Carnifex's SH - Updated July 24th, Light and Questions

[Carnifex]

With more flies quickly taking place of those that Johanne had burned out of the air around them, the party once more found themselves besieged by pestering vermin across their faces and skin. Furthest down the corridor, Kale dodged and wove around the hulking armoured Kevayeki who faced him, drawing his weapons and feinting with agile skill to keep the man off balance.


The Templar who had ploughed into the ranks of the band roared a warcry to the pestilential deity he served, his voice reverberating out of the rusted copper filter helm he wore, and whipped the massive two-handed flail he bore around in a great arc that sent those nearby staggering backwards to avoid being pulped by the spikes it sprouted. Then Cazamir and Ebri came straight back at him, the woman's kama biting through the plate armour into his abdomen, and the Huronese monk's fists battering against his side to produce the desired sound of breaking bone. Still the warrior seemed barely fazed if he noticed the pain of the injuries at all, whipping the flail back round in another great arc that threatened to nearly crush Cazamir's skull if he wasn't nimble-footed enough to duck back at the right moment. Once Wyshira had finished casting a magic weapon spell on Sebastion's sword he was able to step forwards and attack as well, leading with the Rising Sun stance, and pivoting neatly on one heel to lunge with the opposite blade with one of his father's favourite attacks - Dragon's Tail - but his blades merely sparked and slid off the heavy armour the Templar was clad in.


Ebri continued to speak to the recording mimir that floated just outside the vicious melee, her voice surprisingly calm considering she was locked in mortal combat with a hulking plague-worshipper.


"...Greetings... The ward is well. I have revealed nothing as yet--" Stupidly-- she accused again, and threw herself forward into the attack, only to misjudge the attempt. She reeled back, gasping, as the pestilent flail whirred by her.


"She is protected by other companions-- she is not without her own defenses--
Still, more aid would be well--" Say what is most necessary-- "You must seek Karbal--" she added, and moved in for the next attack, shouting over the melee and the flies. "--or any of my brethren. I am a Nephian monk. I serve the Great Prophet--"


Now Melisande turned to stare at the "priestess". Suddenly all her half-suspicions seemed like idle, futile speculation. She should have known. She should have at least asked, instead of wondering and shrugging everything off. But what did it mean, "ward"?


No time. Mel actually shook her head--half to disengage the dozens of flies that had infiltrated her sleeve-barrier, and half to center herself back on the topic at hand, which was survival. The distraction did, on the other hand, help clear her mind of of the useless ideas it had been busy discarding and come up with one that might help.


Sleeve still pressed over her mouth, she pointed her finger at the rope Kale had thrown at one of the disease-priests where it trailed from his armored shin. With a simple spell she gave the rope a magical nudge, lifting a few feet of it from the floor and causing it to move around in a circle wide enough to entangle the legs of the disease-priest. She hoped he would be too busy with Kale's antics to notice until it was too late. With a crackle of magical energy, the mage hand was able to take advantage of the Templar's distraction to wind the rope further round his legs, but unfortunately the tiny strength of the telekinetic energy was simply too weak to bind the man up tightly with it, though it was clearly hampering his efforts to crush Kale with his fly-spewing flail.


Wyshira too had noticed the voice of Ebri Zol for the first time. She seemed to be ...... dictating - at the top of her lungs, oddly. Or was she shouting instructions to someone? Karbal? ...... Nephian monk?! ...... the Great Prophet?!?


Cazamir watched as Ebri faltered and was nearly brained by the templar's flail. He couldn’t comprehend why she was trying to recite her story while she should be concentrating on the enemy before her. He could probably get a few crucial strikes in while his armored foe finished her, but even he acknowledged that as a poor solution. As long as they could keep this one from advancing upon the spellcasters, Cazamir would do his best not to berate her.


"Keep circling him! Keep him off balance!" He hoped he she would hear that over her own voice. And so Cazamir followed the dance, avoiding the swinging head of the flail as best he could. He waited for the best opening when the templar focused on the female monk. Then he stepped forward with lightning-swift strikes, rapping against the armor.


Meanwhile, Ansas'Turi frantically worked her crossbow to send another bolt arcing out, this time at the Templar facing Kale; the missile just splintered against his armour. With that warrior being the only free target at the moment, the mages directed their firepower in that direction too. Burl sprayed him with lesser acid orbs, shimmering green globules hurled from his fingertips that smoked and hissed as they ate through both flesh and metal. Jarael wove more white lightning from his metal hands that darted across to lash the foe, scourging and flaying viciously. Johanne, rapidly running out of useful spells, could merely hurl a daze incantation that way, but the insanely resilient Kevayek worshipper just shrugged it off. With slick blood seeping from his injuries, his plate armour breached in several places, still the Templar seemed unwilling to give up his attempts to pulverise Kale. If anything, he looked bigger, angrier and more determined than before.


Jarvis dove forwards to assist Ebri, Cazamir and Sebastion against their assailant, one blade punching through the plates covering the warrior's hip but the other finding no weak spot through which to slip. Close by, Meg'anna wove a regenerative spell over herself as the air soothingly sounded with distant birdsong, and she could feel her flesh infused with energy to ward against whatever future damage she might be soon to suffer.


Even as the Carthagian mage-captain again found the defences of the foe he faced too much to penetrate, the Toranite proved his strength with another massive swing of his bladed mace. The heavy weapon crunched down against the same spot as he had hit before, shattering the shoulder of the Templar with a loud crunch and a spray of crimson blood. The man staggered away with a snarl of anger, one arm drooping uselessly as he struggled to keep his flail swinging with a grip of only one hand. The two religious zealots eyed one another with rage for a moment, and then the injured Templar struck back, bringing the spiked ball and chain in a vertical arc towards the head of the Toranite. A quick sidestep saved the man from a crushed skull as the weapon instead clanged off his heavy shoulder-plates, causing no visible injury.


Still a little way back from the melee, Gaethras paused to weave another protective spell over himself, an incantation of endurance to increase his own resilience. This looked like it was going to be a tough fight.



More to come...

 

[Angcuru]

Two updates in a row?! Aw, 'fex, you're spoiling us!

 

[Carnifex]

Be spoiled some more then




The Templar in the middle of the pack of adventurers continued to try and smash those facing him asunder, a torrent of flies still flowing from the barbed censer that he whirled in a circle of lethality. Using his weight and strength to force forwards, he made another sweep with his weapon; while Ebri dodged and Sebastion managed to fend of the weight ball and chain with his blades, this time Cazamir was not fast enough on his feet to avoid the spiked sphere crunching into him and knocking him back. Shedding a trail of blood specks as well as winged insects now, the weapon continued to arc round and impacted into Meg'anna, who had just come to the aid of her comrades, sending her reeling even as her druidic magic began to knit up the injury immediately. The final victim of the terrible attack was Jarvis, unable to withstand the sheer force of the strike as it wove round to hit him in the shoulder, but he was lucky the Kevayek zealot had not brought the weapon up slightly higher for it would have shattered his skull.


But the furious Templar was still surrounded and his foes quickly regained the initiative. Meg'anna's spear flared with magical flame as it struck his back-plate, punching through to inflict a shallow injury. The fire serpent, which had its fiery coils protectively near to its summoner up until now, decided that the approaching zealot was a threat to Melisande and moved in to attack as well, its white-hot fangs skittering off armour with a hiss and splash of liquid metal. Flies immolated themselves on its incendiary hide as it recoiled for another attack.


As her kama sliced into the belly of her enemy, Ebri paused in her dictation. As often happened to her in combat, her mind seemed far away, separate from her body, working its own patterns in isolation. What it thought now was This is odd. Unnatural, even for a religious zealot. It was not that she did not believe that fanatical idolators could withstand pain and injury-- berserkers were a well-attested phenomenon. Yet these fighters did not seem out of control. Simply very, very resilient.


As if, perhaps, the injury we do them only strengthens them. Observe, her mind began, as if embarking on a edificatory dialogue, that they worship disease and foul things, and by implication, death. Might then their normal order of inclinations be reversed?


If that held, what followed would lead her to a course of action that was a fearful risk, but...


Ebri tried her calculated gambit, reaching out to not harm but heal, the spell of cure light wounds leaving a trail of shimmering energy as she reached out to touch the man; she could not see any immediate effects for either good or bad, but it certainly didn't seem to have stopped or particularly hurt the Templar in any visible way.


DM's Note: Ebri's player rather suspected that the templars might actually be injured by positive energy and healed by negative energy - but unfortunately, she was wrong. Nice idea though - I'll have to steal it and use it at some point


Later, Sebastion realised, somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he would be irritated at how easily the templar had evaded his initial assault. Reliant on the weighty armour, he hadn't made any attempt to evade the strikes Sebastion sent his way, merely angling his body slightly to take the strikes on the broad expanse of scabrous plate.


It wasn't a conscious decision - in the forced calm of the Dance of Steel there were no conscious decisions, there was simply the flow of attack, defence and movement - but a shift of the feet took Sebastion from the techniques of the Air style to something more forceful. His feet shifted, his weight settling as he brought the twin blades into a vertical alignment, staring across the narrow vein of steel, and spoke quietly to his companions... "Take him to the floor..." he hissed through teetch clenched hard against the cloud of insects.


Then, in fearsome combination, Sebastion moved to trip the mighty warrior, assaulting the legs and ankles with a flurry of strikes, and Cazamir, Wyshira and Jarvis all took a part in the endeavour. With the combination of their effort, and with Sebastion's own strength augmented by Meg'anna's druidic magic, he was able to knock the Templar off balance and then with a final leverage they sent the armoured man clattering to the floor, skidding along the wet stone as he fell.


Slightly further down the corridor, the Carthagians continued their assault on the second Templar. The clogging clouds of flies meant that many of their attacks went astray, distracted by the mass of verminous things clustering over them, but the Toranite connected with another hit that knocked the Kevayeki man reeling, the clang of mace against armour resounding even over the humming of the insects. Now seriously injured, almost incapacitated despite the Templar's seemingly incredible resistance to pain, the man was forced to weave another spell that shrouded his hand in green energy, healing the most recent wound he had suffered. Then Gaethras threw another spell that Melisande recognised at the foe - a boneshatter incantation - that lashed out and crackled with dark energy across the man's form for a few moments. With a resounding crack the energy surged inwards and he began to convulse as it fractured his bones, and within a few moments he toppled onto the floor, incapacitated and unconcious. The Toranite stepped up to grant the final coup de grace.


Mel quickly left off with the grappling hook and the rope, which were not having as spectacular an effect as she had been hoping for, and decided to opt for something more useful. The part of her mind where the magic lived was already weakening, going numb like an overused limb. She knew she would not be able to conjure much more sorcery and had been conserving what was left of her mental spark for a more important foe, but these putrid priests were turning out more impervious to harm than they looked with their rusted-through armor.


First, though, she was worried about Kale. Quick as he may have been, he wasn't much of a match for that bladed flail if it ever connected. Mel tumbled Pierre out of her pocket and told him, Quit with the flies for long enough to take this spell to Kale, will you? Then she drew a big breath, held it, and lowered her protective sleeve to prepare another spell.


As Pierre tried to make his way along the tunnel to reach Kale, the diminutive amphibian realised with worry that Kale wasn't hanging around for him to reach. The man made a darting strike with the brine blade against the Templar he faced but was unable to find a weak spot even with the advantage his feint had given him, the acidic exudations of the sword merely etching a line across the armour. Then he easily broke free of the warrior and was backing off down the corridor, seemingly trying to lure the man along.


Ansas'Turi sent another bolt at the Templar lumbering after Kale, but the thick fog of flies made even seeing the figure difficult and it went wide. The same was true for the minor attack spells that Johanne and Jarael sent off at the zealot, but then Burl fished a vial of alchemists fire out of one of his pouches and hurled it with impressive accuracy. Kale, backing away from the hulking foe and his whirling flail, saw the glass container shatter against the Templar's back and illuminate his outline in a sudden corona of flame. Still, the man kept coming, breaking into a sudden charge that caught Kale off-guard, but the overhead swing that his attacker made with the spiked weapon was easy to see from a mile off and when the barbed head smashed downwards into the ground, sending flecks of chipped stone in all directions, Kale had already easily evaded it.


Next time: The battle and the aftermath. Sure to be interesting - after all, Ebri's just revealed she's an assassin from the near-mythical community of the Nephians. The others will have something to say about that

 

[Carnifex]

With a crunch, the Toranite zealot buried his bladed mace into the helm of the fallen Templar before him, spattering blood and shards of bone around as he caved the man's head in. The armoured body shuddered convulsively then fell finally still. The Templar that the mob of adventurers had ganged up on and knocked down also perished, slain by the tumult of strikes and hits from his assailants that quickly finished him off.


Ebri continued her dictation as the threat from two of the Templars was neutralized, and moved in pursuit to support Kale. She pondered how much she could tell without endangering Melisande's safety. After all, the mimir could repeat this tale to anyone; and who knew where the Dreamweavers sent their spies? She did not worry for her own safety: either her life would end soon, or she could deal with the ramifications later. She decided upon, "The ward is 'shadow-touched'. It may be that she will have an important role to play in a very ancient conflict. This is foreseen: it is why we protect her. Should I fall, you must seek my brethren, though it is likely they will seek you-- "


Only the injured Templar stalking off down the tunnel after the retreating form of Kale was left. The young mercenary, now wary and ready for any more charges by the hulking warrior, kept a good distance well from the swinging arcs of the flail. A hurled axe from Sebastion went wide, the cloying throng of flies in the air making aiming difficult, but a last barrage from the arcane spellcasters, a swarm of stinging bolts that struck true into the man's back, finally brought the Templar to the ground with a resounding crash.


The sounds of battle had faded but the swarms of flies still filled the space with the noise of their humming wings. The censer-flails of the fallen templars were still pouring forth the vermin, and though he himself was unaffected by such minor concerns as breathing being obstructed by the foul little things, Jarael the steamwork lich led the group forth beyond the clouds of flies into the clearer air further down the tunnelway.


Ahead it curved slightly, the buzz of flies behind paralleled by a new, low constant sound coming from around that curve.


"You can hear the machinery of the war engines ahead; the cultists are progressing in their plans to reactivate the emitter," Jarael explained. "There is not far to go now before we reach their base of operations, the node itself beneath the tower. The Umbrals built here, I believe, because of its location over a pool of chemical acids. It seems to act as a source of energy for their steamworks."


Nearby, Meg'anna's flesh continued to heal from her druidic magic, the tears inflicted by the Kevayek Templar's flail binding and sealing up to leave only faint scars fromt he wound.


"Ahead, we are likely to encounter the heart of the corruption. The daemons will doubtless already have informed their leader of the failure to stop our approach. They will be ready. However, the mother spirit is endeavouring to regain control of the warped crystal matrices of this part of the tower. The Hashrukkites influence has thus far prevented her from doing so, but with our intrusion she may be having more success at outwitting the machinations of the cult thaumineers."


As if in reaction to his words, lights suddenly flickered on, a dim glow emitting along a thin band of crystal on the walls two feet off the ground that seemed to run the length of the visible tunnel.


"And it seems that she has progressed."


Surprise at the sudden illumination wasn't enough to banish certain other questions from people's minds. Ebri was already receiving suspicious, even accusing looks by others. The mimir continued to hover quietly at her side, pinpricks of light in its eye sockets, but as it bobbed there it occasionally shifted and turned to throw what could only be interpreted as worried glances at the people around it.


Gaethras spoke first. "Not a shadowman, just a Nephian then," he said in a neutral tone.


Ebri had anticipated the relief of throwing off her jolly pleasant role, but the force of the feeling surprised her. How light she felt-- "It was you who made that assertion, not I. What I spoke was the truth. I am here at the bidding of my masters and ancient prophecy. I am assigned to protect Melisande and further her endeavors in whatever path she takes. Our prophecy indicates that she is of critical importance in the success or failure of nations. As she has joined you, and wishes to help your Motherland, that is my purpose, too."


"Fatherland," Melisande corrected flatly. There was nothing motherly about Carthagia under Toran. She found her hands were shaking as she dumped Pierre (who seemed to have doubled his weight) from the crook of her arm into her pocket, and not from relief at seeing the Templars perish at last--that had been inevitable. What had upset her was not the flies or disease-priests. It was Ebri Zol's confession, sinking in bit by bit. Melisande felt as if someone had yanked a rug out from under her and now they were all standing back smirking to watch her stumble.


"The lies are as thick as the flies here." Although she knew she was partly to blame for this, she could not keep an sharp edge of accusation from her voice as she turned on Ebri Zol. "So your enthusiasm for my quest didn't come from your heart, but from your orders. 'Whatever path she takes': in other words, 'humor her,' is that it?


"Well, mimir, why don't you add a little message for Karbal and the Nephians from me: first of all, I'm not 'shadowtouched', whatever that means, but 'planetouched', and I worship Naskha, not of some sneaky, spying Great Prophet, so they've got the wrong person. Second you tell them that the last thing I need are false friends to deceive, manipulate and humor me.


"You may not take me seriously, Ebri Zol, but Naskha does! He healed through my hands. I am his paladin, and I don't think he's just humoring me."


Through the noise of fury, a little alarm bell went off in her head. Her heart skipped a beat as she glanced quickly at Gaethras and the towering, inscrutable Toranite priest behind him. There had been a time in her life when she would have flinched and slunk away. Instead she raised a daring blue eyebrow at them as if to say, "You want to make something of it?"


"Ahem." She turned her fierce glance on Ebri Zol once again. Melisande's fury, girlish and hurt though it felt inside, came out with a force she was only partly aware of herself. It was unlikely anyone could tell by her stony expression and voice that all she could keep thinking was that she wanted to be away from this stinking dungeon and the hard-hearted, duplicitous people she'd thought were her friends. She wanted her mom. "I will accept your help against the Hashrukk cult, and after that you can go find whoever it is you're really supposed to be spying on and leave me alone. I'm no more your ward than you are my friend."


Sebastion reeled slightly, inwardly, though he gave no sign of it as he gathered up his axe and came close to the others to listen. For a moment his attention was fixed on the blade, seeking signs of damage from the impact with wall or floor - he'd been unable to tell which it had been amidst the swarms. Gradually, however, prompted by the conversation going on about him, he pieced together the fragments he'd heard, without actually listening, whilst fighting.


A Nephian!


There was always something odd about Ebri... Hellfire, there's been something odd about just about everyone I've met since I left home... I think Argus was probably the last normal person I met. Kale's the closest to normal I know, now, and that's... that doesn't bear thinking about. He stepped a little closer, feeling the tension in Mel, seeing the tautness of her shoulders as this compounded on the proximity of battle behind and danger before them.


She always seemed to speak with a little too much cleverness and not enough feeling, but.... a Nephian? Nevertheless - and despite the strong agreement he felt for the declarations Mel was throwing Ebri's way - this was not the time or the place for such a discussion.


"Calmly." he whispered in Mel's ear, resting a hand gently on her shoulder. "Don't let them see that you're agitated... still like the waters until the time comes...."


Perhaps it was the time for a reminder of their lessons, and perhaps not, but he hoped that the familiar words and sentiment would remind her that whatever might be happening with Ebri she was still amongst some friends....


Adrift in insecurity, Melisande might have been grateful for the anchor Sebastion offered, but now everyone who had happened to appear in the Drakkath forest at a time and place that had seemed accidental then, was now suspect--including Meg'anna and Sandslipper.


Sebastion's advice could be interpreted more than one way. Hadn't she seen him and Ebri talking quietly together more than once? And now she'd just discovered there was more to him than the average hired blade, as well: like Sandslipper, he'd done something with his mind against the Templars. With all her heart, Mel didn't want to be thinking what she was thinking. Still she could not allow the hand on her shoulder or the soft voice in her ear to quench any of her anger, even though she was dangerously close to tears. It was not a time to break down. There were other, much more vital tasks at hand. This could wait.


But Mel couldn't. "Did you know?"


"I thought..." he began, stood alongside her, eyes fixed along the corridor where the battle - the swords and steel battle - awaited.


Thought what?
... she cared more than that?
...she knew me better than that?


"I thought I'd made a better impression." he offered, before clenching his jaw shut and walking stiffly towards the fight, sword in hand.


"Does any of this really matter right now?" Wyshira interrupted. She sympathized with Melisande's feelings - the young aasimar had been deceived by someone she'd thought of as a friend. But now was not the time or the place to let Ebri Zol's revelation distract from them from their purpose.


Wyshira turned to Gaethras and the others casting suspicious glances in Ebri's direction. "Whoever she really is, she has so far fought with us, not against us. It seems likely that what she says about being Melisande's protector is true; and in that case I don't doubt that she will continue to be an ally against the Hashrukkites.


"Let's worry about the rest of it later."


"You are mistaken--" Ebri informed Melisande quietly, "--if you believe that I could hold any purpose nearer my heart than to fulfill my orders." She turned to the other priestess, Wyshira. "And you are correct-- each moment we delay gives the cultists more time to prepare their evil works. Let us go. You need not worry-- if I do not survive the battle-- as I thought a strong possibility-- you will have no need to consider what to do with me."


"Who cares what she is or where her allegiances lie outside this tower? She's obviously helping us fight against the cultists," Cazamir said as he turned to look straight in her eyes, "and I don't think she's stupid enough to do anything against us here. So leave the interrogations for a time when we can afford them."


He was heated. This ill-suited group was unraveling as they went. Even he found himself watching for betrayal by Gaethras so they could be dealt with. It would only be a matter of time before they made some move to seize their prize.


Cazamir walked over to look up at the visor of Jarael. "You said war engines. Please speak further on these. If I am to fight them, I would learn what I can in these few moments."


"I'm not sure that just walking away from this and ignoring it for the time being is a... wise move," Gaethras said quietly, the Manipulator brushing his hands over his dark robes to smooth them out and knock tired flies off. "I'm sure everyone here has heard of the Nephians, and their reputation. How can we trust one, no matter what she says her purpose is? Perhaps she plans to turn on us as we fight the Hashrukkites, wanting to doom us all? I for one am not too eager to suffer such a fate."


He paused, looking round at those assembled; Sebastion preparing to stride off, the barely contained emotions on Melisande's face, the calm features of Ebri herself, all the rest in various states of confusion or determination. "Ahem. If I might qualify my fears." Another pause. "Certain... excavations under Carthagia have led us to believe that the Nephians are allied with a species of... shadow demons, would be the best way to describe them. I think that they are the same as, or descendants of, the Umbrals. And, as I am sure you are aware, we are in an Umbral tower. Who knows what trickery a Nephian might be able to wreak on home ground such as this?"


At last Mel did burst into tears. All her young life, people had mocked and stigmatized her, children and even adults making sport of turning her gullibility against her. The only friend she'd had until striking out into the Drakkath, besides Pierre (but did he count for two?), was her own mother. How did one know when or how to trust someone? Other people still surprised and mystified her--especially right now.


Ebri's response seemed like a very distant and glacial way of saying she did actually care, besides being ordered to do so. Mel supposed she could accept that--it wasn't all that far off from the way her mother had always treated her. Mel realized then that it wasn't Ebri who'd humiliated her, it was herself as usual, blurting out accusations and wearing her insecurity like a blazon, and now it looked like she'd hurt Sebastion's feelings too. She went from flaming fury to timid hurt and embarrassment in a flash. Even Wyshira was impatient with her. She sniffled, dabbing her eyes with her sleeve before realizing there were blotches of disease-priest fluid and crushed flies all over it.


Gaethras inadvertently lent her a little clarity, however.


Excavations under Carthagia... shadowtouched... Nephians allied with shadow-demons... descendants of Umbrals... He was stating the equation and she was putting two and two together. Ebri Zol was turning out to be a pivotal variable.


Mel looked at him, not an old friend but as close to it as she had in Carthagia--an aquaintance who had never been cruel--and then at Ebri Zol. The Nephian. The assassin. Her heart knew which side she would take if it came to a fight. The thought struck her, as if in answer to her question how one knew when or how to trust, that no one in the world could ever be trusted absolutely. It was a question of faith.


She waited until Jarael finished his explanation to Cazamir before she spoke, voice thick with emotion but clearing just as her mind was. "None of us can trust any of the others, Gaethras--you, the lich, the Nephian, me--but we still have to work together against a common threat. Since I seem to be the reason for her presence among us, whatever happens I will take responsibility for Ebri Zol's actions. Likewise I will also defend her. I suggest we make use of her unique knowledge and talents, as well as her sincere willingness to help us here, and ask our questions later--of her and of each other."


Jarael, gaze fixed on Ebri, didn't even turn his head to look at Cazamir as he answered the Huronese man's question. "The war engines are the pieces of machinery in the bowels of this place that make up the tower's weapon systems. They are not individual devices of battle, though there may be some of those down here as well. The mother spirit is informing me that she may have located a dormant cache of Umbral constructs, slaughterers, nearby. There may be active ones down there as well."


Ebri had been about to counter Gaethras with a number of responses: Why should we-- and how important was the word 'we'-- she noticed how quickly the Carthagian mage had appropriated it-- trust you any more than me?


Had I wished to negatively affect the outcome of this expedition, the most effective tactic would have been to effect your death in battle. Your magical aid was crucial in both of these encounters. I could have done it without damaging the inherent unity of this group I have already established a relationship with, whom I would then supposedly lead to their deaths--


Of course, the ignorant and uninformed will demonize anything they do not understand. And that is not without use for us-- the rumors of our evil and trickery are in large part spread by us. Terror, misapprehension, and a fearsome reputation are powerful weapons for a relatively small group such as we are...


But then, she was spared saying anything, as Melisande intervened and said her piece. Although she kept her placid and calm face, Ebri still felt a strange swell of... what? The feeling was hard to define. Accomplishment? Recognition?


It is the feeling one has when a part of the Plan, the Purpose is revealed. By faith, she believed wholeheartedly that the Prophet's Plan was perfect and unfailing; that her judgement could not compare. It was her part to execute her orders faithfully, though not unthinkingly. As she had criticized herself only a small while earlier, to accomplish her assignment well should mean examining that assignment in depth, and all its implications. She had fallen behind in that, though perhaps a chance would be given now to make the distance up.
She should believe wholeheartedly. Though talented, disciplined, and highly trained, she was still a mortal human, and subject to doubt. The Plan was unfailing; but to the believer the moments of greatest joy would be the glimpses of confirmation. The marker on the road, she thought, surprised to think in Immarian terms when she was so glad to be giving up the hated role, that says 'This is the right path'...


She had seen glimpses now and again of evidence that Melisande was worth the trouble this assignment entailed, but for the most part, it had been difficult to see why the Old Masters should think this talented but scatterbrained and emotionally volatile girl of such import. Compared to those small revelations, this was like a mustard plant next to its seed. Wisdom. Leadership. As some would say it roughly: Guts.


Great Prophet, your imperfect servant is grateful for your beneficent gift of revelation-- she prayed. Outwardly, she nodded, and only reiterated what she had told Melisande. "You are shadow-touched."


To Gaethras she said,"What you say is fascinating. I would be interested to hear more of these excavations, should we both survive. We know as little of Umbral culture as the rest of these scholars. As for demons, I assure you, it is a god that guides us, and not infernal entities."


With that, she shook her wrap loose of flies, glanced along the length of her kama, and prepared to follow Sebastion's example.



Next Time: Sending out the scouts...

 

[Angcuru]

Just caught something. In post 101, wyshira casta Magic Weapon on seb's sword. Isn't it in some way magical already? Just something that confuses, nothing majorific.

 

[Camris]

And a BUMP!

No Text!

 

[Carnifex]

Just caught something. In post 101, wyshira casta Magic Weapon on seb's sword. Isn't it in some way magical already? Just something that confuses, nothing majorific.

Well, to be fair, Seb himself doesn't really understand what's going on with his sword (or these strange headaches he's started to get recently)

 

[Broccli_Head]

Am I there yet?

 

[Carnifex]

Am I there yet?

We're getting there!

Sorry about the game hiatus, I should have net access from home fairly soon now and then - hopefully - we can continue apace...