and wiped the tears from her face.

The dwarf and monk rejoined them.

“The guards are leaving,” Orsik shared.

Charity spun on him. “Leaving?!” she said incredulously.

Ilvander put a calming hand on her shoulder. “Charity, there are survivors that need to be considered. The guards are taking them back to Traveler’s Rest.”

“Well we’re not going to just turn our back on this!”

“Let’s wait and see what Tenoch and Dazen uncover before making any decisions. In the meantime, we can be of assistance to the dead.” Ilvander then went about his clerical duties to the flock with the assistance of Orsik and Charity. Vech, looking skittish, was now arguing with himself and apparently losing.

A short while later Tenoch and Dazen reappeared out of the surrounding woods.

“Tenoch picked up some tracks. Some of the people were taken.”

“Taken? By what?” Charity pressed.

Dazen looked at Tenoch with a look that questioned the hunter’s confidence. Tenoch only nodded once in confirmation.

“The Dogmen of the Veldt,” the elf replied.

Orsik raised an eyebrow. “We’re awfully far from the Veldt!”

“The…dog-men?” Charity inquired.

Ilvander explained, “Sondiul’s Dogs, the Dogmen of the Veldt. They’re gnolls, Charity.”

“They’re actually more like cats,” Tenoch offered.

“Huh?” Charity piqued.

“Don’t confuse the lass,” Orsik said to which Tenoch only shrugged.

Charity shook the last comments out of her head and turned to Ilvander. “Who or what is Sondiul?” she asked.

“They called him the Master of the Lurking Tower. A wizard of dark powers, but he died long ago,” the monk replied.

Vech shook his head nervously, “Not so sure about that. One hears things.”

“The point being,” interrupted the dwarf, “is that the Veldt is like REALLY far away! They would have had to cut across all of the Raltt to be here!”

“Maybe they crossed over Skyvault instead,” Ilvander mused.

“Nobody crosses over Skyvault.” the druid replied matter-of-factly.

“Your people watch it that close?” Vech asked.

“Not my people, I’m a hill dwarf. But, yes. Yes, they do,” Orsik answered, using little air-quotes with the word ‘hill,’ as if explaining something to stupid humans.

“I thought you preferred cave-dwarf,” said Ilvander, giving his friend a knowing smile.

The dwarf shrugged.

“Don’t gnolls worship devils?” the Dazen asked.

Charity shook her head. “No, demons.”

“You sure?”

She looked at him flatly before flicking one of her curled horns with a finger. “Pretty sure.” She then turned to Tenoch, “Can you follow them?” She already knew the answer.

Tenoch nodded grimly.

“Let’s go!” she said before giving him a guiding push to be on with it.

The other Companions gave no argument and trailed off in their wake.


Wednesday, July 6 – THEN

Tenoch​

Tenoch waited while the others caught their breath. Ilvander was fleet of foot and doing well enough and Orsik had the endurance of a bear, but the rest of the Companions were suffering. Charity was steadfast in her desire to rescue the villagers, but it was only her anger that kept her going. She drew heavy, gasping breaths hunched over in her heavy armor. She had dropped her shield where she stood and looked as if she might throw-up into it. Vech and Dazen were not doing much better themselves and were both drinking too much water.

“We…(gasp)…need to…(gasp)…keep…mo…(gasp)…moving,” Charity said weakly.

We can’t afford to be exhausted when we catch the gnolls.

Tenoch only shook his head and helped her sit down on a nearby fallen tree. “We will rest here tonight. Tomorrow we finish the hunt.”

“Are you sure?” Ilvander asked.

“Yes, the spirits will show me the way. We will have our prey tomorrow.” Tenoch then set himself to setting up a discreet camp.


Thursday, July 7 – THEN
It was early in the morning as Tenoch squatted near the low campfire. Turning over some of the wood with his thick-callused hands, he stoked more light from the fire. A column of cinders drifted up before winking out in the cool morning air.

Tenoch flopped a loose satchel on the ground to left and pulled out a small bundle of herbs wrapped in catgut and a small, obsidian blade. He used the blade to cut to his thumb and rubbed some blood into the herbs before setting them into the heart of the fire and starting a low chant.

The smoke of the fire turned green. Tenoch closed his eyes and paused his chant long enough to wave the smoke over his face a few times, taking in long, deep breaths. The smoke coalesced in the form of a green serpent that looked down upon him. When he opened his eyes again, they were filled with motes of sunlight. He looked up at the serpent and spoke in the thick tongue of the Arumanji.


Tenoch reached into the fire and calmly pulled out the burning herbs…and swallowed the bundle whole. Green smoke seeped from his nostrils as he tilted his head back and looked into the sky.

Nearby, Dazen, wrapped in his blanket, watched intently from the darkness. He made no sound to disturb the hunter’s ritual.

~

The Companions had caught up to the dogmen in a shallow canyon. The group got to within about a hundred feet of the gnolls before they were spotted. A particularly tall specimen, with glaive in hand, pointed and cackled out orders to the others. A small group of terrified villagers were shoved to the ground in a huddle.

The gnolls released arrows at the Companions…and hyenas that bound quickly through the brush as they charged. The Companions largely dove for cover and prepared themselves.

Dazen bound forward and to the left, winding his way past the charging hyenas and circling around the gnoll archers to get at the “big one in the back.” (It turns out that rogues can cover a lot of ground when their turn is Move, Dash, Cunning Action: Dash.)

Tenoch bound forward and to the right, hurling a well-aimed javelin as he went putting the lead hyena down.

Charity slapped down the visor of her helm, drew her longsword and roared a challenge as she sloughed forward through the heavy brush straight up the middle…slowly.

Orsik cast jump, transformed into a giant toad, and bellowed a challenging croak.

Ilvander moved up to cover behind a tree, whipped out his trusty shortbow and showed the group what he was made of…miss!

With one hand, Vech pointed towards one of the archers, “That one!” The air rippled over the gnoll’s head and a large, alien eye looked down upon the hapless dogman which gave a nervous yelp. With his other hand, the warlock pointed and let loose an eldritch blast that struck the gnoll square in the chest, sending it flying back where it wheezed in pain. (That eye is Vech’s description for hex. Spell sniper, plus hex, plus Agonizing Blast, plus Repelling Blast…yep, Vech is going to be annoying me quite a bit in this campaign.)

The arrows of the gnolls were doing some decent work here, especially on Tenoch and the Toad. However, Charity was apparently impervious to arrows. (Stupid high AC characters.)

The pack lord, also known as “the big one in the back” made its presence known. It met the elf’s charge head on and took a chunk out with its glaive. (The move just barely brought it within 10 feet of Dazen…good thing it has reach on that glaive. Rolled max damage, 13, thank you very much.)

Dazen grimaced in pain, slid up the last bit of distance, cast booming blade and stuffed his longblade in the gnoll’s side. (For those not aware, the Swashbuckler archetype has an ability called Rakish Audacity that lets the rogue sneak attack even without advantage or adjacent ally. This was Dazen’s first game of D&D ever. He had help creating his character and didn’t yet understand all the intricacies of the mechanics at play here, which is fine really, but the takeaway is that he didn’t Cunning Action: Disengage to force the gnoll to follow him and activate the magic of the spell. Live and learn.)

Tenoch fell upon the hyenas and put his macuahuitls to work. (The hyenas sounded cool in concept when I was putting this encounter together, but I think all they ended up being good for was absorbing attacks. I don’t think I hit once with them and they were falling left and right.)

Charity swung her sword in a mighty arc…as she cut at the underbrush, continuing to struggle forward.

Orsik landed with a thump and gobbled up a hyena. Nom-nom-nom. (It would be impossible to overstate how gleeful Orsik’s player was about playing his ‘toad-druid.’ We had all seen druids turn into wolves, bears, eagles, and large cats over the years, but a monster-gulping giant toad was new territory and he relished the opportunity to eat some gnolls.)

Ilvander cast healing word on Arasil as he dashed between trees and let another arrow fly! Whiff!

Vech finished off the gnoll he had staggered earlier – ZOT! – and the eye swung its gaze to a new victim.

The bulk of the gnolls continued to move forward, shooting arrows as they went. Many of which found their mark (but not Charity, because she’s arrow-proof…/grumble).

The pack lord continued his assault upon Dazen and with another deadly swipe that left the rogue struggling to keep on his feet. (That’s another hit rolling maximum damage, take 13!)

“You don’t need to tell me three times!” Dazen cast another booming blade that left the pack lord howling in pain and quickly bound out of combat back towards his companions before the dogman could react. (Cunning Action may be the best ability in the game. Seriously.)

Tenoch continued the slaughter. (I realize that rangers have a reputation for being kind of a chump class in some circles, but I just haven’t seen it myself. Tenoch blazed a path of gore all over the battlefield.)

Charity surged forward…and now stood amongst the dead hyenas left in Tenoch’s wake.

Orsik turned his appetite to the dogmen. With a mighty leap the druid descended upon a gnoll and snatched it up in his mouth. (Jump spell plus the giant toad’s Standing Leap ability equals joyous amounts of mobility. While others struggled through the thick underbrush – especially Charity – Orsik spent the encounter hopping from one tasty snack to the next.)

Ilvander pressed forward and cast another healing word, returning Dazen from the brink. (“And I’m done with spells!”) He let another arrow fly before zipping behind another tree for cover. Miss!

Vech stepped out from his cover, casually walked forward, and continued to blast with impunity. ZOT! (Warlocks are machines.)

The gnoll in Orsik’s mouth, fearing a gruesome death inside the toad’s stomach, struck with all his might and landed a critical blow! (“Yeah, whatever, these aren’t even my real hit points.” …/sigh.)

The pack lord surged forward – BOOM! – and suffered for it as the elf’s magic ripped its wound wider and struck the elf again. (No…I didn’t roll a 10 again for damage…a 9 should do!) Dazen crumpled under the assault. (“Welcome to DnD!”)

Dazen spend time sucking dust, Tenoch continued to be all he could be, and Charity continued to play in the bushes.

It wasn’t easy, but Orsik managed to choke down the gnoll where it flailed around in his stomach helplessly. You could see the gnoll’s feet pushing out against the giant toad’s stomach as it tried to break free, but to no avail.

“We need to save Dazen!” Ilvander called to the others as he dashed to another tree and let another arrow rip. Whiff!

Vech nodded at Ilvander’s words…and continued to stand there blasting gnolls with gleeful abandonment. ZOT!

The gnoll in Orsik’s stomach gave one final push with its feet and died. (“BURP!” says the toad.)

The pack lord made its way up to the toad and gave it the business end of its glaive. (Yup, that’d be another roll of 10. “Still not my real hit points.” /grumble)

Dazen continued taking in the dust. (Yummy.)

Tenoch, though bloodied, continued to show the gnolls what is what.

Charity burst out from the heavy brush…and found herself standing over Tenoch’s handiwork.

Orsik took a bite at the pack lord, but was held at bay by its glaive.

Ilvander bound forward to help the druid. Whipped out his shortsword and thrust. Whiff! (“That’s it. Time to get serious. Flurry of Blows!”) Whiff. Whiff. (“Flurry of Misses!” There’s something quite magical that happens to this player’s d20 from time-to-time and it starts confusing itself with a d6. This was one of those times.)

The eye from beyond looked upon the pack lord with disdain and then it fell to Vech’s magical assault.

The rest of the gnolls were quickly dispatched.

(Charity never got to attack, Ilvander never hit, Orsik had indigestion, and Dazen was introduced to the death saving throw mechanics, in which he was successful.)

The Companions rendered aid to the suffering villagers and began to escort them back to the Ralttway where they would then make their way to town of Traveler’s Rest.

Friday, July 8 – THEN

Orsik​

The night was still. In fact, the night was too still. Orsik had a sense about such things. Normally he spent his time on watch eating sweetmeats or chewing on the kinds of roots that made one comfortable, but the druid was uneasy this night.

Tenoch sat up from where he was sleeping and looked at the dwarf inquisitively. The druid shrugged without a word, stood up, and began to look around outside of the camp.

A short distance away, Orsik looked out over a glade filled with white flowers. It wasn’t the flowers that interested him, although he found them rather tasty, but the strange, unnatural blue fog that was creeping forward in the air from the other side. “What the…”

The dwarf turned to return to camp and found Tenoch standing quietly behind him. “Tenoch!” the dwarf gasped in alarm, grabbing at his heart.

Tenoch only nodded in response, not really looking at the dwarf, but instead staring out at the unsettling vapors.

“Go and wake the others,” the dwarf instructed.

Tenoch returned to camp.

Orsik transformed into a giant spider, made his way into the treetops, and started circling around the glade to get closer to the fog.

The forest is utterly quiet…all the animals have fled the area.

The druid cautiously wound his way through the trees. The fog was unnerving and not just because it was unnatural. A palpable dread hung within its blue depths.

Undeterred, Orsik pressed on into the fog, the unusual vapors rolling over him. Within he saw faint, dark shapes floating about…and then he was frightened as an unnatural fear descended upon him. Orsik quickly turned and fled the fog. He leapt from the treetops and landed heavily in the glade and skittered for all he was worth back to camp.

The giant spider burst into camp as the Companions were rousing themselves. Tenoch briefly raised his weapons, but lowered them once again as the spider transformed into the dwarf.

“We need to move!” Orsik yelled.

“Is it the dogmen?” one of the villagers wailed fearfully.

“No, on your feet!” replied the dwarf as he pulled one who spoke up into a standing position.

With that, the Companions and surviving villagers made their way off through the Silverglades in the dead of the night, leaving the strange fog behind them. Though only Orsik ventured into the fog, they all felt uneasy just being near it. This faded as the miles counted.

Tenoch, torch in hand, was blazing a trail through the forest when he came to a sudden halt. A large menhir jut up from the ground in a small clearing before them. The group of them just stood and stared, breaths heavy in the night.

“What is this?” asked Vech taking a quiet step backward.

“Tis one of the godstones,” a villager offered.

“A what?” asked Orsik.

“A godstone. They are found all around the Silverglades. From the time before the Chantry,” the old man responded.

“Before the Chantry?” Ilvander inquired.

The old man shrugged and shook his head. “Tis all I know, good master.”

“Curious,” the dwarf said as he lay a hand on the weathered stone. “Let’s rest here.”

The group was eager to be off their feet, so no arguments were given. Ilvander and Orsik spent the night contemplating the menhir in hushed whispers while the others rested. By morning the only point of knowledge agreed upon is that they needed to know more.

Monday, July 11 – THEN
The sun hung low in the sky when the group arrived at the town of Traveler’s Rest. The town’s reeve, one Lord Sannis, was responsible for the security of not only the town, but the surrounding villages and stretch of the Ralttway in the area (including the razed village of Roundtree). A palisade, of recent construction the dwarf noted, surrounded the town. Eager as they were to get inside, there was a hold up at the gate, which was closed.

“What’s this?” grumbled the dwarf.

A small company of maybe a dozen armed men stood at rigid attention off to the side of the pathway into town. Their faces could not be seen through the cage-faced helmets they wore. Another, an officer given his heavier armor and black-furred cloak that roiled in the wind, stood before them in silent vigil.

Still on the road before the closed gate was an ornate carriage, apparently pulled by what appeared to be a pair of pallid-skinned ogres, each with a strange red brand in the shape of a rune upon their foreheads. They appeared addled. The one on the left was drooling. The carriage remained closed.

A low hiss escaped from Charity’s lips.

“Charity?” Dazen said coming up to her side.

“Brakari,” she responded.

Dazen echoed the word, “Brakari…Nam Brakar?”

The paladin nodded curtly, as she watched through narrowed eyes.

“Easy, lass,” Orsik said, “That’s all behind you now.”

Charity seemed oblivious of the dwarf’s words, so he grabbed her by the arms and forced her attention.

“They’re not here for you,” he said intently.

She nodded once as she looked at her old friend, but her eyes soon returned to the gathering at the gate.

Orsik looked back over his shoulder at the Brakari as well, “And even if they are, they’re not.” The dwarf sighed. “I’ll be right back.” And strode up to the gate.

If the soldiers or the officer noticed him, none acknowledged his approach. There was no turn of a head, no shifting of feet. They might as well have been statues.

“Hoi!” Orsik called to a guardsman of the town atop the gate. “We have survivors from Roundtree! Let us in!”

The guard only shook his head.

The dwarf raised his hands up to either side of his head and mimicked the man with a shake of his own. “No?” He looked back and shrugged at the Companions and started to make his way back. He stopped half way back as the gates began to open. A gathering of the town’s guard stood back as a man in finery stepped forward to address the gathering.

“Lord Sannis bids you welcome to Traveler’s Rest,” he began. “Unfortunately, he is unable to receive any guests and asks that you proceed to the Lion’s Yawn Inn, an establishment of fine quality, where you and your men will be attended to.” He then turned to leave.

Before he got too far away, Orsik called to him. “We have survivors from Roundtree, will the reeve not see us?”

“No, not tonight. As I’ve already stated, he is unavailable. May I suggest the Lion’s Yawn to you as well. I’ll send word to the inn once his lordship is ready to receive you.”

“Perhaps another inn?” the druid said, but the man was already walking and didn’t stop to respond.

She’s not going to like this.

As Orsik returned to his friends to let them know what had transpired, the two ogres started to pull the carriage up the road and into the town. Detachments of the Brakari soldiers in front and back.

Charity took the news about as well as could be expected. The group offered to seek shelter elsewhere, but the paladin refused. She was steadfast in her commitment to the mission from the Chantry and she noted that the villagers had suffered enough. A warm bed and food was needed for all. But as they followed the Brakari retinue into town, she lowered the visor of her helm and quietly fell into a march near the back of their group.

~

At the Lion’s Yawn Inn, the carriage came to a halt. One of the two ogres made his way to the door facing the inn and plopped down on all fours, providing a convenient step for whomever was within. At the same time the soldiers formed two rows to create a clear path from the carriage to the inn. The officer made his way inside and quickly returned to the doorway where he nodded at the carriage.

The door opened and out came another warrior. Where the soldiers were clad dark iron armor and garbed in shades of gray and black, the man’s armor – of a similar make – was a polished masterwork of silver and gold. In place of the black cloaks the others wore, he bore the pelt of a great white lion. He stepped heavily upon the back of the ogre as he made his way down from the carriage. He then turned and offered a hand to the female tiefling climbing out of the carriage behind him.

She wore a dress – no not a dress, but a gown. A gown that was somehow both black and red at the same time, depending on how the light hit it. A light shawl of black was draped over her shoulders. She took the offered hand of the soldier with one hand and held an ornate rod in the other. She took one step out onto the ogre’s back and then stopped for a moment to turn and look down upon the Companion’s gathering.

“Did I hear correctly? You have survivors from the village of Roundtree with you?” she almost purred as she spoke.

Orsik nodded cautiously. What’s going on here? What is this witch getting at?

Without turning, she addressed the officer in black, “Sanlet.”

The man quickly sunk to a knee and looked up at her, “Yes, Lady Fexxahna?”

“The villagers and their saviors will dine before us and see to their rooms,” Fexxahna commanded.

“We can see to our own meals and rooms!” Orsik said, his face turning red.

Fexxahna dismissed the comment with the wave of her hand, “It is already done.” She then proceeded into the inn, the silver clad man providing escort.

Ilvander leaned down and whispered into Orsik’s ear. “I’ll take Charity to the Archon’s Shrine here in town and see if we can find lodging there. We’ll return on the morrow. “

“Good idea, lad,” the druid replied and patted his friend on the back as he left.

Dinner at the inn was…interesting. The Brakari soldiers assembled in a line at the back of the common room and quietly watched the surviving villagers and remaining Companions eat their dinners in uneasy silence. Orsik took his sweet time eating his fill and he ate quite a lot.

Serves them right.

Once he had finished licking his plate (literally), he plopped down off the bench, his beard peppered with crumbs, and made his way over to the officer. “Sanlet,” the dwarf paused to let go a small burp and pick at something in his teeth. “We’re all done now. You guys are free to get some food of your own.” He then turned his back on the man and started to leave for his room.

“Dwarf,” Sanlet said in a heavy voice.

“Hrm?” the druid stopped a few stairs up looking back over his shoulder.

“Never address me again.” Sanlet turned his head slowly to look at Orsik, now eye-to-eye given the stairs. “I am your better.”

Orsik was about to return a quip of his own, but thought better of it. So, with a quick nod of the head, he continued upstairs to his room for the night.

Ilvander​

Charity and Ilvander made their way through town when they noticed that the plaza in the center of town was in the process of being decorated. He stopped a man who was busily arranging some flowers.

“Excuse me, sir,” Ilvander started.

“Huh?” the florist responded as he paused his work.

“We’re new in town and are not familiar with local events. May I ask what you all are planning on celebrating?”

The man’s eyes lit up and he gave a smile. “Of course! Tis almost time for Breacher’s Day!” as if that explained everything.

“I’m sorry, did you say Breacher’s Day?”

The man nodded, “Yes. This will be the hundredth Anniversary Breacher’s Day too! It should be quite a party!”

“Ah yes,” Ilvander said nodding. “One more question, what is Breacher’s Day?”

“Oh, some time ago..” the man started.

“A hundred years ago?” Ilvander suggested. The monk was something of a historian and dates mattered to him.

“Err…right you are…a hundred years ago, there was a dark wizard…he ‘conjoindered’ a demon from the hells and really did a lot of bad things around these parts. Anyway, the way I hear it, he died a hundred years ago and there have been celebrations ever sense.”

“Since,” Ilvander corrected.

“Wha?”

Ilvander shook his head as he attempted to decipher the man’s words. Nearly a hundred years ago a conjurer was operating in this area and had bound at least one demon. No, better generalize that to fiend. Demons and hell don’t go together. Interesting.

Ilvander stopped just as he was about to leave, “I’m sorry, one last question. Do you know what the wizard’s name was?”

“Sure do!” the man said gleefully. “The Breacher!”

Ilvander sighed, bought some flowers, handed them to Charity (who immediately passed them off to a passing maiden) and thanked him one last time before leaving.

~

Charity​

Charity and Ilvander found their way to the Archon’s shrine in town. It was a circular dome with heavy wooden doors.

“Interesting architecture,” the paladin noted.

“It’s from an older time, before the Chantry was founded. Shrines such as these were built during the birth of Archonity. There should be four entrances though – one for each of the cardinal directions,” Ilvander shared. “It’s been modified from its original design.”

“Easier to defend a single point of entry,” Charity said, “but also easier to be trapped.”

“According to my tutors, the four entrances were meant to be representative of the worship of the Archons was open to all of mankind,” the monk continued.

Charity winced a little at the last statement.

“Charity, I didn’t mean to suggest…” Ilvander started.

“No, I know that. It’s okay,” she stopped him. “I can’t help that I was born a tiefling, but I can decide what I am and that’s what got me here. I’m a Sentinel of the Chantry, a Watcher, for which I would gladly give my life to defend.”

“I know Charity. I know,” he as he put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry though, I don’t think it will come to that.”

Unlike the Chantry in Akylon, which held a single altar for worship of the gods, there were fourteen small worship altars within. The altars, along with a donation box, were interspaced evenly about the room. The Archons were all respected equally within the eyes of the faithful and no Archon stood above another as each had their role to play.

Choosing which of the Archon’s altars to pray at was an issue for Charity. She was a paladin, but had not yet formed a bond of servitude with any one of the Archons as was tradition. This left her biting her lip as she stood awkwardly near the donation box while considering how to proceed.

“Perhaps Kyon?” Ilvander suggested nodding at one of the altars.

The Aegis, a logical choice for a paladin.

Charity shook her head. “I’ve prayed to Kyon more than any of the others. I’ve never had a sense that was the right path for me. I’ll try Avina again,” she said and made her way to the altar of the Earthmother where she kneeled and bowed her head.

Ilvander spent some time before the altar of Lokela, who is the Gracegiver, the Merciful One. She had provided him comfort and direction for as long as he could remember. He took solace in her grace.

A short while later, Ilvander noticed a man enter the chamber from a doorway in the back. He was an older man with a snowy beard, but looked like he may have just prematurely grayed as he otherwise seemed younger. He straightened his robes as he patiently waited for Ilvander to be available. The monk completed his prayers and went to him.

“Welcome to Traveler’s Rest,” he said with a smile, “I am Pryor Valmay.”

The title of Pryor, rank within the Chosen, indicated that he had been blessed with a partial Awakening. He could channel the will of the archons and produce miracles from sacred scrolls, but was unable to call on their power direct and cast spells of his own. The town was fortunate to have one so blessed.

“Father Valmay,” the monk said as he bowed. “I am Initiate Ilvander. My companions and I have come to answer the town’s request for aid on behalf of the Chantry of the Lantern.”

The priest straightened his back just a bit at mention of the Chantry of the Lantern, the center of Archonianism and the See of the Exarch.

“Are you traveling with a Prestor or Sentinel?” Valmay asked. “I don’t want to seem disrespectful Brother Ilvander, but we were led to believe that the matter was being given a proper amount of attention.”

“Of course, no offense is taken,” Ilvander replied. “The Chantry has sent a Sentinel to deal with the situation.” He gestured towards Charity who was in the process of completing her own prayers.

Valmay smiled and nodded approvingly. Then Charity stood up and turned around and the priest’s smile melted like snow in the desert.

Charity saw the pryor’s smile go flat. Something that she’s seen countless times.

Here we go.

She put on her best smile, which was one that hid her teeth that others found overly sharp. She bowed in deference when she joined the others, “Father,” she started, “I am Watcher Charity, and we have-“

Valmay held up a hand and cut her short, “Yes, I’ve already been informed of why you are here. Let us all just hope we can get this taken care of as quickly as possible.”

So you’ll be rid of me. Understood.

“Yes, that would probably be best…for the people,” she replied.

Ilvander wore his disapproval of Valmay’s attitude on his face. The pryor noticed this.

“Initiate?” Valmay asked, “Something to add?”

It wouldn’t be appropriate for an initiate to confront one of the Chosen in such a manner. Ilvander shook his, “No father. Only that we seek shelter here at the shrine tonight.”

Valmay couldn’t properly decline their request, so he saw to it that they were both given cells beneath the shrine and took his leave.

Tuesday, July 12 – THEN
The next morning, when Charity came upstairs so that she and Ilvander could make their way back to the Lion’s Yawn to rejoin the Companions, she found Ilvander standing there at the top of the stairs…staring.

The Brakari were at the shrine. At least some of them. Four of the Chained, soldiers of Nam Brakar, and the man in the resplendent armor of silver and gold were kneeled in prayer. They were kneeling at the altar of Meros the Tormentor, the Father of Fear. Each of them had longswords in hand, head pressed to the hilt. Something that would never be allowed in the great chantries, but here at the shrine in Traveler’s Rest, nobody would challenge them.

Charity stopped cold, alarm written on her face. They’ve come for me!

The Brakari didn’t move. There was no sense that they cared about the paladin. Not a one of them so much as glanced in her direction.

“We should be going,” Ilvander suggested softly.

Charity nodded and the two left the Brakari behind to rejoin the others and hopefully see about getting that audience with Lord Sannis, the town’s reeve.

~

Some guards had arrived at the inn that morning to escort the survivors of Roundtree to their kin already in town. Along with them came word that the reeve was available to see the Companions immediately.

~

Vech​

The lord’s manor was on a squat hill that overlooked the rest of Traveler’s Rest. Like the town, it boasted a new palisade of its own. Once the Companions arrived, they were taken to the main hall within the manner in short order. There they met with Sannis and a small assembly of guards and advisors.

“My lord,” Ilvander started. “We have come from Akylon at the behest of the Chantry to investigate rumors of hauntings in the area. Forgive us, but we were delayed by the happenings at Roundtree.”

“I’m told your group managed to track down the dogmen and rescue some of the villagers.”

“Yes, m’lord,” the monk replied. “They have already rejoined the others here in town.”

“And Sondiul’s Dogs?” the reeve left the question hanging.

“Dispatched,” Dazen answered. Orsik quietly patted his belly and smiled at the memory, which caused the elf to slightly shudder in disgust. “Dwarves,” he said flatly.

“Hrm?” Sannis asked.

“Sorry, nothing m’lord,” he answered.

“Well then, I expect you have a letter of introduction,” the man to his left asked extending his hand impatiently.

“Of course,” answered Charity, who had until this point been standing discreetly in the back of the group. She strode forward slowly, pulling down the hood of her cloak to reveal her heritage to all in attendance. Lord Sannis recoiled within his chair, taking in an audible breath. A large, muscular woman, clad in breastplate and with a greatsword strapped across her back, took a protective step forward. The reeve quickly waived her back once he recomposed himself. Another woman, this one a striking beauty, sitting in a chair to the reeve’s right and the man with the outstretched hand seemed unconcerned.

Charity strode with dignity, pulling a scrollcase from her belt as she closed the distance before finally handing it to the man. He proceeded to remove the scroll within and examine the seal.

Lord Sannis looked at him, “Auvier?”

Auvier nodded once and handed him the scroll. He turned his attention to the group before him as the reeve read its contents. His eyes lingered on each of them in turn, just long enough to be uncomfortable. His eyes narrowed as he settled on Vech who standing in back, looking at the ceiling, muttering to himself.

“Everything seems to be in order,” Sannis said with approval before handing it to the woman seated to his right. She quickly read it as well before tucking it into a book she held in her lap.

“A lie.” Glyph said.

Vech had been looking at the ceiling doing his best to be inconspicuous (and failing). He had never trusted those in power. He’d seen their idea of justice too many times already in his young life.

“What?” he said quietly to nobody.

“A lie.” Glyph repeated.

Vech dropped his gaze to the floor where the runic string of characters slithered about. At least that is how he perceived Glyph to be.

“What lie? Nobody has lied. At least not yet,” Vech said softly. The strangely enigmatic – creature? – was frustratingly hard to comprehend. The warlock could understand the words it spoke easily enough, but trying to comprehend anything resembling sensible meaning often led to frustration.

Glyph formed a complex pattern of indecipherable symbols on the ground as if it explained everything. It probably did, but Vech felt the tickle of a nosebleed begin as he studied the forms. He turned away with a sigh and wiped the blood from his nose on the back of his sleeve.

Ever since Glyph had come to him they had a connection. A bond. A chain, if you will. With that bond came power. What power? Magic powers that he didn’t fully understand. Such is the life of those who dabble in powers without the toil of study. Unfortunately, this often to disastrous ends.

Sorcerers came to their power through the blood in their veins; they literally inherited their powers. A warlock’s power came through a pact forged with fiends, or other strange entities, whose aims were not to be understood by mere mortals. For this reason, wizards, and those who knew anything of magicians, watched warlocks with a leery eye. Speaking of which…

“Let us start with everybody’s name. An introduction seems appropriate, no?” Auvier said. “Obviously, this is Lord Sannis of Traveler’s Rest. Appointed lord of these lands by His Majesty, King Erevekk.” The Companions, minus Vech in the back, all nodded in deference.

Auvier extended his hand towards the woman sitting to the reeve’s right. “This is the sorceress, Khellerra, who advises on all things magical and strange.” Shifting his upturned hand to the woman with the greatsword, “Sherriff Skanodra.” The Vettral woman gave a hard look of distrust to the Companions. “I am Auvier, the Lord’s Chancellor.”

“I am Initiate Ilvander.” Ilvander answered with a perfunctory bow. “This is Watcher Charity, an ordained paladin of the Chantry in Akylon.” The monk stressed the word ‘ordained’ as an attempt to underline her official status in the eyes of the faith hoping that it would lead to a smoother audience. “This is the druid, Orsik, son of Vondal.”

“The Goblin-Eater?” Khellerra piqued with a half-smile.

“Umm, yes, as the story goes,” Ilvander coughed uncomfortably before continuing. “Dazen Selhariel,” gesturing to the elf. “Tenoch of the Nephti,” gesturing to the Arumanji huntsman. “And Vech,” gesturing at last to the warlock.

“Vech of…” Auvier pressed.

“Just Vech,” the warlock answered with a shrug. He then wiped with his sleeve once more to get the last traces of blood, gave a quick scratch of his short beard, and turned back to the ceiling to continue his very important conversation. The others could deal with the reeve.

Vech sent a thought to Ilvander, which hit the monk like a waft of curdled milk. I am busy! No more interruptions!

“Who lied?” Vech continued with Glyph.

“None.” Glyph answered as it slid around in circles at the warlock’s feet.

Vech sighed. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes.”

Vech fought down an urge to throttle Glyph. Something he had attempted once, but it just slid around in his fingers like oil, which was not nearly has satisfactory has he had originally hoped it would be. This time he stomped on it, but it just slid out from under his foot as if it didn’t exist.

“Then why did you say that somebody lied?!” Vech hissed.

“No.”

It was all Vech could to do not start screaming at the thing, but the distraction would force him to apologize to his ‘betters’ and he would prefer not to give them that satisfaction. The warlock took a long, slow breath to steady himself.

“Maybe you could say more?” Vech said almost pleading now.

“Yes.”

Vech wasn’t going to be fooled again! This time just waited for Glyph to continue.

“It is a lie.”

“Ah, yes, much better! It is a lie! Perfectly clear.” Vech frowned. “Wait, what?”

“It is a lie.”

Vech turned his back on Glyph and crossed his arms in a huff. “I’m not talking to you anymore!”

Glyph made a strange sound that sent shivers up the warlock’s back.

Was that a laugh?

Meanwhile it was agreed upon that the Companions would take their rest at the manor before setting out for the village of Noor’s Meadow to the north of town, where the rumors had all begun.

Thursday, July 14

Dazen​

It was late when the Companions arrived at Noor’s Meadow. One might describe the village as ‘quaint.’ It held an undeniable rustic charm and the people here obviously cared for their homes and village.

The village had no inn or even tavern, but the villagers offered to provide a warm place to sleep for each of the Companions – even Charity – once they learned that they had come to deal with their troubles. Unfortunately, none of the houses were large enough to house all the Companions, so they were forced to split up.

Dazen found himself in the home of Khel and Lailah along with their two daughters Erla and little Jixy. They had settled the elf with a place near the hearth, a pot of stew hung over its fire.

Dazen sat down on the floor and pulled off his boots to give his toes a stretch by the fire. He looked up to find young Jixy starting at him as she clutched a small wooden doll in the far corner of the room. The young girl’s eyes were wide and she smiled coyly at him. He returned a friendly smile and nodded.

“They don’t smell!” she said as she giggled.

Dazen shook his head and explained, “We don’t sweat.”

“Jixy, come away from there!” Lailah said and guided the young girl from the room into the kitchen.

“You’ll have to pardon the little ones, Master Dazen. They’ve never met one of the Aldurfolk before.” Khel said apologetically as he came over to the hearth to stoke the fire a bit and sneak a smell from the pot while Lailah dealt with their daughter.

“Just Dazen,” the elf responded with another smile. “And it’s perfectly fine.”

Khel returned the lid to the pot with a faint clink, “Khel!” Lailah called from the kitchen causing him to wince.

“It was our guest!” Khel called back with a chuckle, giving a sly wink to Dazen as he began to sit down in what was obviously his chair. He stopped short, remembering his manners, and invited the elf to take the chair with a gesture.

Dazen shook his head, “No, please sit down. I’m more than happy to sit here by the fire anyway.”

Khel nodded and plopped down and let out a low groan as he got comfortable.

Dazen studied the man a few moments and found him to be…exhausted. While Khel was quick with a smile, his eyes showed the truth. He wasn’t sleeping well. For that fact, neither was his wife or daughters. They were all red-eyed and tired.

Lailah came back into the room, gave her husband a playful slap on the top of his head and checked on dinner. She took a small sip from a spoon, added some rosemary, smiled and proclaimed dinner was ready.

Once in the kitchen, their eldest daughter, Erla, served everybody. Starting first with her father, then Dazen, and then her mother before filling up a bowl that she and Jixy appeared to be sharing.

I must be eating from one of their bowls.

“First, we thank the Archons for the bounty,” Lailah explained to Dazen. “Is that okay with you, Master Dazen?”

Dazen nodded, “Please...and just Dazen will do.”

“The Aldurfolk don’t give thanks?” Jixy asked.

“No, not to the Archons,” her father replied.

“Why not?” she answered as she stared at the elf.

Dazen considered for a moment before turning to the girl. “My people are of the Ordu, one of the elder races. We were conceived by the Will of the Ninefold Divinities, those whom you call the Elder Gods. The Archons are your gods, little one. And long may the smile upon you,” he added with a smile of his own. Jixy gave a big smile back, revealing a gap where her front teeth were missing.

“So, you worship the Elder Gods?” Erla asked.

“It would be better to say we venerate the Elder Gods,” Dazen answered.

“Girls, enough,” Khel said admonishing them into temporary silence.

Khel led the family in a quick prayer and they all began to eat.

Hrm, not bad for human fare, Dazen thought.

They ate on in silence but it wasn’t long before the girls couldn’t handle it any longer.

“The Aldurfolk…they don’t sleep,” Erla said as if she needed to explain it to Dazen.

Dazen shook his head. “No, we enter what is called a trance where we…reminisce about our own past. We use this to cope with our long lives. Without it we lose …let’s call it perspective.”

The family stared at him blankly. I’ve said too much.

“What I mean to say is that like sleep is important for you, the trance is important for us.”

“Do you dream?” Jixy added. “I hope not, because that’s when the nightmares come.”

“Jixy!” Lailah snapped as she slapped her hand on the table. “Shush you! Let our guest enjoy his dinner!”

Naturally, this brought Jixy to tears...and then Erla...and then even Lailah couldn’t help herself as she hugged her daughters. Khel just looked tired and shrugged in apology to Dazen and gestured for him to continue eating.

~

As the family slept, Dazen listened. At first all seemed perfectly well, but within a few hours, he could hear that all were stirring in the sleep and there were occasional moans of fear in their unrest. He got up, opened the shutters, and peered out into the night. His elven eyes quickly adapted to the dark and showed him the world in colorless grays. After a while, the elf admitted that he saw nothing that seemed unnatural or even out of the ordinary. He closed the shutters and turned around to find Erla and Jixy standing scared, tears in their eyes, at the entrance to the living room.

“You’re not scared?” Jixy asked.

Dazen shook his head softly, gestured at the rug on the floor before the fireplace. “Sit.”

The girls sat down and took as the elf draped his blanket around the pair of them.

“Grownups don’t get scared,” Erla told her sister. “Not like us.”

The elf shook his head. “No, all people know the touch of fear.”

Jixy’s chin began to shake with the threat of more tears.

“Iluvien,” Dazen said with a comforting smile.

“Ilu..” Jixy rolled the elven word around in mouth.

“It means be calm,” the elf said as he settled down on the hearth facing the two.

“Long have men and elves and even the dwarves known the touch of fear, but the thing to know is that time and time again, we have come together to overcome that fear and protect all of Arasil.”

The two girls just looked on expectantly.

Right. Hrmm…

“In the days of the Great Lament, all of the people were at the mercy of the Chynntai.”

“All of the people?” Erla interrupted.

“Yes, the Ordu who are the ancestors of the Aldurfolk, the great tribes of men, including the Kaath, the N’jy, and the powerful Aidaan. Even the mighty dwarf lords who lived under the mountains were not able to withstand the onslaught of the Chynntai.”

“Erla, what does on-slot mean?” Jixy asked her sister.

“It means to kill,” Erla explained. “Are the Chynntai going to kill us?” she said turning back to Dazen.

“No, no. They’re all gone now,” Dazen answered with his best calming voice.

Great, I’m offering yet another thing for them to fear.

“What are the Chynntai? Are they like us?” Erla continued.

“No… I mean, well, yes, they were as men, but not men for they had no soul.” Their eyes grew wide at the thought of having no soul.

Note to self, leave these kinds of bedtime stories to Ilvander.

“Anyway, the Chynntai were a very bad people who did some very bad things…” Arasil continued as he attempted to dumb it down just a little.

“Why were they bad? Is it because they had no soul?” Jixy asked.

Now they’re both asking questions!

“Err, actually, no. Once they were good. They did good things for the gods. Then they turned bad, but they never had a soul,” the elf offered.

“So, what happens to them when they die?” Erla was starting to piece together some troubling thoughts.

“Well, you see, they don’t really die. They are …well, they are the Deathless,” he started to explain.

“But you said that they’re all gone,” Jixy challenged. “How can they be gone if they don’t die?”

Why are they asking so many questions?!

“Yes, they’re all gone!” Dazen replied then nodded eagerly with a big smile as to insinuate that everything is okay. He almost clapped with joy to see if he could turn the conversation around for the two girls.

“So…” Erla started in.

“So, the men and elves – who were the Ordu, but think of them as elves even though they were the Ordu – and the dwarves with the blessings of all Fifteen Archons and the Heavenly Choirs came together and drove the Chynntai from the world. The end!” Worst! Idea! Ever! Dazen!

“But there are only fourteen Archons,” Erla challenged.

“Umm, well, yeah. There were fifteen and then there were fourteen aaaand that’s where we are now.” Dazen forced a yawn, “Wow! I’m really tired suddenly! I think it’s about time we all went to sleep. What do you think, can you go back to bed now?” He was nearly pleading at this point.

“I thought you don’t sleep,” Jixy said.

Aargh! I found the source of the nightmares! It is these two demon-children!

“Up! Up!” Dazen sprung to his feet and quickly hoisted the two girls up to theirs. “Back to bed you go! Let’s go! Hurry now!”

He quickly escorted the two back into their room, tucked them into their beds and started to plan his escape.

“What if,” Jixy began.

“Shh” Dazen said gently as he pressed his finger to her lips probably a little harder than necessary. “You can ask me all the questions you want in the morning.” When I’ll be gone from this infernal place!

Within one hand outstretched showing a sign for all to be quiet, he slowly backed out of the room, creeping as if his life depended upon it. Once he got to the door and it looked like Jixy was going to pipe out with another question, he quickly closed the door, slowing it down just at the end so as to not make any noise.

He turned and found Lailah standing there in the hallway behind him, fists on hips.

“Do you have children of your own?” she challenged.

Dazen shook his head.

“Praise the Archons!”

You think you've done an okay job with spelling and grammar...and then your wife reads it. Edits!

Friday, July 15, 496 CE – THEN

Tenoch​

Like Dazen, none of the other Companions had found out anything really useful related to the nightmares of the village. However, they did learn of a local ‘holy man,’ called the Pellar, who lived a few miles north of the Noor’s Meadow in the forest. Without much else to go on, they made their way to his secluded home.

The Pellar appeared much as any other of villagers found in the Silverglades. He was an older man, clean shaven and balding on top with a ring of grey-white hair. A lifetime outside left him wrinkled and weathered. He had calloused hands, which he was using to milk a goat as the Companions arrived.

“You’re here about the nightmares and the demon,” he said without turning to look at the Companions as he busily worked at filling the pail.

“How do yo-,” Ilvander started.

“The Pellar doesn’t need to read the signs to know everything. He just knows,” the old man answered as he went along with his work.

“I don’t think he’s going to stop,” Vech said to the others.

“Just because you’ve come to talk, it doesn’t mean that the Pellar doesn’t get thirsty,” The Peller answered before anybody else could. “Come, gather around so that you may learn something.”

“We’ve no interest in learning how to milk a goat,” Charity chipped.

The old man continued on. Squirt. Squirt. Squirt.

Tenoch shrugged and walked over to stand nearby, which prompted the others to follow suit.

Squirt. Squirt. Squirt.

“Ask your questions,” the Pellar said.

“Umm, is the demon the source of the nightmares?” Ilvander asked.

“Yes…and no.” Squirt. Squirt.

“This is a waste of time!” Charity said. “This…holy man doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Tenoch shook his head, “You’re too quick to discount him because he’s not a member of your chantry.”

“My chantry?” the watcher responded. “It’s our chantry. It’s the Chantry! It belongs to all of Archonianism!”

“But not all of Archonity,” Tenoch answered with a shake of his head. “And I am neither.”

Squirt. Squirt.

Ilvander waved them off, “Pellar?”

The old man stood up and handed the pail of milk to Tenoch. “Don’t spill that.” He then walked over to a small chicken coop where he proceeded to collect eggs. The Companions followed.

“Is this a bad time?” Orsik asked.

“Never a bad time to eat eggs!” the Pellar replied, his ass high in the air as he stooped over. “Almost one hundred years ago, Assondir the Breacher – stupid name if you ask me – got his hands on a nycademon.”

“Nycaloth,” Vech corrected.

This made the old man pause and look back over his shoulder. “Hrm? If you say so.” The Pellar shrugged and returned to his work. “Anyway, Assondir fed some of the local villagers to the creature. So he was made dead.”

“Made dead?” Dazen asked.

The Pellar nodded then paused for a moment before shrugging.

“What does that mean? Made dead,” the elf continued.

The Pellar shrugged. “Just an old story. That’s the way it’s always been told.”

“Is this nycaloth the cause of the nightmares?” Ilvander repeated his first question.

The Pellar handed a basket of eggs to Orsik, “Don’t eat those. Just hold the basket. Good little lad.” He patted the druid on the head.

“I’m older than you are,” Orsik replied, but took the basket.

The Pellar took a moment to give a good look at the Companions. “You’re dedicated to this task?”

“Yes,” Charity answered quickly.

“No matter the personal cost?”

“Yes,” the paladin said again.

Vech shuddered as he examined something on the ground.

The old man shrugged. “Then let’s find out some answers” With that he reached back into the coop and plucked out a chicken by its feet.

“What’s he doing?” Charity asked.

“Haruspex,” the monk said flatly, a grim look on his face.

“What’s that?” she replied.

The old man moved to stand over a wide, shallow wooden bowl that sat atop a stump serving as a table in the middle of his garden. Dangling the chicken upside down, he took a curved knife from his belt and slit open the gut of the chicken.

Charity sucked in her breath sharply and almost leapt forward.

“Stand back!” The Pellar said in a loud voice. “You’ll get blood on your boots,” he added quietly.

He then shook out the entrails of the bird into the bowl.

Tenoch nodded approvingly.

The Pellar handed the dead chicken to Dazen, “Hold on to that for me. It will be very important later.” Then he proceeded to poke around the bowl with his knife nodding and muttering to himself.

The monk shook his head. “I don’t put a lot of stock in such divinations.”

“I do,” Tenoch replied as he stepped in a little closer to watch the Pellar at work. The old ways are the best ways.

The old man looked up at the ranger from across the bowl and shook his head once with a touch of sadness before returning to the bowl.

“The two are related, but only by chance,” the Pellar said.

The Companions looked at him blankly.

“The nycademon,” he held up a finger to Vech before he could be corrected again, “is the cause of the Gloom, but not directly. Its presence has caused another strand to be woven into this tapestry.”

“Gloom? Do you mean the strange fog?” Orlik asked.

“You’ve seen it?” the Peller responded.

The druid shudder and nodded. “Aye.”

“One of the men from the village entered the Gloom in an attempt to drive off whatever was within. There were screams. Horrid screams that…that sounded like he had fallen to madness,” the old man said. “His body was found the next day. White of skin and eyes wide with horror. It was a terrible thing.” The Pellar looked disturbed at just the memory.

He then turned back to the bowl. “Three, always three,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“Three?” Vech asked.

“You will need to speak with the Ladies of the Tapestry,” the Pellar responded. You’ll find them outside of Bramborough. They can put you on your path.”

“Path?” Ilvander asked. “We're already here – Noor’s Meadow – where the nightmares are.”

“What about this Gloom though? We saw that close to Roundtree. Has it been seen up here as well?” the dwarf interjected.

“Yes,” the Pellar replied. “The Gloom has been seen all around these parts, but always out in the depths of the forest. Stay to the road and you should be fine.”

Orsik raised an eyebrow. “Where does that name come from? Gloom.”

“What would you call it?” the Pellar responded.

The dwarf shrugged. “Gloom it is.”

“What about this dead chicken?” Dazen asked holding up the carcass.

The Pellar’s eyes brightened. “Ah! Dinner!” He then proceeded to collect the pail of goat’s milk, eggs, and chicken and prepare a meal for the Companions that night.

I am immediately intrigued every time I see a new journal pop up on these boards - and this one doesn't disappoint. Very well written, highly interesting cast of characters and the snippets received so far regarding the overall setting as well as the pantheon are also extremely promising. I especially like how the information provided is woven into the plot instead of being conveyed in a separate post. Looking forward to the next entry!

Gesendet von meinem GT-I9301I mit Tapatalk

Hey, Azkorra. Thank you very much for the kind words! Strap in, tough times ahead.

Saturday, July 16 – THEN

Orsik​

Much to the Pellar’s objections, the Companions decided to cut across the Silverglades to make better time to Bramborough, which lie to the east.

It was around midday when the Companions came across another of the godstones in a glade. Ilvander and Orsik spent some time studying the menhir to see if they could learn anything more.

“Look here,” Ilvander said pointing at the base of the godstone.

The druid squatted down and took a closer look, “Part of the carving stretches below the ground.” He stood up and looked at Ilvander in excitement.

“What is it?” Dazen asked.

“We’re just looking at the tip of this thing,” the monk answered.

“Get comfortable, we’re going to be here for a while,” Orsik said…and then transformed into a giant badger.

Claws flashing, the druid began the slow process of excavating the godstone. By the end of the day, the Companions, including one very dirty dwarf, were looking down from above at the full ‘front’ of the godstone. It was roughly thirty feet in height and at the base a stone bowl was carved into the ground before it.

Ilvander dropped down into the hole to get a closer look at what had been revealed. He brushed his hand along the front of the stone to clear away some dirt from the carvings, pulled his hand back and frowned.

“See something, lad?” Orsik asked from above.

“This is an ancient symbol of Archonity,” he said pointing. “It would appear that this godstone is a monument to Meros.”

“…Father Fear,” Vech said.

He drew looks from the others.

“I’m just saying what everybody else is thinking,” the warlock said defensively.

“What’s the bowl for?” Vech asked looking down at Ilvander.

“It’s likely for an offering,” he replied. “Slaughter an animal and place its heart in the bowl. That kind of thing.”

“I approve,” Tenoch said.

“I’ll never understand why the Chantry includes the worship of Archons such as Meros,” Vech said.

“All of the Vernal Gods have something to teach us,” Charity said as she continued to look at the godstone. “Meros teaches us what to fear, he strengthens our minds and spirits. He keeps us humble.”

“It’s getting late, we should look for a place to camp,” Dazen suggested.

Tenoch pointed at a place across the glade. “Set up camp there,” as he turned and bound off into the woods.

A short time later, he reappeared with a bag slung over his shoulder. He held out the bag, which was moving, to Ilvander.

“What’s this?” the monk asked.

“Offering,” the ranger replied.

Ilvander peeked into the bag. “A rabbit?”

Tenoch shrugged, “Best I could find in short order.”

The monk frowned, “I’m not sure if we should do this.”

“Why not?” Orsik asked. “Isn’t this just an ancient practice of Archonity?”

“Yes, but…” the monk started, but the dwarf held up his hand.

“Ilvander, we need to learn something here and this is our best chance.”

“It isn’t like I’ve ever done this before,” the monk complained.

“Just give it your best, lad,” Orsik said, nudging him back towards the godstone.

Later, after the offering of the rabbit’s heart has been placed before the godstone, the Companions sat next to their campfire enjoying the meat of the offering. The mood was somber. They had just made an offering to the archon of Fear and each was wondering what the night would bring.

It was getting late into the evening and most of the Companions would normally be sleeping at such an hour, but nobody was comfortable enough to close their eyes.

“Look!” Dazen hissed and pointed at the Tormentor’s godstone.

A blue fog was forming.

“What do we do?” Vech whimpered.

“We watch. We wait,” Orsik replied. The dwarf’s eyes were wide. He had been eager for another encounter with the Gloom.

Time to get a good look in there.

Within a handful of minutes, the Gloom had overtaken most the glade. The Companions were all standing now and had slowly migrated backwards.

“We need to confront this!” the druid growled at the others.

Ilvander nodded. “Let’s go,” he said as he started to walk forward. The others followed. Weapons were drawn as they were enveloped by the Gloom. There was a palpable fear within the blue fog and each of their minds were assaulted with nightmarish visions.

Vech started to bolt, but Tenoch caught him by the arm, “Hold, fool!”

Then it appeared. An apparition of the Gloom. It appeared as a wraith, but from its back, where two wings might sprout if it were an angel, were a pair of great, curved horns. It screeched and their bones went cold.

Though he was filled with dread, Ilvander was the first to react. He let lose an arrow, but his aim was shaken by his nerves and the arrow careened off into the depths of the fog.

Orsik stepped forward, held out his right palm towards the gloomwraith, “The winds take you!” and cast gust of wind. The fogs of the Gloom swirled and cleared in the wake of the powerful jet.

Dazen not wanting to enter the line of the druid’s spell, took a step back and brought up his longblade in a defensive stance.

The gloomwraith paid no need to the druid’s spell and rushed forward in a flicker to loom before the dwarf. An unnatural hiss came from the creature as it pushed its hand into Orsik’s head. The dwarf shuddered and started to make choking sounds as his spell came to an end.

Then Tenoch was there. He swung his two macuahuitls through the gloomwraith…and nothing happened. It didn’t even react. “We may have a problem!” the ranger shouted.

Charity sprung forward and swung her longsword which also passed harmlessly through the gloomwraith. “We have a problem!” Charity confirmed.

Through the fog, a great, alien eye appeared over the gloomwraith and then it was struck by a bolt from Vech’s outstretched shaking finger. The gloomwraith twirled in the air and regarded the warlock from the depths of is dark cowl. Vech swallowed.

Ilvander intoned a prayer to the Archons and touched Orsik to heal him, which had no effect.

Orsik staggered back from the gloomwraith.

Dazen pounced forward and drove his longblade through the creature. No effect. “It’s immune!”

The gloomwraith turned on the ranger and put its hand into his head. Tenoch screamed and dropped to a knee before rolling back away from the creature.

Charity held up her sword to point into the sky. “Archons guide me!” she yelled. For a moment, a reflection of the sun could be seen in the polish of the blade. Then she brought it down upon the gloomwraith, which howled as the reflection left the blade and spread throughout its form in a flash of radiant glory.

Vech let another eldritch blast fly, but missed.

“I cannot heal these wounds!” the monk yelled and backed away.

“What’s that?” Orsik said looking deeper into the Gloom. “There’s something…” Charity started to scream…and then it was cut short. The dwarf whirled to see the gloomwraith, both hands deep into the paladin’s skull. Her arms were outstretched to either side and her longsword rolled from her limp fingers. When it pulled back its hands, she collapsed.

“We need to retreat!” Tenoch called as he started backing away.

Charity was on the ground. Tears rolled from her open eyes as she stared into terror. The gloomwraith was starting to lean down to her when it was blasted back from an eldritch blast.

“Stay away from her!” Vech shouted, but his voice faltered as the gloomwraith once again looked his way.

“Go!” Ilvander shouted. “Be away from this place!” But the monk held his ground watching his friends.

Orsik shook his head and ran to Charity. Sliding to his knees, he threw one of the paladin’s arms over his shoulder, transformed into a mule, and continued to run to escape the Gloom. (This was a great moment at the table. There was lots of cheering from the players who thought they were going to have to leave Charity behind.)

The Companions all fled the Gloom and the Tormentor’s godstone.

~

“I need to check on Charity,” Ilvander said sharply, but held his voice low enough not to reveal their position.

Tenoch nodded and signaled for the Companions to stop.

Ilvander and Dazen pulled the paladin from the mule’s back.

“Fire…” Charity moaned as she was laid down gently in the moist grass.

“What did she say?” Vech asked.

“Fire,” the elf answered.

Ilvander looked her over. Her eyes were still open until he closed them with the edge of his palm. He attempted to heal her. “I can’t heal this,” he said shaking his head as he looked up at the others. “She’s going to need time.”

“And then she’ll be okay?” Orsik asked as he resumed his form.

“I don’t know, Orsik. We’ll have to wait and see,” Ilvander replied, obviously frustrated.

“You said you saw something,” the warlock asked the dwarf.

“Huh?” the druid responded.

“Back in the Gloom. You were looking at something.”

Orsik nodded, “Yes. There was something…larger looming in the depths. It felt… I dunno…powerful.”

~

Vech​

Vech awoke in the still of night. He felt both thin and hallow. Something is…different.

He looked about and saw Ilvander, who had been on watch, laying on the ground. Dead! No…just asleep.

It was then that Vech noticed the mist. He scrambled to his feet, fearing the return of the Gloom, but stopped short of running. The mist was a myriad of various greens and a few dim weaves of gold.

Different indeed.

He looked at his feet and saw his sleeping form below him. I look peaceful. Where is Glyph? It was nowhere to be found.

He saw a wavering shadow at a distance through the haze. It slid forward silently, its form gaining definition as it closed.

What is this?

A woman, Vech supposed, but only by nature of its form. She was about eight feet in height and was covered in a flowing silk-like robe and veil from head to… I don’t know if she has feet, much less toes. She seems to float.

The countenance of her veil was alien, speckled with many holes that could be slits for eyes, but he saw nothing within. She slid into the camp and kneeled next to where Charity lie, still trembling from the encounter with the gloomwraith. There she bent over as if to whisper into the paladin’s ear. Charity calmed almost immediately.

“Who are you?” Vech asked.

She turned with a start, as if just now seeing Vech for the first time. A few seconds of nothing stretched on as she seemed to be considering her next move.

Vech began to raise his hands, which brought a tilt of her head. Vech fell to sleep.

[I managed to chop off this last post, so here's part two.]

Sunday, July 17

Vech​

The next morning, Vech was trying to explain what he had witnessed while searching frantically for Glyph at the same time. Ilvander had indeed fallen asleep unexpectedly on watch, but was none the worse to show for it. In addition, Charity seemed much better now as she was sleeping peacefully.

“A woman?” Orsik asked.

“Umm, I think so,” the warlock replied as he rummaged around in his rucksack. “Are you in there?”

Dazen shook his head.

Vech looked up, sighed, and started to describe her again, “She was wearing some kind of hooded, veiled, robe thing. She didn’t make a single sound, so I didn’t get a name.”

“’ever here about something like this?” the druid asked the monk.

Ilvander shook his head. “I’ve got nothing.”

“Ah-hah!” Vech said as he picked up a rock about the size of his hand. “Hrm, must have been a trick of the light,” he said as he looked about suspiciously. He shrugged and tossed the rock back over his shoulder, which bounced off Tenoch as he prepared breakfast by the campfire. The ranger just shrugged.

“It’s pointless talking to him when he’s like this. Trust me, I know,” Dazen said waving the warlock off. “Whatever this spirit was…is…she seemed to have helped Charity.” The elf was now kneeling by the paladin looking her over.

“I think you’re right,” Vech agreed. “She didn’t seem overly malicious.”

“Overly?” Ilvander said.

“Good point. Alright. No, she wasn’t malicious, but there was something unsettling about her,” Vech clarified and started to put his shoes on. “There you are!”

~

A short while later, Charity regained consciousness. When asked about her experience and why she had said ‘fire’ she only shared that it was like a bad dream and that her nightmares were of bad places. None pressed for more information.

Monday, July 18

It was already getting late by the time that they arrived at the village of Bramborough. Not wanting to lose another day, they hurriedly got directions from one of the villagers to the where they might locate the Ladies of the Tapestry. This brought them just north of the village, down in a sunken gulley that formed something of a small bog. A trail wound its way through the low, still waters; it’s path marked by irregularly interspaced poles that were adorned by little men made of twigs that dangled from strings of gut.

It was quite dark by the time they spotted three lonely buildings in the mire at a distance. A large cottage was flanked by a small hut to its left and a long stable to its right. A campfire was lit in the yard before the cottage.

As they drew closer to the cottage, they started to see they were not alone. Out in the deeper waters away from the path, strange, little frogmen watched them silently. Their large eyes reflecting the light of the Companions torches.

“Is this safe?” Vech asked nervously.

“Are you afraid of everything?” Tenoch asked.

“Keeps me healthy,” the warlock replied with a sheepish grin.

“The villagers didn’t seem spooked,” Ilvander said as he shrugged. “Besides, what choice do we have?”

Well, we could always run away. Vech nodded, “Right.”

In the yard was a table with five small children hungrily eating. Nearby, an old woman was taking down laundry from a line.

“Hello there,” Ilvander said.

The old woman looked over her shoulder and squinted to get a better look at the group of them. “You’re not from Bramborough!” she said almost accusingly.

The monk shook his head, “No, we’ve come from Noor’s Meadow where…”

“From whence the Pellar sent you, I’ve no doubt!” she said in a huff.

“Quite right,” Ilvander continued. “We’ve come to speak with you about the hauntings in the area.”

“Not me you haven’t. That’d be the ladies you’re seeking,” she responded as she shook her head all the while continuing to take down the laundry.

“Are these your children?” the dwarf asked.

“Mine enough,” she said.

“Mine…enough?” the dwarf frowned.

“They are unwanted. Castoffs whose families either died or abandoned them. Tis a hard world,” the old woman said with a shrug.

“Kind of you to take them in,” Ilvander said.

“It’s nice that you think so,” she replied.

The dwarf looked troubled.

“So, where are these ladies? May we speak with them?” Ilvander asked.

“I don’t suppose we’ll be rid of you until you do,” she said looking a bit defeated. “As soon as the children finish with supper and I put them down to bed, we’ll see about your visit.”

“May I have your name?” Charity asked.

“Have? You may not have it!” the woman spat. “But you may call me Gaddis,” she offered with a curt nod.

The Companions stepped aside while Gaddis took care of the children’s supper.

“I don’t like this,” the dwarf muttered. “I don’t like this at all.”

“What’s that?” Charity asked.

“The children…I think they’re being fattened,” the dwarf scowled back over his shoulder at the old woman.

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions,” Vech said.

Soon after, the children had all been tucked away into the barn. Gaddis instructed the Companions that she’d be back soon and ducked into the central cottage.

“So I guess we just wait,” Dazen said.

“Or we could leave,” Vech suggested, looking out at the frogmen.

A short while later, she came back out looking a bit frazzled and with bloodshot eyes. “Soon,” was all she offered.

Then they were there. None of the Companions could recall exactly from where they came or how they appeared, but three hags loomed before them.

A coven! “Do not offend!” Vech hissed under his breath to the others, as he took cover behind them.

The hags were terrible things. Tall, yet bent. Misshapen and horrible to look upon, yet when one spoke, its voice was that of a beautiful young maiden, which made it all the worse.

“Why have you come?” the thinnest of the three said.

Ilvander swallowed once and stepped forward, “We’ve come from Noor’s Meadow where they have been suffering from the hauntings.”

The hag leaned in close and sniffed the monk. “Freeeeesh,” she said, a drop of drool forming on her lower lip. Her breath was rancid.

Ilvander took a step back and coughed uncomfortably.

“Awww, it doesn’t want to play,” the fattest said. Her head was covered by a blood-stained wicker basket. A large rucksack was hung across fat belly that was likewise soiled. A lifeless foot dangled out.

Charity’s hand started to move towards her sword, but Vech caught her wrist and whispered into her ear. “Attack and we are undone. We have not the means to deal with these three.”

She glared at the warlock, fire in her eyes. “Coward,” she whispered back.

Vech could only nod.

“But I’m so lonely!” the first replied. She looked at Ilvander again, “We could have babies!”

“Babies!” the third nearly shrieked with glee as she rose her hands up into the air as if praying for babies to rain from down from the dark sky.

“No,” Ilvander shook his head firmly, a scowl of his own.

“Very well, very well,” the first replied. “You seek the key and we can put you on your path. We have seen it.”

“Great, so put us on this path so we may be on our way already!” the dwarf said.

“That’s not how it’s done!” the fat one said. “We must enter into a pact.”

“Yes, yes,” the third intoned, “a pact!”

Vech shuddered.

“What kind of pact?” Orsik asked.

“You do us a favor and we will return in kind, of course,” the first explained.

“There is a beast that troubles the good people of Bramborough and it must be slain!” the fat one went on. “Go to the Ealdorman of the village and tell him that we have sent you to deal with his troubles. Do that, and the knowledge that you seek will be yours!” She thrust forward one of her meaty paws. Clutched within was a curved knife.

“What’s this for?” the monk asked.

“Athame,” Vech said. “A knife for tribute. Take it and let us be away from here!”

Ilvander took the knife and the party turned to leave.

“When you have completed the task, return the knife and the tribute to the stone,” Gaddis said, pointing at a large rock, with a flat top, nearby.

~