The Ancient Paths - Path I

Following the Gods

“I have sent runners to the High Clerics of Tyr throughout the Silver Marches to inquire about this ‘Lost Vault,’” the flame-haired councilor reports gruffly.
“I would not question your premonitions, High Cleric, but you have told us very little about your vision…” another lets the unvoiced question hang around the Council in the Longhall of Tyr.
“I know as little as you, Brother Beorn,” the High Cleric Hroar Kraki answers solemnly. “That is why I call upon the Just Moot. With the wisest of the Clergy gathered, perhaps we can gain more insight into this escalating danger outside of Silverdown.”
The thick-armed and bearded members of the Council sit in silence for a few moments considering the prospect of the Just Moot; the first since the founding of the Longhall of Tyr in Silverymoon. The other churches in Silverymoon would surely raise a scandal with the Lady Alustriel for allowing so many of the battle priests to meet in the middle of the peaceful city.
“Braggi reports that he has found the cave of Logbrag and has found the ogre dead,” one of the older councilors with a puckered scar down the left side of his face says to break the apprehensive silence.
“Your nephew and his companions have done a great service to the honor of Tyr,” Beorn comments, “but I think it is time that he return to the Longhall and continue his studies. Hrolf’s faith has been…questionable. I wonder if he follows the Just Father with all of his heart or is only after glory…?” Beorn was the newest and youngest member of the Council. If anyone’s faith was “questionable,” it was his.
“You slight the High Cleric with your skeptical talk!”
Hroar raises a hand to calm the torrent before thunderheads have time to build.
“Tyr will Judge him.”

~ Hrolf ~

The cleric of Tyr rises from his stony bed in the cavern once occupied by Slazzik Balefire and his personal guards. The flickering torches along the walls provide ample light for Hrolf to see his wounds are nowhere near fully healed. In some places the makeshift bandages still glisten with the red of fresh blood.
Beyond the pain, a new strength can be felt, as if the divine powers of the immortal gods were bottled and stored in Hrolf’s soul. The power of Tyr.
A tingling sensation builds in Hrolf, stretching for release. Afraid the divine energy will boil him from the inside out, Hrolf covers his heart with his hands and prays. The tingling feeling seems to flow out from his hands and round on his heart.
The pain is gone, and all that is left is the strength.

Following the Magic

“Get rid of her,” Ali’Shaun snaps at the bowing servant from behind his reading desk. The book held open in front of him covers all of his expression except for his eyes. The servant twitches nervously at the hate radiating from those orbs and waits to see if the Circle Leader would command anything else from him. The dark-haired woman reclining in the plush chair in a corner waves the slave away, which he anxiously obeys.
“She may be worth more alive than dead, Master Ali’Shaun…” the beautiful wizard consults behind batting eyelashes.
“She will not speak!” he snaps at his student with no less malice. He quickly clears his throat to get a hold on himself. She was an assassin, even if she was his pupil.
“You misunderstand me,” she continues with a devious grin. “Resale value?”
Ali’Shaun looks over his book at her in surprise. Sometimes Cithara’s cold demeanor sent a chill even through him, and his heart could freeze a white dragon’s egg.
“You wanted to speak about your message from the Citadel. So…?” he asks, turning his attention back to the tome on his lap.
“Some of the Lords are in an uproar concerning the dissension of Artemis Entreri…” Cithara begins with an expectant look. Ali’Shaun just looks on ineffectually. The Circle Leader doesn’t concern himself with the inner dealings of the Citadel of Assassins. In truth, most of the Red Wizards of Thay only use the Assassin’s Guild as a last resort. A blade of magic in the dark can kill just as effectively as one of steel.
“Lord Hans wishes me to return to Anauroch to do some…field studies,” she summarizes curtly.
“Absolutely not,” Ali’Shaun says without even considering the prospect. He ignores the narrow-eyed stare she returns him. “I have more important quarry for you.”
“Your apostate again?” Her sweet tone could strangle a darkmantle.
“No. Someone else.”

~ Nae’talis ~

A dream. What else could explain the myriad colors and emotions flowing around the cavern walls?
A face wrought in pain and agony bubbles out of a stalagmite in front of the dreaming Nae’talis. A familiar face. What was his name? Oh, yes. Belgal. The slave.
His lifeless eyes stare at the mage pleadingly, begging for release. For freedom.
Freedom didn’t stack up to what he thought it would, apparently.
Before the young mage could further relish the thought of the dwarven warrior begging to return to a life of servitude, wispy black tendrils creep around his ankles and slowly wrap his legs in a chilling grasp. The mage smirks and sends a stream of magical energy at the tendrils. He’d never done that before. A new spell?
The tendrils aren’t defeated so easily and the mage’s calm look of defiance quickly shifts to one of panic. The black wisps wrap themselves all around the wizard and pull him to the ground forcefully.
Nae’talis wakes in a cold sweat, looking around wildly. Hrolf sits by his pallet, deep in meditation. The elf is nowhere to be seen.

Following the Shadows

Syrriel looks at her two Justiciar guards with scorn. She was quite capable of looking after herself. She made it this far, didn’t she?
Braggi seemed the type to be an over-protective father. If he ever had any children of his own, he would find chains only made escape easier.
The blonde Harper was under careful watch ever since Braggi came upon her camp outside of the cave in the night. The half-giant Tyrran went from cruel interrogator, to wizened admonisher, to fatherly guardian in the few minutes it took Braggi to figure out what Syrriel was doing here.
“I am on official business, sir. I cannot allow you to detain me any further!” A lot of good that did; if anything, it only made the towering commander more adamant about her security.
The sun was just coming up over the horizon, and the Tyrran camp was beginning to stir from a collective restless sleep. Something about the cave didn’t feel right. Even the Justiciars seemed nervous about making camp in plain view of its gapping maw.
Braggi and a few of the ranking members of the small legion where standing outside of the only tent in the campsite. One of them was pointing over at the group of mercenaries, barking in the Dwarven tongue about something her elven ears couldn’t make out.
Send in the fodder. Of course. A good leader doesn’t risk the lives of his men… she thinks to herself contemptuously.
“Father Braggi would have you report to him as soon as you are ready, Lady Syrriel,” one of her Justiciar guards, Harad, says between a yawn. The other looks at her as a bailiff would a convicted criminal.
I haven’t done anything. He couldn’t know the Harpers didn’t send me… She bites her bottom lip worriedly and glances between the two pillars of righteousness, considering making a break for it.
“You’re ready enough to run. You’re ready enough for Braggi,” the bailiff booms with a warning glare.
“Yes, I’m ready,” she says, making it sound as if it were her decision. The guards lead her over to the tent just as the group of commanders begins to disessemble. Braggi peers down at the elven maid from a throne of shoulders.
“You lied, Lady Syrriel.”

~ Hildor ~

Hildor stirs before the others; his elven heritage allowing him to take less sleep than either the mage or cleric.
Feeling restless and not sure how much longer the others would be asleep, Hildor double checks the things they found in Slazzik’s chamber and on the grotesque kobold’s person. The red-gold holy symbol of a foreign god still sits atop the other items undisturbed. Under it rests a set of bracers that seem to glint with magical energy, an exquisite pearl no normal clam could produce, and a gnarled orange wand the spell-slinging kobold leader used so generously.
After satisfying himself of the safety of the others, Hildor begins to wander quietly down the cavern tunnel into the large chamber to the south. In his magical torch light, Hildor can see the silhouettes of stacks of weapons on the far end of the chamber.
A large well-crafted axe of dwarven make rests carelessly on the rocky floor in the center of the room.

Following the Blood

“The High Cleric wouldn’t want you going in there alone, Braggi!” the Justiciar veteran pleads to his half-giant commander, two heads shorter than the towering Tyrran. “Don’t let vengeance cloud your judgment!”
“I couldn’t save my boy, but I can’t leave Hroar’s in there defenseless!” the giant man proclaims bitterly.
“Hrolf is hardly defenseless, Braggi. Listen to reason.”
“Send in the sell-swords to scout out the cave, at least,” another lieutenant adds. The ad hoc leader of the mercenary band scowls behind an armored faceplate at the lieutenant, obviously not happy about being the first in the cave.
“That’s what we’re paying them for.”
“Ye ain’t payin’ me fer to get the whole lot o’ me boys gutted and spiked like those poor souls in Silverdown!” the mercenary explains gruffly, pointing at the cave as if it were the bane of mercenaries everywhere. His dwarven features make his grizzled attitude all the more intimidating.
“We’ll double your pay.”
“Done.”
The group of leaders exchange quiet nods and disperse among the camp to rouse the soldiers. Braggi looks to the veteran Justiciar next to him as the elven maid is escorted over to him with a resigned sigh.
“You’re sure the Harpers had no idea?”
“Enellienen didn’t even know Syrriel had returned to Silverymoon.”

~ Dowkan ~

“Gid up, ya louts!” Captain Grogor bellows over the sleeping heads in the mercenary camp situated a little ways away from the Tyrrans’. He puts a boot in Dowkan’s ribs, nudging him forcefully to consciousness. “The battle priests want fer us to explore the cave first. I’ll be double-damned if I’m to go inta tha’ devil-pit, so I’ll offer another ten gold to any who would!”
He reaches down and grabs Dowkan by the scruff of his shirt, easily lifting the younger sell-sword to his feet.
“Good lad. Who else o’ ya?” A few of the dwarves grumble suspiciously about Grogor’s generosity, but none would want the newbie warrior to go in alone, so a few hands raise reluctantly. “Get goin’ then!”
Dowkan and the others breakfast on hardtack and gather their gear for the hopefully quick foray into the cave. At the entrance, a Justiciar guard hands out lighted torches for the dwarven mercenaries.
“Drop them as you go,” he says. He must not be as ignorant about dwarves as they thought he was. “We’ll follow in twenty minutes.”
The group moves into the cave, past a dead ogre in the first chamber, and into a much larger cavern complex beyond. One of the veteran dwarves starts issuing commands among the group and they split up to explore the side passages in parties of two or three.
Dowkan and a gray-haired warrior nick-named Sunder move down a passage leading to the east. The sound of running water can be heard as they make their way up a sloping tunnel.

hippocrachus said:

Dowkan and a gray-haired warrior nick-named Sunder move down a passage leading to the east. The sound of running water can be heard as they make their way up a sloping tunnel.

Click to expand...

Dropping his torch, Dowkan smoothly draws a throwing axe in his right hand as the move cautiously along. "I'm not likin' this," he mutters quietly to Sunder. "And I'm not just talkin' 'bout th' smell of the ogre either," he adds for clarification. "Can't be a good sign anytime th' Captain wants to throw good money around for a job. What's he know that we don't?" he adds, scanning the passage ahead of them. "It'll probably teach me a lesson to not get volunteered next time." he adds as he spits on the ground.

Damned elf... the thought running through Nae'talis' mind as if a practiced response by now.

The young wizard balked mentally at the feeling of being sweat-soaked from sleep, a phenomena he had not experienced much in his two short decades of life. So much yet to accomplish... Then he thought of Belgal. His thoughts were simply everywhere and he was certainly not accustomed to such a feeling of disorientation. This simply would not do...

The fact that the dwarf slave had not returned to him by now only left two likely scenarios, neither of them positive. Either he had taken his chance and fled, or perished somewhere in the caves. He had already come to terms with the possibility and what regret he felt he did now allow to show on the outside. It had been many years since he had been on his own. Alone. The Red Wizards would have an advantage now if they came for him, for what little protection this bunch could provide now with Belgal gone. Nae'talis blew air dismissively from his lips at the thought of the elf and as his gaze fell on the cleric he could only shrug. That man hardly said a word; it was as if he wasn't even there half the time anyway.

So he was alone after all. He had almost forgotten the empty feeling that came with that state of being. Almost. Perhaps it was time he moved on without a servant at his side. He was fully capable of dressing himself in the morning, he just cared not to. The assortment of other tasks that Belgal performed for him were a convenience as well but he was always able to carry them out himself. He noticed with a rare pang of... guilt, was it? It was the companionship he would most likely miss. He grimaced irritably at the thought of admission, even if it was privately, to himself.

He sighed inwardly as he reached for his spellbook. As he set about preparing his spells for the day he was shocked to discover a multitude of spells inscribed in his book that were not there the day before. His eyes became slits as his suspicions flared. Who could have done this? He quickly dismissed any of his companions. It was not Hrolf's type of magic and he was not even sure that Hildor could read a book much less write in one; far beyond constructing the complex magical runes that filled page after page as the young wizard flipped through with scrutinizing eyes.

After vowing to stay more vigilant when it came to protecting his belongings and memorizing his spells Nae'talis picked himself up off the ground and walked over to the pile of items relinquished from the kobolds. Kneeling by the pieces he picked up each one in turn, attempting to discern any possible magical properties they might hold.

[sblock] Spellcraft +9

~

Current buffs:

~

Spells Remaining:

Level 0 (4 + 1)

Detect Magic **
Ray of Frost ***

Level 1 (2 + 1 + 1)

Color Spray *
Mage Armor *
Magic Missle **

Level 2 (1 + 1 + 1)

Aganazzar's Scorcher *
Melf's Acid Arrow *
Scorching Ray *[/sblock]

~ Nae'talis ~

When the young mage opens his spellbook, a sound almost like a soft moaning escapes the crisp white pages. It fades quickly and leaves Nae'talis with the impression that he imagined the whole thing and this was probably all to do with not sleeping in a real bed for some time.
The script the newest spells are written in are not his own for sure; the long flowing hand gives the illusion of movement, the characters seem to writhe and bend in places he glanced at moments before without noticing.
Checking the scrolls in his possession, Nae'talis flips through page after page of blank browned parchment.
If this was a miracle, the gods had better not expect some sacrifice from him. He didn't ask for it, even if it was welcome.
Walking over to the small pile and running a critical eye over the items in it, Nae'talis can tell almost immediately that the large pearl is a Pearl of Power. Most mages in Thay carried a few. For the ugly kobold to have one is a surprise. It is definitely the weakest form of the valuable arcane supplement.
The other items are obviously magical, except for the holy symbol, but Nae'talis can only guess at their hidden powers.

~ Dowkan ~

"Next time ye bloody keep yer ugly face cover'd when ya sleep," the burly veteran grumbles as the two dwarves make it to a subterranean stream.
"Grogor ain't one to notice them that don't wanna be noticed," he continues with a sharp laugh. "He's got an eye fer coin and nothin' more."
Sunder walks up and down the stream cutting the vaulted cavern looking for a safe place to cross. The floor of the cavern has blood stains in areas, but there are no other signs of battle. A cold fire pit is situated in the center of the past confrontation.

hippocrachus said:

Sunder walks up and down the stream cutting the vaulted cavern looking for a safe place to cross. The floor of the cavern has blood stains in areas, but there are no other signs of battle. A cold fire pit is situated in the center of the past confrontation.

Click to expand...

Dowkan simply spits again and grunts in agreement to Sunder's words. "I'll make sure I'm sleepin' further from the Captain next time," he says as he eyes the cavern and then the stream.

[SBLOCK=OOC for Hippocrachus]How wide is the stream? Dowkan has a +3 Jump skill modifier and would attempt a 10ft running leap with some confidence, if the stream isn't too deep (Swim check -3).

He also has Knowledge (dungeoneering) +7 and Survival (underground) +3 if that matters in this situation to try and identify what they may face[/SBLOCK]

~ Dowkan ~

"Aye, see tha' ya do, Dowkan. Ya see tha' ya keep yerself busy wi' the washin' up too when Grogor is in the mood ta send the lot o' us off on some fool expedition. I dunno what a youngin' like yerself is doin' so far from home, but ya see tha' ya don't get yerself killed, ya hear?" Sunder had a grandfatherly appeal to him, but what was young to him wasn't young to dwarves 200 years his junior.
Dowkan estimates the stream to reach about 15 feet wide. Jumping across would need a good running start, and the cavern complex had floors slipperier than slime. Most likely, Dowkan would fall flat on his face if he tried to take a stride more than five feet at a time.
A few practically placed stones provide a path across the stream closer to one end of where the water cuts the cavern in half.

"Come on ya ol' man'," says Dowkan. "We can build some stepping stones across that slower part there," he adds pointing to a likely spot.