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Curse of Darkness VII - Britania
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<blockquote data-quote="Greenfield" data-source="post: 5934198" data-attributes="member: 6669384"><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">*** </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">Penn looked around, finding his surroundings both familiar and strange. He was on a road, leading down, with many other people around him. The pain of his wounds was gone, and the cold no longer bothered him. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">And he knew he was dead. All at once it became clear. This was the path to the underworld, the road he had walked once before in the flesh. But it was somehow different. Instead of being part of the stream of spirits flowing down, he found the other spirits milling around, looking lost.</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"Why aren't we moving?", Penn asked the nearest one, a balding man in a toga.</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"I don't know.", the man said. "I was hoping to see my wife in Elysium, but I can't seem to get there."</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"The line hasn't moved for days that I've been here.", added a woman who was listening. </span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"Weeks, or so I've heard.", put in a third man. "The gates of the Underworld are closed. No one knows why."</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">Penn felt a shiver run down his spine. Weeks? It was just about that long ago that he and the others had destroyed the Betrayer's Blade, fetched from this very path. </span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">He began to ask soul after soul how long they had been there, and while many were uncertain about the passage of time in the sunless realm, the time the gates had closed seemed to be painfully close to the destruction of that weapon.</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">Then a thought came to him. If the paths of death wouldn’t take him…</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">*** </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"He's alive, though I don't see how.", Marcus declared, examining the torn remains of the Bard. His ribs were shattered, his flesh torn so deeply that his beating heart was exposed. It had pumped his body dry of blood, and now convulsed spasmodically, as if trying to lie down and give up, but was somehow denied that rest.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">Seeburn was leaning against a tree, exhausted but conscious. His body tingled from head to toe with the aftereffects of the battle rage, his mind in that oddly numb state that follows when the madness has spent itself. And in this state it seemed perfectly natural that a man nearly torn in half could live, if you could just put those halves back together again.</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">And that was what Marcus was busily doing, pouring healing magic into the ragged, broken form just as quickly as he could. </span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">Sylus was using the second healing wand to tend to his own wounds, as well as Imagina's and Seeburns. </span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"This wand's virtue is nearly spent.", he warned the Cleric. "We've drawn on the god's blessings perhaps more than we should."</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"This wand isn't any better.", agreed Marcus. "But somehow, it's enough."</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">And Penn opened his eyes. For long moments he was seeing both worlds, the bitter, bloodstained snowscape of wintery northern Britania, and the sunless road to Hades' shadowed realm. Of the two, Britania was the less inviting.</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"Why?", he asked hollowly. "Not what, just why."</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"What do you mean?"</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"Why am I alive? Why is Death's Door closed?"</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"Okay, you need to explain that question.", Marcus said firmly. "But not here. The smell of death is too strong here. Wolves will come, and we're in no shape to fight them. Let's move."</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">*** </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">It took some time to gather the scattered horses. Caleb was back in the cart nursing sore ribs and a lump on his head, but declined the offer of ice to take away the swelling. Somehow it just didn't seem funny under the circumstances.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"So you think that the sword was tied to this somehow?", Imagina asked gravely.</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"Aye, either our removing it from the dark road, or plunging into the sun's fire. I couldn't pin the date down any closer than that, but that's about when the way seems to have been barred. I couldn't reach the front of the line to be sure."</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">Then, turning to Seeburn, he smiled. "I may have some good news for you, by the way. I ran into a couple of friends of yours on the road. They're going to try and return the same way I did. Since we just finished their wake the other day, if the pyres haven't been lit yet they may be waiting for you when you get home."</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"We mourn for three days.", Seeburn warned. "They may or may not have been sent to the charnel house by now. I honestly don't know."</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"Well, hope for the best.", Penn said, wondering what would happen if the burnt ashes rose again. He also wondered if they would be welcomed back as easily as his friends accepted him. But though he walked in the open air, he had the feeling that when the way to the next life was open again, he'd be called back there. </span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">*** </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">Sylus spied the thin curl of blue smoke before he smelled it, for the winter chill had numbed some of his senses. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">Overhead Blackie soared, wary now of the sky above as well as the world below. He had returned alone, bloodied but intact. What had happened to his pursuers none knew, and he himself wasn't talking.</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">But Blackie showed no fear of whatever the source of that smoke was, and Sylus knew that it was the trace of a single fire, which meant a small camp rather than a large group of refugees.</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">He spurred his horse forward, steering him carefully between the low drifts and the bare trees. Jostling the trees might cause a snow cascade, which would give his position away, and he didn't want to be seen before he himself saw the camp.</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">Peering through the winter wood, he saw a welcome sight. It was a Gypsy caravan, dug in against the snow.</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">Better still, he saw at least one man he knew, chopping wood for the fire.</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"Theobold!", he called. "Well met, friend."</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">The burly Traveler looked up in surprise and laid down his axe. "Sylus? What brings you to Britania?"</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"We're headed south right now. Why are you here? What happened to the rest of the troupe?"</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"After Florence, it seemed best that some of us known to be moon marked be, well, hard to find.", he explained. "The families often trade workers amongst themselves, so it was no problem. Bela will be glad to see you. I think he was sweet on Apellenea."</span> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">"Ah, well, she's not with us any more. She had to take a different road.", Sylus said sadly. "But let me tell the others who I've found. We can share tales around a warm fire."</span> </p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'">[FONT=&quot]*** </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">The road into Carlisle was silent. The cold of winter had quieted the few birds that remained, and the presence of riders drove all other living things into hiding. The riders all wore thick scarves of wool across their faces, and even the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves were muffled by snow on the road, leaving only the creak of leather saddles and the soft huffing of the horses themselves.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">The Gypsies had told them many tales of the horrors of Carlisle, some of which might actually be true. They’d also sold them a few things they’d “salvaged” from the city, and though it had seemed as if the companions had bargained well, somehow their purses were feeling very light indeed.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“Grikka said that there was a giant in the city, one who was eating the flesh off people’s bones while they were still alive.”, Marcus said, ticking off the tales they’d heard.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“I doubt it.”, replied Sylus. “Most people would die after the first bite. Besides, Giants like their food cooked.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“Bella said that there was plague, a horrible festering death for all who lived there.”, continued Marcus.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“Then who would have lived to tell the tale, and who would have gotten close enough to hear of it?”, questioned Penn.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“Theo said there were undead patrolling the streets day and night, servants of a great necromancer.”, Imagina said.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">No one had a counter for that one, and the silence hung in the air for an uncomfortable length of time.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“Tobias spoke of cultists who tried to summon a fiend, and failed. The monster rampaged through, killing those he could and driving the rest away.”, Cassius said, trying to get the discussion rolling again.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“Possible. I suppose it depends on the type of fiend they were calling.”, Marcus said after a moment of thought.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">As they approached the city itself they saw small camps scattered about, and decided to risk direct conversation. Penn went in with Cassius and Imagina, while the others decided to scout about.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“Hallo the camp!’, called Penn, as they approached one.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“Hallo, strangers.”, came the reply. The man who had spoken appeared at first to be fairly fat, until you saw his face, which was thin and bony. Then it became apparent that he was wearing layer upon layer of clothing to try and stave off the cold. He eyed the party, well dressed, well fed and well armed, and stepped aside with an air of resignation, inviting them into the small circle of shelters.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“We’ve nothing worth stealing, so if you’ve come to rob us you’re wasting your time.”, he said bitterly, indicating the ragged oval of makeshift tents, perhaps a dozen in number.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“We’re not bandits, friend.”, Penn assured him. “We’re just travelers hoping to share your fire, and perhaps a bit of news.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">As the Half Satyr unwrapped his heavy scarf, the man’s face blanched, and he began to shake with fear. “Take what you will, but leave us in peace.”, the man all but begged.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“What’s wrong friend?”, Penn asked, his voice heavy with concern. “I told you, we aren’t bandits, and we mean you no harm.” But he realized that his words were falling on deaf ears. The man was all but petrified. Then he saw others in the camp openly staring at him, while many were moving to the far end of the small compound.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“You have the city, what more do you want?”, a woman called, drawing a small child under her snow sodden wrap.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“I think you may have me confused with someone else.”, Penn said, making an elaborate show of empty hands. “I’ve not visited your city before, much less taken it. I’m just a wandering minstrel seeking a warm bed, a cold drink, and to share news of the road.” He opened his outer wrap to show his colorful performer’s garb, and brought out his seashell adorned lyre.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“It sounds as if you have news worth sharing.”, he continued, once he had dismounted. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“What pit spawned you, foul one.”, spat an old man, brandishing the silver kettle of the Dagda, one of the local deities.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">Penn carefully leaned forward and kissed the holy item. “I hail from Greece, actually, and it isn’t at all foul.”, he joked, trying not to laugh at the look of wonder on the holy man’s face.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“B-but… you should be burned.”, the man stammered in confusion.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“If I were indeed a fiend of the pit, I would be. Of course, if I were such a fiend I wouldn’t be freezing my cloven toes off out here in the cold and wet, now would I?”, the Bard continued, still trying to lighten the mood. “Now, if you want foul pits, I know a few. I just left Dumphries, to the north, for example.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">That drew a small, involuntary chuckle from some of the children, who had doubtless been raised on tales of their “evil” neighbors up the coast.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“No, I’m no fiend at all, just a wandering Fey striving to keep body and soul together in hard times. But it sounds as if you have better tales to tell than I, so I’ll tell you what. I’ll share what I have of bread, cheese and a bit of wine, if you’ll share your fire with me, and we’ll both tell our stories.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">And so the evening began. Once the people there understood that, despite his horns and narrow boney face, he wasn’t some Devil come to steal their souls, things lightened up considerably.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">*** </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">Sylus worked his way along the trail, following the tracks in silence. The heavy snow made these so plain that he could have tracked them at a full run, but he didn’t want to run into his quarry before he was ready.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">He counted at least six sets of tracks, and there may have been more. Their faltering and irregular pace showed in their footprints, and spoke of exhaustion and possibly illness. He followed, keeping both his eyes and ears open.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">In the distance he saw an elk spring away. It was far from the magnificent forest prince one might normally think of, for his frame was drawn and gaunt, and his coat ragged with heavy winter fur pulling off in tufts. He fled, burning precious reserves to escape a desperate hunter. Sylus continued on the trail at hand.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">He came upon them, huddled in a pack, standing around one of their own who had fallen in the hunt. They were as ragged and gaunt as the Elk he’d seen, and had that tinge of madness in their eyes, the haunted hollow look that an only empty belly can give. They turned as one when he revealed himself, unsure if they should charge or strive for an escape.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“Well, I wondered who was trying to run down an Elk on foot. Now I know.”, he said quietly as he slung his bow.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">“Can you help us?”, one of the men asked, indicating their fallen companion. “We haven’t eaten in days.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">Without a word, the master archer reached for his pack and pulled out carefully wrapped parcels of salted beef and hard biscuit. He held them up so they could see what he had, then tossed them towards the group.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">The refugees almost fell over themselves to reach the provisions, and began to tear into them with almost rabid abandon. “Bless you, traveler.”, one of them called between bites.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">Only one man tried to help the fallen woman, sharing his own portion with her. Sylus smiled, and knew who he was going to be talking to.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">As the people ate, he began to build a fire.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"></span>[/FONT]</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Greenfield, post: 5934198, member: 6669384"] [FONT=Arial]*** Penn looked around, finding his surroundings both familiar and strange. He was on a road, leading down, with many other people around him. The pain of his wounds was gone, and the cold no longer bothered him. And he knew he was dead. All at once it became clear. This was the path to the underworld, the road he had walked once before in the flesh. But it was somehow different. Instead of being part of the stream of spirits flowing down, he found the other spirits milling around, looking lost.[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] "Why aren't we moving?", Penn asked the nearest one, a balding man in a toga.[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] "I don't know.", the man said. "I was hoping to see my wife in Elysium, but I can't seem to get there."[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] "The line hasn't moved for days that I've been here.", added a woman who was listening. [/FONT] [FONT=Arial] "Weeks, or so I've heard.", put in a third man. "The gates of the Underworld are closed. No one knows why."[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] Penn felt a shiver run down his spine. Weeks? It was just about that long ago that he and the others had destroyed the Betrayer's Blade, fetched from this very path. [/FONT] [FONT=Arial] He began to ask soul after soul how long they had been there, and while many were uncertain about the passage of time in the sunless realm, the time the gates had closed seemed to be painfully close to the destruction of that weapon.[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] Then a thought came to him. If the paths of death wouldn’t take him…[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] *** "He's alive, though I don't see how.", Marcus declared, examining the torn remains of the Bard. His ribs were shattered, his flesh torn so deeply that his beating heart was exposed. It had pumped his body dry of blood, and now convulsed spasmodically, as if trying to lie down and give up, but was somehow denied that rest. Seeburn was leaning against a tree, exhausted but conscious. His body tingled from head to toe with the aftereffects of the battle rage, his mind in that oddly numb state that follows when the madness has spent itself. And in this state it seemed perfectly natural that a man nearly torn in half could live, if you could just put those halves back together again.[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] And that was what Marcus was busily doing, pouring healing magic into the ragged, broken form just as quickly as he could. [/FONT] [FONT=Arial] Sylus was using the second healing wand to tend to his own wounds, as well as Imagina's and Seeburns. [/FONT] [FONT=Arial] "This wand's virtue is nearly spent.", he warned the Cleric. "We've drawn on the god's blessings perhaps more than we should."[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] "This wand isn't any better.", agreed Marcus. "But somehow, it's enough."[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] And Penn opened his eyes. For long moments he was seeing both worlds, the bitter, bloodstained snowscape of wintery northern Britania, and the sunless road to Hades' shadowed realm. Of the two, Britania was the less inviting.[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] "Why?", he asked hollowly. "Not what, just why."[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] "What do you mean?"[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] "Why am I alive? Why is Death's Door closed?"[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] "Okay, you need to explain that question.", Marcus said firmly. "But not here. The smell of death is too strong here. Wolves will come, and we're in no shape to fight them. Let's move."[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] *** It took some time to gather the scattered horses. Caleb was back in the cart nursing sore ribs and a lump on his head, but declined the offer of ice to take away the swelling. Somehow it just didn't seem funny under the circumstances. "So you think that the sword was tied to this somehow?", Imagina asked gravely.[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] "Aye, either our removing it from the dark road, or plunging into the sun's fire. I couldn't pin the date down any closer than that, but that's about when the way seems to have been barred. I couldn't reach the front of the line to be sure."[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] Then, turning to Seeburn, he smiled. "I may have some good news for you, by the way. I ran into a couple of friends of yours on the road. They're going to try and return the same way I did. Since we just finished their wake the other day, if the pyres haven't been lit yet they may be waiting for you when you get home."[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] "We mourn for three days.", Seeburn warned. "They may or may not have been sent to the charnel house by now. I honestly don't know."[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] "Well, hope for the best.", Penn said, wondering what would happen if the burnt ashes rose again. He also wondered if they would be welcomed back as easily as his friends accepted him. But though he walked in the open air, he had the feeling that when the way to the next life was open again, he'd be called back there. [/FONT] [FONT=Arial] *** Sylus spied the thin curl of blue smoke before he smelled it, for the winter chill had numbed some of his senses. Overhead Blackie soared, wary now of the sky above as well as the world below. He had returned alone, bloodied but intact. What had happened to his pursuers none knew, and he himself wasn't talking.[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] But Blackie showed no fear of whatever the source of that smoke was, and Sylus knew that it was the trace of a single fire, which meant a small camp rather than a large group of refugees.[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] He spurred his horse forward, steering him carefully between the low drifts and the bare trees. Jostling the trees might cause a snow cascade, which would give his position away, and he didn't want to be seen before he himself saw the camp.[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] Peering through the winter wood, he saw a welcome sight. It was a Gypsy caravan, dug in against the snow.[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] Better still, he saw at least one man he knew, chopping wood for the fire.[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] "Theobold!", he called. "Well met, friend."[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] The burly Traveler looked up in surprise and laid down his axe. "Sylus? What brings you to Britania?"[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] "We're headed south right now. Why are you here? What happened to the rest of the troupe?"[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] "After Florence, it seemed best that some of us known to be moon marked be, well, hard to find.", he explained. "The families often trade workers amongst themselves, so it was no problem. Bela will be glad to see you. I think he was sweet on Apellenea."[/FONT] [FONT=Arial] "Ah, well, she's not with us any more. She had to take a different road.", Sylus said sadly. "But let me tell the others who I've found. We can share tales around a warm fire."[/FONT] [FONT=Arial][FONT="]*** The road into Carlisle was silent. The cold of winter had quieted the few birds that remained, and the presence of riders drove all other living things into hiding. The riders all wore thick scarves of wool across their faces, and even the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves were muffled by snow on the road, leaving only the creak of leather saddles and the soft huffing of the horses themselves. The Gypsies had told them many tales of the horrors of Carlisle, some of which might actually be true. They’d also sold them a few things they’d “salvaged” from the city, and though it had seemed as if the companions had bargained well, somehow their purses were feeling very light indeed. “Grikka said that there was a giant in the city, one who was eating the flesh off people’s bones while they were still alive.”, Marcus said, ticking off the tales they’d heard. “I doubt it.”, replied Sylus. “Most people would die after the first bite. Besides, Giants like their food cooked.” “Bella said that there was plague, a horrible festering death for all who lived there.”, continued Marcus. “Then who would have lived to tell the tale, and who would have gotten close enough to hear of it?”, questioned Penn. “Theo said there were undead patrolling the streets day and night, servants of a great necromancer.”, Imagina said. No one had a counter for that one, and the silence hung in the air for an uncomfortable length of time. “Tobias spoke of cultists who tried to summon a fiend, and failed. The monster rampaged through, killing those he could and driving the rest away.”, Cassius said, trying to get the discussion rolling again. “Possible. I suppose it depends on the type of fiend they were calling.”, Marcus said after a moment of thought. As they approached the city itself they saw small camps scattered about, and decided to risk direct conversation. Penn went in with Cassius and Imagina, while the others decided to scout about. “Hallo the camp!’, called Penn, as they approached one. “Hallo, strangers.”, came the reply. The man who had spoken appeared at first to be fairly fat, until you saw his face, which was thin and bony. Then it became apparent that he was wearing layer upon layer of clothing to try and stave off the cold. He eyed the party, well dressed, well fed and well armed, and stepped aside with an air of resignation, inviting them into the small circle of shelters. “We’ve nothing worth stealing, so if you’ve come to rob us you’re wasting your time.”, he said bitterly, indicating the ragged oval of makeshift tents, perhaps a dozen in number. “We’re not bandits, friend.”, Penn assured him. “We’re just travelers hoping to share your fire, and perhaps a bit of news.” As the Half Satyr unwrapped his heavy scarf, the man’s face blanched, and he began to shake with fear. “Take what you will, but leave us in peace.”, the man all but begged. “What’s wrong friend?”, Penn asked, his voice heavy with concern. “I told you, we aren’t bandits, and we mean you no harm.” But he realized that his words were falling on deaf ears. The man was all but petrified. Then he saw others in the camp openly staring at him, while many were moving to the far end of the small compound. “You have the city, what more do you want?”, a woman called, drawing a small child under her snow sodden wrap. “I think you may have me confused with someone else.”, Penn said, making an elaborate show of empty hands. “I’ve not visited your city before, much less taken it. I’m just a wandering minstrel seeking a warm bed, a cold drink, and to share news of the road.” He opened his outer wrap to show his colorful performer’s garb, and brought out his seashell adorned lyre. “It sounds as if you have news worth sharing.”, he continued, once he had dismounted. “What pit spawned you, foul one.”, spat an old man, brandishing the silver kettle of the Dagda, one of the local deities. Penn carefully leaned forward and kissed the holy item. “I hail from Greece, actually, and it isn’t at all foul.”, he joked, trying not to laugh at the look of wonder on the holy man’s face. “B-but… you should be burned.”, the man stammered in confusion. “If I were indeed a fiend of the pit, I would be. Of course, if I were such a fiend I wouldn’t be freezing my cloven toes off out here in the cold and wet, now would I?”, the Bard continued, still trying to lighten the mood. “Now, if you want foul pits, I know a few. I just left Dumphries, to the north, for example.” That drew a small, involuntary chuckle from some of the children, who had doubtless been raised on tales of their “evil” neighbors up the coast. “No, I’m no fiend at all, just a wandering Fey striving to keep body and soul together in hard times. But it sounds as if you have better tales to tell than I, so I’ll tell you what. I’ll share what I have of bread, cheese and a bit of wine, if you’ll share your fire with me, and we’ll both tell our stories.” And so the evening began. Once the people there understood that, despite his horns and narrow boney face, he wasn’t some Devil come to steal their souls, things lightened up considerably. *** Sylus worked his way along the trail, following the tracks in silence. The heavy snow made these so plain that he could have tracked them at a full run, but he didn’t want to run into his quarry before he was ready. He counted at least six sets of tracks, and there may have been more. Their faltering and irregular pace showed in their footprints, and spoke of exhaustion and possibly illness. He followed, keeping both his eyes and ears open. In the distance he saw an elk spring away. It was far from the magnificent forest prince one might normally think of, for his frame was drawn and gaunt, and his coat ragged with heavy winter fur pulling off in tufts. He fled, burning precious reserves to escape a desperate hunter. Sylus continued on the trail at hand. He came upon them, huddled in a pack, standing around one of their own who had fallen in the hunt. They were as ragged and gaunt as the Elk he’d seen, and had that tinge of madness in their eyes, the haunted hollow look that an only empty belly can give. They turned as one when he revealed himself, unsure if they should charge or strive for an escape. “Well, I wondered who was trying to run down an Elk on foot. Now I know.”, he said quietly as he slung his bow. “Can you help us?”, one of the men asked, indicating their fallen companion. “We haven’t eaten in days.” Without a word, the master archer reached for his pack and pulled out carefully wrapped parcels of salted beef and hard biscuit. He held them up so they could see what he had, then tossed them towards the group. The refugees almost fell over themselves to reach the provisions, and began to tear into them with almost rabid abandon. “Bless you, traveler.”, one of them called between bites. Only one man tried to help the fallen woman, sharing his own portion with her. Sylus smiled, and knew who he was going to be talking to. As the people ate, he began to build a fire. [/FONT][/FONT] [/QUOTE]
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Curse of Darkness VII - Britania
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