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Journal of the Souls of Legend (completed)
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<blockquote data-quote="Nthal" data-source="post: 7500393" data-attributes="member: 6971069"><p><strong>From an Anthill... (9/27/2018)</strong></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center"><strong>From an Anthill…</strong></p> <p style="text-align: center"><strong></strong></p><p><em>When they say a plane is ‘infinite’ you really don’t have an appreciation for distance until you need to go somewhere. Then, the journey always seems fraught with issues; taking too long, bad weather, things trying to kill you…all at the same time. But by that point, all your problems seem smaller anyway. So, I guess it works out.</em></p><p></p><p>I woke with a start, sweating and with heavy breathing. The dream I had was vivid, but the images were fading. Images of the past; of war, of betrayal, of pain.</p><p></p><p>And death. Far too much of that.</p><p></p><p>Sitting up in the bed I held my head with my hands and focused. I tried to calm myself down, when I remembered where I was. </p><p></p><p>I groaned, and flop backwards back on the bed. This wasn’t my kip back in Sigil. That was a run-down shared space in the Hive, run by a woman that called herself, ‘Blind-Kari.’ And while she was blind, she had the best hearing. So good, that I wondered if it was a peel of some sort.</p><p></p><p>No, I was still on the Prime, and I as I recalled from last night, my group of adams were going to head to another anthill called Yartar. And it was going to take about three days to get there. I sat up in the bed and grabbed my clothing on the nearby chair. I started to pull on my leathers when I realized, I wasn’t even sure which Prime I was on. The names of these towns weren’t familiar. I made a mental note to ask the Fingerpainter, Beepu where exactly where I was.</p><p></p><p>I laced my leather bodice, and then strapped on the leather breastplate. I began to run through my head what I might need for a trip here. Food and water maybe…doubt any bub is going to keep for the trip, without getting to the stronger stuff. But I was keenly aware that I didn’t have a lot of jink, and I had no idea what stuff cost here. I didn’t like the idea that a merchant could just rob me based on I didn’t know the ask for a given thing. The cost for the room and meal…seemed right. But I honestly didn’t know.</p><p></p><p>The leather bracers were next; always a pain to put the one on the right arm. I reflected that it was an odd coincidence that the three others were all looking for this ‘Flint Rock’ a true Rule-of-Three, which of course made me a Fourth rule. I wasn’t really interested in the place, just was hoping to find a path home. But somehow, I suspected it was going to take a while just to get the Fingerpainter’s device running.</p><p></p><p>And that was assuming I was ready to leave. While I had my doubts now, I was pretty sure I was going to get distracted and it might be a long time before I go back. I knew that my kip was going to be picked clean soon enough. But other than a sleeping shirt and a comb and brush, I didn’t leave anything valuable behind. The comb and brush were maybe sentimental, as I had had for a long time when I was a “guest” of the Gatehouse. Memories, but replaceable.</p><p></p><p>I buckled my belt and strapped my pouch to my leg and started putting my blades where I wanted them; boot, bracer and hip. I steeled myself for a long day, grabbed my empty mug from last night, and then opened the door and headed down stairs.</p><p></p><p>I was the first one awake it appeared as the common room below was empty. I could hear some noise that came from the kitchen.</p><p></p><p>“Excuse me,” I called out, and the innkeep emerged from the kitchen.</p><p></p><p>“Well, I guess I wasn’t dreaming after all. And you are up early.”</p><p></p><p>“I…am? Ok…does that mean that there isn’t any food ready?”</p><p></p><p>“Oh, I can get something for you in a pinch. I have some tea ready if you like.”</p><p></p><p>“Well I…sure,” realizing that I had no idea what standard fare would be here. So, I decided to be ‘surprised.’ At least I knew what tea was. I took a seat at a nearby table and waited.</p><p></p><p>In a short moment, said tea was in my hands. I’m not a big drinker of it, but, closing my eyes I was savoring the scent. Earthy, with a hint of a sharp bitter note. I smiled, remembering that the new was fun, if sometimes unexpected.</p><p></p><p>Soon, the Innkeep brought out a plate with a fork, that had some type of smoked meat on it; a sausage of some sort I guessed. But the yellow fluffy stuff next to it was a mystery. I poked it with the fork a bit and took a bite. The texture was soft, and I could taste the hints of salt and a sharp spice. But the substance had little overt flavor itself. </p><p></p><p>While I was sampling this, I heard the clinking of metal armor on the stairs, and the Tinman made his appearance. He saw me at the table and saw my meal. Commented “That’s what I could use now,” and called to the innkeep to get him the same, and the innkeep diligently served up yet another plate of meat and yellow stuff. Not too long afterwards, the Fingerpainter and…what was its name…Foggle, came down next. He took a look at the plates in front of us, and then shouted, “Yes, yes, more of that!” and the Innkeeper, with somewhat less enthusiasm brought out another plate and almost threw it down on the table.</p><p></p><p>The Fingerpainter doesn’t make friends easily.</p><p></p><p>At this point, the Knight made an entrance. Amazingly enough he was much cleaner, with his hair oiled and slicked back, his rags discarded and was dressed in dark leather armor, his blades in the open. He grinned when he saw us, and called out, “Sorry, probably need another plate!”</p><p></p><p>“No problem, just started getting another batch ready,” he came out of the kitchen and plopped down a fourth plate, and quickly rushed back.</p><p></p><p>I had just finished my sausage. It was a sweet one, and a tad overdone for my tastes. When I watched the Knight dive into his meal, it was like he hadn’t seen food for days. Wolfing it down and between bites said, “Been a while, but love eggs.”</p><p></p><p></p><p>My stomach turned.</p><p></p><p>I looked at him, feeling anxious; “What…did…you…say?”</p><p></p><p>He stopped eating long enough to look at me like I was from…well I guess I was from elsewhere…but it was a confused look. “Eggs, why?”</p><p></p><p>My stomach was becoming less happy.</p><p></p><p>“You mean eggs…from a…bird. You <strong><em>eat</em></strong> them?” I said slowly.</p><p></p><p>He just nodded and started eating again.</p><p></p><p>“I need a moment,” and I stood up and made my way to the kitchen resting a hand on my abdomen. Looking inside, I saw the Innkeeper cracking an egg on an iron plate over a fire, and was mixing it up creating a pile of… yellow…</p><p></p><p>I scanned the kitchen and saw an exit and I bolted for it. I threw open the door and I was outside, somewhere behind the inn. I saw a well and a small tree. My stomach was heaving, and I stumbled over to the tree and promptly emptied the contents of my stomach on the ground.</p><p></p><p>Leaning against the tree, I was panting and the only thought I had was “Eggs? They eat eggs?!?!”</p><p></p><p>After a moment, I straightened up. Reaching within, I use some magic to clean my clothes and my face of the mess I had made. Turning, I head to the kitchen door and stopped short and reconsidered. I then instead walked around the inn to the front and re-entered.</p><p></p><p>The trio had already finished, thank the powers. The innkeep was hovering around the table, and was looking into the kitchen. He then noticed me entering from the front, and then he turned to face me with a look of concern on his face, “Are you alright? Was something wro…”</p><p></p><p>“I’m fine,” I said cutting him off, “Don’t concern yourself.”</p><p></p><p>The Knight looked at me with squinted eyes, “What was that about?”</p><p></p><p>I slumped down in the chair, “You…and the eggs. That’s…disgusting.”</p><p></p><p>They all now looked at me with that look that plainly said, ‘You aren’t from around here are you?’ The Knight pressed on, “What? Eggs are delicious.”</p><p></p><p>“They come out of the rear of a bird!” I responded in disbelief. “They are unborn birds. And you eat them? That’s just…just not right. Anyway, just Styx it.”</p><p></p><p>“What?” all three say looking at me.</p><p></p><p>I sighed, “’Forget it’ is what I meant to say.”</p><p></p><p>“Alright…while you were, resampling your breakfast we made some decisions, that I would get some supplies for a trip, and Iesa would check if a caravan was heading to Yartar today,” the Tinman explained.</p><p></p><p>I nodded, happy to drop the topic on eggs. “Makes sense, but please be…thoughtful on the price. I don’t have a huge amount of jink on me.</p><p></p><p>“What?” all three say again still looking at me.</p><p></p><p>“Seriously? Jink…Money,” I said, while rubbing my thumb and finger together.</p><p></p><p>The Tinman nodded, “Never want to spend a fortune on trail rations. And it wouldn’t likely have eggs either. You ready to go otherwise?”</p><p></p><p>I shrugged, “We aren’t getting closer to Yartar banging around here.”</p><p></p><p>The Knight then chimed in, “Yeah, seeing that I overstayed my welcome, I want to get out of town. Let’s meet by the eastern caravan grounds in a bit.” And he and the Tinman left the inn. I reach into my pouch and pull out some stingers and hand them to the innkeep and muttered, “Sorry about the mess.” I pulled my cloak’s hood up over my head, tucked my hair inside, and left the inn.</p><p></p><p>On the road outside, there wasn’t a lot of people moving about yet. I guess that meant it was early. The sun hadn’t risen above the hills to the east. It was then that I noticed that the Fingerpainter was following behind.</p><p></p><p>“Well! It would seem that many things are different here than in Sigil," the Fingerpainter started.</p><p></p><p>“Well, that’s true in the gatetowns as well. I just didn’t spend much time in them," I said.</p><p></p><p>“Gatetowns? Those are the settlements that lead to the other outer planes right?”</p><p></p><p>I nodded, “Each one has a gate to a particular plane; Automata leads to Mechanus, Ribcage leads to Baator and so on. But just because there is a gate, doesn’t mean you are welcome on the other side. That reminds me, I have some questions for you. First off, where am I exactly?”</p><p></p><p>The Fingerpainter looked at me and sighed. “Easy, you’re in Triboar!”</p><p></p><p>I groaned. “No, no, that’s…” I started to say.</p><p></p><p>“…Which sits on the major trade route between Waterdeep and Mirabar as part of the Lords Alliance. The Alliance itself covers much of the Sword Coast, which is a collection of kingdoms, independent city states and…”</p><p></p><p>“No, I meant...” as I tried to get a word in.</p><p></p><p>“…various dwarfholds. All of which is sometimes just referred to as ‘The North,’ but this is just a small part of the continent of Faerûn. Let’s talk a bit about some of the nations and history...”</p><p></p><p>“NO!” I shouted, whirling around to face him, causing him to jump back a little startled. I stop a moment to reign in my temper and said, “I’m sorry, that’s not what I was looking for. I meant what’s the name of this particular Prime Material plane?”</p><p></p><p>The Fingerpainter frowned, “Well…um…it’s just ‘the Prime’ to those who even know about it. Most of the folk here, “as he gesticulated to the nearby costermongers starting to stir and pack up in the caravansary, “Don’t even know that. Maybe the name of the world would help? We call that Toril, although some older texts refer to it as Abier-Toril.”</p><p></p><p>“Toril…Toril…” I repeated softly. It rang a bell in my mind. Where had I heard that? It came quickly to me; Kelemvor’s faith started there! And then I remembered its nickname.</p><p></p><p>“Godswalk. I’m on Godswalk then,” I said aloud, and more to myself.</p><p></p><p>“Godswalk? I don’t get…oh! Your referring to our history! When the Gods came and walked upon the world. We call that the ‘Time of Troubles!’ Wait a moment. You didn’t just make that up did you? You mean that this whole world has been reduced to a simplistic nickname?”</p><p></p><p>“Looks like it. It is one of the better-known Primes. Known for having a lot of strong opinionated mages with enough skill to back them up. It is also known as a Prime with a fair number of portals.”</p><p></p><p>“’Better known?’ How many other Primes do you know of exactly,”</p><p></p><p>I stopped and thought for a moment, “Well, I can name seven, but I know little beyond their names. People have arrived from each from time to time, but I couldn’t tell you much about the places themselves. And what I know of here I have already told you.”</p><p></p><p>The Fingerpainter’s brow furrowed for a moment, “Well that seems all too brief. We have legendary mages here after all! I’m sure that there is a more accurate description of Toril than say ‘Harmless!’</p><p></p><p>I replied “Well…’mostly.’ Honestly, it’s just a lack of perspective. Here, a pack of gnolls is a problem. On the planes, we get excited if the Great Modron March is going to be headed through a gatetown. And the fact you are about to say ‘what is that?’” at which point the Fingerpainter lowered his hand and closed his mouth with a pout, “illustrates the point. No common reference.”</p><p></p><p>The Fingerpainter thought about it, “I suppose there is merit to your conjecture. But, I still find it strange that the world is reduced to a footnote of trivia about one event that happened a hundred years ago.”</p><p></p><p>I held up my hands, “Perspective and experience is what we have, and they are the tools we use to understand the universe. The broader the better. But while we are on the topic of lack of common references, I had another question.”</p><p></p><p>The Fingerpainter seemed relieved on the opportunity to switch topics, “Yes, of course! What inquiry do you have about this place, its peoples, history or other knowledge!”</p><p></p><p>“Could you explain what is meant by ‘Eastern’ and ‘East’?”</p><p></p><p>-----</p><p></p><p>The extraction of knowledge of the four cardinal directions took some time. It made some sense in regard to following the path of the sun in the sky. That doesn’t work in Sigil at all, as there isn’t a sun; it just gets light and dark. Peak and Anti-peak. Here they used phrases like ‘Mid-Day’ or ‘Midnight.’ But I got the concept down. I wonder if other places share the same concept?</p><p></p><p>Anyway, after some time our pair of humans returned, with the look of good news and bad on their faces. And they quickly got us caught up on their morning investigation.</p><p></p><p>The Tinman started first, “Well supplies are easy; so got enough food for a week for each of us. But…” and he looked at the Knight who without losing a beat said, “Because of the gnolls getting so close to town, the caravans are all holding off leaving for Yartar, instead heading north or south or just waiting to hear if the road is safe. That means that we can’t get a ride or even offer up guard time. No one wants to risk it.”</p><p></p><p>The Fingerpainter rolled his eyes, “You mean we have to walk the road then. That’s not acceptable!”</p><p></p><p>The Knight arched an eyebrow, “Well, it’s not like I have the coin to force them to move. And even after pointing out Daneath here, they didn’t take it as much as an endorsement. ‘Too green’ they said,” To which the Tinman snorted.</p><p></p><p>“Um…green?” I said trying to catch up on ‘primal slang’</p><p></p><p>“Oh…someone new to the job, amateur…you know,” replied the Knight.</p><p></p><p>“Ah...got it. So, not much point waiting then.”</p><p></p><p>“Not really. But we might have to run a small gauntlet on the way out from merchants trying to sell us anything as we head out. Along with the hanger ons,” said the Knight, “so keep an eye out for your coin.”</p><p></p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p></p><p>“You’ll see,” and the Knight grinned, “I am curious on what offers you are going to get.”</p><p></p><p>And soon enough I found out. There was one caravan that was semi-ready to go. Meaning it was mostly packed and ready to move. Yet the drovers hadn’t hooked up the animals to the wagons yet. But one merchant was conducting business at the back of his wagon, and it had a small group of women hanging around him. The women appeared to be shopping, but it what was for sale that was strange.</p><p></p><p>The women were trying on masks. Not simple paper formed masks, but elaborate feather masks. Each of the women were looking at each other and commenting on how they matched hair/eyes/face. The merchant called out to us as we were walking by.</p><p></p><p>“Heading to Yartar for the Hate Night! You’ll want a fine mask for the festivities!”</p><p></p><p>The Fingerpainter spoke up, “Hate Night? I have never heard of such a holiday. And why do you need a mask?”</p><p></p><p>The merchant got excited, and the humans moved so that the gnome was between them and the merchant. This worked as the merchant focused all of his attention on the gnome.</p><p>“Well, it started several years ago. Once a year, the Waterbaroness declares that a ‘Hate Night’ is coming, and she holds a grand party at her keep. And the locals all join in on their own parties throughout the town. And, by tradition, they are masked balls.” the merchant explained. “For some reason, feathered masks are used almost exclusively. But alas, with the gnolls, I am afraid that I cannot make the journey to sell these pieces…but for you I can offer a discount…”</p><p></p><p>At this point the Fingerpainter realized he had been drawn into a sales pitch but wasn’t skilled enough to extract himself quickly. As for myself, I looked at the masks, and they were really rum. Some were colorful, others were black with bright paint. I wanted to purchase one just because. But, I was very concerned about jink so I put it out of my mind.</p><p></p><p>Which is when I met ‘the hangers ons.’ Once they saw our group approach, the women broke off and started to talk to the humans along the lines of ‘Hear its dangerous out there…might be the last trip you make, so why don’t spend a moment with me and go marching off with a smile?”</p><p></p><p>Jinkskirts. I can’t say I was surprised; seemed to be reasonable pitch as well. The Knight, just waved his hand and didn’t make eye contact. The Tinman, was a bit clumsier in saying no…about six times. One of them was about to head to the Fingerpainter, who at this point was haggling over the price of a mask, he didn’t even want. The bartering seemed to make her question if she wanted to spend any time debating price, and so she made a beeline towards me.</p><p></p><p>Now, in the various wards there are jinkskirts (and jinkshirts) all willing to help cool a cutters heels. So. I wasn’t surprised or shocked at all at the attempt of selling. But the encounter here wasn’t one I would forget.</p><p></p><p>“Hey now, I know that I may not be your…” she had approached, and casually moved in close to embrace me. She had just draped her arms on my shoulders and took a good look at my face under the hood.</p><p></p><p>But she didn’t show fear or shock. Instead, I saw a very different expression cross her face. One that I would have described as…longing.</p><p></p><p>She was breathing deeply and was stammering on the words, “Well, I do say that I would be tempted to give you a discount, just…for the experience.”</p><p></p><p>I remember smiling and removing her arms from my shoulders and holding her hands for a bit. I looked at her and said, “I guarantee it would be a time to remember. But…I’m afraid that I might be out of your price range,” to which she made her face into a pout. “But, it is nice of you to think of us for ‘last-rites.’” I then release her hands and walked, following the road out of town. But I was also checking my pouch, to make sure I still had coin in it. I smiled to myself and shook my head. I wasn’t some first year Sensate namer; and even then, we didn’t need to pay for that experience; plenty of other Sensates around to ‘experience with.’ </p><p></p><p>Eventually, the other three extract themselves from their various sales. Even the Fingerpainter managed not to buy anything. As we passed out of Triboar, the fields of the farms started to get farther and farther apart. And eventually, the fences from the far-flung ranches disappeared in the distance.</p><p></p><p>For a couple of miles, we chatted a bit but quickly we quieted down and focused on the long march ahead. And it was the first time in a very long time that it was truly quiet. Only the sounds of wind, the occasional bird chirp and the rustle in the scrub. It was at this point that I realized what was different. The last time I was anywhere like this was at my test for becoming a Factotum, in the Gilded Hall in Arborea. But that was for the experience alone; something novel I don’t think any of us Sigilites had ever done. But that was more social than anything else.</p><p></p><p>This; this was about as droll as an experience can get. No wonder bards are sought after.</p><p></p><p>Things changed near sundown. The road we were travelling entered a small valley, and as we meandered through the floor of the valley we saw some carts and wagons. At first, we were excited to see…well about anyone. I was ready for any conversation, and a noise other than “Beeeeppoooo” every mile. But as we approached we quickly realized that something was wrong.</p><p></p><p>The first clue from a distance, was the lack of any large draft animals at all. Then the lack of people. The humans drew blades and moved forward, while the Fingerpainter and I stayed behind them and was ‘being open to’ something unexpected as it were.</p><p></p><p>As we drew nearer, it was plain that the caravan was a recent arrival to its current resting place; the cloth over the wagons was in in good, if torn condition. But it also had marks of an attack. Arrows were lodged in the wooden sides of the wagons and were scattered across the ground. Approaching we finally saw the corpses scattered around.</p><p></p><p>But not many; only about four were laying in the dirt, and that seemed to be not enough to manage the five wagons here. Four of the wagons were open topped, but the fifth was a canvas covered wagon, concealing its contents. All the wagons were sitting in the middle of the road, which was flanked by shrubs and bushes, about half the size of a human, or enough to hide a gnome.</p><p></p><p>“Looks like they met a bad end,” the Tinman remarked.</p><p></p><p>The Knight nodded and crept quietly forward. Then he froze, placed a finger to his lips. He was still looking around in general, but he pointed towards one of the corpses leaning back against a wagon wheel. The shape was roughly humanoid but had the remnants of brown fur on its body and with a faintly lupine shaped head. On the ground next to it was a mace, primitive but clearly was once a threat in its hands...or paws.</p><p></p><p>“Yep…gnolls,” the fingerpainter whispered.</p><p></p><p>I nodded, and I crept forward with the others. The caravan was pointed towards Triboar and we were just approaching the former lead wagon. It was against this first wagon that the body was leaning. </p><p></p><p>Looking ahead to the other wagons, I whispered back, “Seems we missed what happened here. But where are the deaders from the caravan?” I had noticed that the other corpses were also gnoll and not human.</p><p></p><p>“Deaders? What doe…oh! Hmm, that’s odd. They must have been taken. Gnolls have strange proclivities; none of them are pleasant so I heard.”</p><p></p><p>“Nice,” I muttered under my breath. By now the humans were at the second wagon, and were making their way to the third, and the Fingerpainter jogged to catch up with them. While he was doing so, I knelt near the deader, and noticed something odd. </p><p></p><p>While the caravan was attacked very recently, but the corpse was…old. It looked desiccated and its face looked sunken in, and not at all fresh. It reminded me of some the zombies used by the Dustmen…or ex-Dustmen rather used in the Mortuary. I seemed to remember, that they tried to use “dry” ones near the crematories as they lasted longer. But it otherwise had little more than a basic leather belt around its waist. While I would have said that a proper burial would be in order, I had no idea what was acceptable. Everything felt wrong, but it wasn’t anything specific that I could point to, that could say why.</p><p></p><p>I stood up and turned towards the others. The humans were standing on the spokes of the wheels and looking into the back of the third wagon.</p><p></p><p>“Anything, or anyone left?” I shouted to them.</p><p></p><p>“Nothing much. Looks like anything useable was taken,” the Knight called back.</p><p></p><p>I frowned. I could see the next corpse, which was near the second wagon, and from where I stood it looked about the same as the one by me; old. It didn’t make any sense. At about that time, that brass owl suddenly started going barmy. And started to repeat the same words over again: “Beepoo, beepoo, beepoo…” </p><p></p><p>“What the?” I remembered myself saying, when I noticed my shadow on the ground from the setting sun. It would be dark soon I supposed, and a camp would be needed. But, then a motion on the ground attracted my attention, and I saw the lengthening shadow of a second figure, beside mine. I turned quickly, and not more than a couple of steps away, was the corpse I was just looking at. It’s mace in its hands (or paws), and looking at me coldly with dead eyes. It turned at the waist as it was beginning to deliver to me a blow.</p><p></p><p>“MUSTIES!”</p><p></p><p><strong>Session Notes:</strong></p><p>Much of the dialog is an expansion of the original session, some personality and vernacular for each of the characters start to shine through.</p><p></p><p>So, Myrai is a true city woman. Never seen a farm, or has any experience on what/where her food is made of. So, it is completely arbitrary thing about eggs. Falls under the idea of what food is typical/atypical.</p><p></p><p>Myrai has heard of a number of worlds, like many planewalkers: Athas, Abeir-Toril, Aebrynis, Mystara, Krynn, Oerth (Greyhawk), Ortho(Harmonium), and rumors of a very very distant one (Eberron…but the name isn’t known to her). She doesn’t know much anything about them, beyond small details like Krynn’s folk, believes anything not from there is from the abyss, and Athas as being a wasteland of very dangerous natives.</p><p></p><p>This is mostly because my interpretation of her arcana skill is strong in planar mechanics, and outer plane knowledge but as we will see later, that doesn’t make her a technical expert on the nature of magic</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Nthal, post: 7500393, member: 6971069"] [b]From an Anthill... (9/27/2018)[/b] [CENTER][B]From an Anthill… [/B][/CENTER] [I]When they say a plane is ‘infinite’ you really don’t have an appreciation for distance until you need to go somewhere. Then, the journey always seems fraught with issues; taking too long, bad weather, things trying to kill you…all at the same time. But by that point, all your problems seem smaller anyway. So, I guess it works out.[/I] I woke with a start, sweating and with heavy breathing. The dream I had was vivid, but the images were fading. Images of the past; of war, of betrayal, of pain. And death. Far too much of that. Sitting up in the bed I held my head with my hands and focused. I tried to calm myself down, when I remembered where I was. I groaned, and flop backwards back on the bed. This wasn’t my kip back in Sigil. That was a run-down shared space in the Hive, run by a woman that called herself, ‘Blind-Kari.’ And while she was blind, she had the best hearing. So good, that I wondered if it was a peel of some sort. No, I was still on the Prime, and I as I recalled from last night, my group of adams were going to head to another anthill called Yartar. And it was going to take about three days to get there. I sat up in the bed and grabbed my clothing on the nearby chair. I started to pull on my leathers when I realized, I wasn’t even sure which Prime I was on. The names of these towns weren’t familiar. I made a mental note to ask the Fingerpainter, Beepu where exactly where I was. I laced my leather bodice, and then strapped on the leather breastplate. I began to run through my head what I might need for a trip here. Food and water maybe…doubt any bub is going to keep for the trip, without getting to the stronger stuff. But I was keenly aware that I didn’t have a lot of jink, and I had no idea what stuff cost here. I didn’t like the idea that a merchant could just rob me based on I didn’t know the ask for a given thing. The cost for the room and meal…seemed right. But I honestly didn’t know. The leather bracers were next; always a pain to put the one on the right arm. I reflected that it was an odd coincidence that the three others were all looking for this ‘Flint Rock’ a true Rule-of-Three, which of course made me a Fourth rule. I wasn’t really interested in the place, just was hoping to find a path home. But somehow, I suspected it was going to take a while just to get the Fingerpainter’s device running. And that was assuming I was ready to leave. While I had my doubts now, I was pretty sure I was going to get distracted and it might be a long time before I go back. I knew that my kip was going to be picked clean soon enough. But other than a sleeping shirt and a comb and brush, I didn’t leave anything valuable behind. The comb and brush were maybe sentimental, as I had had for a long time when I was a “guest” of the Gatehouse. Memories, but replaceable. I buckled my belt and strapped my pouch to my leg and started putting my blades where I wanted them; boot, bracer and hip. I steeled myself for a long day, grabbed my empty mug from last night, and then opened the door and headed down stairs. I was the first one awake it appeared as the common room below was empty. I could hear some noise that came from the kitchen. “Excuse me,” I called out, and the innkeep emerged from the kitchen. “Well, I guess I wasn’t dreaming after all. And you are up early.” “I…am? Ok…does that mean that there isn’t any food ready?” “Oh, I can get something for you in a pinch. I have some tea ready if you like.” “Well I…sure,” realizing that I had no idea what standard fare would be here. So, I decided to be ‘surprised.’ At least I knew what tea was. I took a seat at a nearby table and waited. In a short moment, said tea was in my hands. I’m not a big drinker of it, but, closing my eyes I was savoring the scent. Earthy, with a hint of a sharp bitter note. I smiled, remembering that the new was fun, if sometimes unexpected. Soon, the Innkeep brought out a plate with a fork, that had some type of smoked meat on it; a sausage of some sort I guessed. But the yellow fluffy stuff next to it was a mystery. I poked it with the fork a bit and took a bite. The texture was soft, and I could taste the hints of salt and a sharp spice. But the substance had little overt flavor itself. While I was sampling this, I heard the clinking of metal armor on the stairs, and the Tinman made his appearance. He saw me at the table and saw my meal. Commented “That’s what I could use now,” and called to the innkeep to get him the same, and the innkeep diligently served up yet another plate of meat and yellow stuff. Not too long afterwards, the Fingerpainter and…what was its name…Foggle, came down next. He took a look at the plates in front of us, and then shouted, “Yes, yes, more of that!” and the Innkeeper, with somewhat less enthusiasm brought out another plate and almost threw it down on the table. The Fingerpainter doesn’t make friends easily. At this point, the Knight made an entrance. Amazingly enough he was much cleaner, with his hair oiled and slicked back, his rags discarded and was dressed in dark leather armor, his blades in the open. He grinned when he saw us, and called out, “Sorry, probably need another plate!” “No problem, just started getting another batch ready,” he came out of the kitchen and plopped down a fourth plate, and quickly rushed back. I had just finished my sausage. It was a sweet one, and a tad overdone for my tastes. When I watched the Knight dive into his meal, it was like he hadn’t seen food for days. Wolfing it down and between bites said, “Been a while, but love eggs.” My stomach turned. I looked at him, feeling anxious; “What…did…you…say?” He stopped eating long enough to look at me like I was from…well I guess I was from elsewhere…but it was a confused look. “Eggs, why?” My stomach was becoming less happy. “You mean eggs…from a…bird. You [B][I]eat[/I][/B] them?” I said slowly. He just nodded and started eating again. “I need a moment,” and I stood up and made my way to the kitchen resting a hand on my abdomen. Looking inside, I saw the Innkeeper cracking an egg on an iron plate over a fire, and was mixing it up creating a pile of… yellow… I scanned the kitchen and saw an exit and I bolted for it. I threw open the door and I was outside, somewhere behind the inn. I saw a well and a small tree. My stomach was heaving, and I stumbled over to the tree and promptly emptied the contents of my stomach on the ground. Leaning against the tree, I was panting and the only thought I had was “Eggs? They eat eggs?!?!” After a moment, I straightened up. Reaching within, I use some magic to clean my clothes and my face of the mess I had made. Turning, I head to the kitchen door and stopped short and reconsidered. I then instead walked around the inn to the front and re-entered. The trio had already finished, thank the powers. The innkeep was hovering around the table, and was looking into the kitchen. He then noticed me entering from the front, and then he turned to face me with a look of concern on his face, “Are you alright? Was something wro…” “I’m fine,” I said cutting him off, “Don’t concern yourself.” The Knight looked at me with squinted eyes, “What was that about?” I slumped down in the chair, “You…and the eggs. That’s…disgusting.” They all now looked at me with that look that plainly said, ‘You aren’t from around here are you?’ The Knight pressed on, “What? Eggs are delicious.” “They come out of the rear of a bird!” I responded in disbelief. “They are unborn birds. And you eat them? That’s just…just not right. Anyway, just Styx it.” “What?” all three say looking at me. I sighed, “’Forget it’ is what I meant to say.” “Alright…while you were, resampling your breakfast we made some decisions, that I would get some supplies for a trip, and Iesa would check if a caravan was heading to Yartar today,” the Tinman explained. I nodded, happy to drop the topic on eggs. “Makes sense, but please be…thoughtful on the price. I don’t have a huge amount of jink on me. “What?” all three say again still looking at me. “Seriously? Jink…Money,” I said, while rubbing my thumb and finger together. The Tinman nodded, “Never want to spend a fortune on trail rations. And it wouldn’t likely have eggs either. You ready to go otherwise?” I shrugged, “We aren’t getting closer to Yartar banging around here.” The Knight then chimed in, “Yeah, seeing that I overstayed my welcome, I want to get out of town. Let’s meet by the eastern caravan grounds in a bit.” And he and the Tinman left the inn. I reach into my pouch and pull out some stingers and hand them to the innkeep and muttered, “Sorry about the mess.” I pulled my cloak’s hood up over my head, tucked my hair inside, and left the inn. On the road outside, there wasn’t a lot of people moving about yet. I guess that meant it was early. The sun hadn’t risen above the hills to the east. It was then that I noticed that the Fingerpainter was following behind. “Well! It would seem that many things are different here than in Sigil," the Fingerpainter started. “Well, that’s true in the gatetowns as well. I just didn’t spend much time in them," I said. “Gatetowns? Those are the settlements that lead to the other outer planes right?” I nodded, “Each one has a gate to a particular plane; Automata leads to Mechanus, Ribcage leads to Baator and so on. But just because there is a gate, doesn’t mean you are welcome on the other side. That reminds me, I have some questions for you. First off, where am I exactly?” The Fingerpainter looked at me and sighed. “Easy, you’re in Triboar!” I groaned. “No, no, that’s…” I started to say. “…Which sits on the major trade route between Waterdeep and Mirabar as part of the Lords Alliance. The Alliance itself covers much of the Sword Coast, which is a collection of kingdoms, independent city states and…” “No, I meant...” as I tried to get a word in. “…various dwarfholds. All of which is sometimes just referred to as ‘The North,’ but this is just a small part of the continent of Faerûn. Let’s talk a bit about some of the nations and history...” “NO!” I shouted, whirling around to face him, causing him to jump back a little startled. I stop a moment to reign in my temper and said, “I’m sorry, that’s not what I was looking for. I meant what’s the name of this particular Prime Material plane?” The Fingerpainter frowned, “Well…um…it’s just ‘the Prime’ to those who even know about it. Most of the folk here, “as he gesticulated to the nearby costermongers starting to stir and pack up in the caravansary, “Don’t even know that. Maybe the name of the world would help? We call that Toril, although some older texts refer to it as Abier-Toril.” “Toril…Toril…” I repeated softly. It rang a bell in my mind. Where had I heard that? It came quickly to me; Kelemvor’s faith started there! And then I remembered its nickname. “Godswalk. I’m on Godswalk then,” I said aloud, and more to myself. “Godswalk? I don’t get…oh! Your referring to our history! When the Gods came and walked upon the world. We call that the ‘Time of Troubles!’ Wait a moment. You didn’t just make that up did you? You mean that this whole world has been reduced to a simplistic nickname?” “Looks like it. It is one of the better-known Primes. Known for having a lot of strong opinionated mages with enough skill to back them up. It is also known as a Prime with a fair number of portals.” “’Better known?’ How many other Primes do you know of exactly,” I stopped and thought for a moment, “Well, I can name seven, but I know little beyond their names. People have arrived from each from time to time, but I couldn’t tell you much about the places themselves. And what I know of here I have already told you.” The Fingerpainter’s brow furrowed for a moment, “Well that seems all too brief. We have legendary mages here after all! I’m sure that there is a more accurate description of Toril than say ‘Harmless!’ I replied “Well…’mostly.’ Honestly, it’s just a lack of perspective. Here, a pack of gnolls is a problem. On the planes, we get excited if the Great Modron March is going to be headed through a gatetown. And the fact you are about to say ‘what is that?’” at which point the Fingerpainter lowered his hand and closed his mouth with a pout, “illustrates the point. No common reference.” The Fingerpainter thought about it, “I suppose there is merit to your conjecture. But, I still find it strange that the world is reduced to a footnote of trivia about one event that happened a hundred years ago.” I held up my hands, “Perspective and experience is what we have, and they are the tools we use to understand the universe. The broader the better. But while we are on the topic of lack of common references, I had another question.” The Fingerpainter seemed relieved on the opportunity to switch topics, “Yes, of course! What inquiry do you have about this place, its peoples, history or other knowledge!” “Could you explain what is meant by ‘Eastern’ and ‘East’?” ----- The extraction of knowledge of the four cardinal directions took some time. It made some sense in regard to following the path of the sun in the sky. That doesn’t work in Sigil at all, as there isn’t a sun; it just gets light and dark. Peak and Anti-peak. Here they used phrases like ‘Mid-Day’ or ‘Midnight.’ But I got the concept down. I wonder if other places share the same concept? Anyway, after some time our pair of humans returned, with the look of good news and bad on their faces. And they quickly got us caught up on their morning investigation. The Tinman started first, “Well supplies are easy; so got enough food for a week for each of us. But…” and he looked at the Knight who without losing a beat said, “Because of the gnolls getting so close to town, the caravans are all holding off leaving for Yartar, instead heading north or south or just waiting to hear if the road is safe. That means that we can’t get a ride or even offer up guard time. No one wants to risk it.” The Fingerpainter rolled his eyes, “You mean we have to walk the road then. That’s not acceptable!” The Knight arched an eyebrow, “Well, it’s not like I have the coin to force them to move. And even after pointing out Daneath here, they didn’t take it as much as an endorsement. ‘Too green’ they said,” To which the Tinman snorted. “Um…green?” I said trying to catch up on ‘primal slang’ “Oh…someone new to the job, amateur…you know,” replied the Knight. “Ah...got it. So, not much point waiting then.” “Not really. But we might have to run a small gauntlet on the way out from merchants trying to sell us anything as we head out. Along with the hanger ons,” said the Knight, “so keep an eye out for your coin.” “What do you mean?” “You’ll see,” and the Knight grinned, “I am curious on what offers you are going to get.” And soon enough I found out. There was one caravan that was semi-ready to go. Meaning it was mostly packed and ready to move. Yet the drovers hadn’t hooked up the animals to the wagons yet. But one merchant was conducting business at the back of his wagon, and it had a small group of women hanging around him. The women appeared to be shopping, but it what was for sale that was strange. The women were trying on masks. Not simple paper formed masks, but elaborate feather masks. Each of the women were looking at each other and commenting on how they matched hair/eyes/face. The merchant called out to us as we were walking by. “Heading to Yartar for the Hate Night! You’ll want a fine mask for the festivities!” The Fingerpainter spoke up, “Hate Night? I have never heard of such a holiday. And why do you need a mask?” The merchant got excited, and the humans moved so that the gnome was between them and the merchant. This worked as the merchant focused all of his attention on the gnome. “Well, it started several years ago. Once a year, the Waterbaroness declares that a ‘Hate Night’ is coming, and she holds a grand party at her keep. And the locals all join in on their own parties throughout the town. And, by tradition, they are masked balls.” the merchant explained. “For some reason, feathered masks are used almost exclusively. But alas, with the gnolls, I am afraid that I cannot make the journey to sell these pieces…but for you I can offer a discount…” At this point the Fingerpainter realized he had been drawn into a sales pitch but wasn’t skilled enough to extract himself quickly. As for myself, I looked at the masks, and they were really rum. Some were colorful, others were black with bright paint. I wanted to purchase one just because. But, I was very concerned about jink so I put it out of my mind. Which is when I met ‘the hangers ons.’ Once they saw our group approach, the women broke off and started to talk to the humans along the lines of ‘Hear its dangerous out there…might be the last trip you make, so why don’t spend a moment with me and go marching off with a smile?” Jinkskirts. I can’t say I was surprised; seemed to be reasonable pitch as well. The Knight, just waved his hand and didn’t make eye contact. The Tinman, was a bit clumsier in saying no…about six times. One of them was about to head to the Fingerpainter, who at this point was haggling over the price of a mask, he didn’t even want. The bartering seemed to make her question if she wanted to spend any time debating price, and so she made a beeline towards me. Now, in the various wards there are jinkskirts (and jinkshirts) all willing to help cool a cutters heels. So. I wasn’t surprised or shocked at all at the attempt of selling. But the encounter here wasn’t one I would forget. “Hey now, I know that I may not be your…” she had approached, and casually moved in close to embrace me. She had just draped her arms on my shoulders and took a good look at my face under the hood. But she didn’t show fear or shock. Instead, I saw a very different expression cross her face. One that I would have described as…longing. She was breathing deeply and was stammering on the words, “Well, I do say that I would be tempted to give you a discount, just…for the experience.” I remember smiling and removing her arms from my shoulders and holding her hands for a bit. I looked at her and said, “I guarantee it would be a time to remember. But…I’m afraid that I might be out of your price range,” to which she made her face into a pout. “But, it is nice of you to think of us for ‘last-rites.’” I then release her hands and walked, following the road out of town. But I was also checking my pouch, to make sure I still had coin in it. I smiled to myself and shook my head. I wasn’t some first year Sensate namer; and even then, we didn’t need to pay for that experience; plenty of other Sensates around to ‘experience with.’ Eventually, the other three extract themselves from their various sales. Even the Fingerpainter managed not to buy anything. As we passed out of Triboar, the fields of the farms started to get farther and farther apart. And eventually, the fences from the far-flung ranches disappeared in the distance. For a couple of miles, we chatted a bit but quickly we quieted down and focused on the long march ahead. And it was the first time in a very long time that it was truly quiet. Only the sounds of wind, the occasional bird chirp and the rustle in the scrub. It was at this point that I realized what was different. The last time I was anywhere like this was at my test for becoming a Factotum, in the Gilded Hall in Arborea. But that was for the experience alone; something novel I don’t think any of us Sigilites had ever done. But that was more social than anything else. This; this was about as droll as an experience can get. No wonder bards are sought after. Things changed near sundown. The road we were travelling entered a small valley, and as we meandered through the floor of the valley we saw some carts and wagons. At first, we were excited to see…well about anyone. I was ready for any conversation, and a noise other than “Beeeeppoooo” every mile. But as we approached we quickly realized that something was wrong. The first clue from a distance, was the lack of any large draft animals at all. Then the lack of people. The humans drew blades and moved forward, while the Fingerpainter and I stayed behind them and was ‘being open to’ something unexpected as it were. As we drew nearer, it was plain that the caravan was a recent arrival to its current resting place; the cloth over the wagons was in in good, if torn condition. But it also had marks of an attack. Arrows were lodged in the wooden sides of the wagons and were scattered across the ground. Approaching we finally saw the corpses scattered around. But not many; only about four were laying in the dirt, and that seemed to be not enough to manage the five wagons here. Four of the wagons were open topped, but the fifth was a canvas covered wagon, concealing its contents. All the wagons were sitting in the middle of the road, which was flanked by shrubs and bushes, about half the size of a human, or enough to hide a gnome. “Looks like they met a bad end,” the Tinman remarked. The Knight nodded and crept quietly forward. Then he froze, placed a finger to his lips. He was still looking around in general, but he pointed towards one of the corpses leaning back against a wagon wheel. The shape was roughly humanoid but had the remnants of brown fur on its body and with a faintly lupine shaped head. On the ground next to it was a mace, primitive but clearly was once a threat in its hands...or paws. “Yep…gnolls,” the fingerpainter whispered. I nodded, and I crept forward with the others. The caravan was pointed towards Triboar and we were just approaching the former lead wagon. It was against this first wagon that the body was leaning. Looking ahead to the other wagons, I whispered back, “Seems we missed what happened here. But where are the deaders from the caravan?” I had noticed that the other corpses were also gnoll and not human. “Deaders? What doe…oh! Hmm, that’s odd. They must have been taken. Gnolls have strange proclivities; none of them are pleasant so I heard.” “Nice,” I muttered under my breath. By now the humans were at the second wagon, and were making their way to the third, and the Fingerpainter jogged to catch up with them. While he was doing so, I knelt near the deader, and noticed something odd. While the caravan was attacked very recently, but the corpse was…old. It looked desiccated and its face looked sunken in, and not at all fresh. It reminded me of some the zombies used by the Dustmen…or ex-Dustmen rather used in the Mortuary. I seemed to remember, that they tried to use “dry” ones near the crematories as they lasted longer. But it otherwise had little more than a basic leather belt around its waist. While I would have said that a proper burial would be in order, I had no idea what was acceptable. Everything felt wrong, but it wasn’t anything specific that I could point to, that could say why. I stood up and turned towards the others. The humans were standing on the spokes of the wheels and looking into the back of the third wagon. “Anything, or anyone left?” I shouted to them. “Nothing much. Looks like anything useable was taken,” the Knight called back. I frowned. I could see the next corpse, which was near the second wagon, and from where I stood it looked about the same as the one by me; old. It didn’t make any sense. At about that time, that brass owl suddenly started going barmy. And started to repeat the same words over again: “Beepoo, beepoo, beepoo…” “What the?” I remembered myself saying, when I noticed my shadow on the ground from the setting sun. It would be dark soon I supposed, and a camp would be needed. But, then a motion on the ground attracted my attention, and I saw the lengthening shadow of a second figure, beside mine. I turned quickly, and not more than a couple of steps away, was the corpse I was just looking at. It’s mace in its hands (or paws), and looking at me coldly with dead eyes. It turned at the waist as it was beginning to deliver to me a blow. “MUSTIES!” [B]Session Notes:[/B] Much of the dialog is an expansion of the original session, some personality and vernacular for each of the characters start to shine through. So, Myrai is a true city woman. Never seen a farm, or has any experience on what/where her food is made of. So, it is completely arbitrary thing about eggs. Falls under the idea of what food is typical/atypical. Myrai has heard of a number of worlds, like many planewalkers: Athas, Abeir-Toril, Aebrynis, Mystara, Krynn, Oerth (Greyhawk), Ortho(Harmonium), and rumors of a very very distant one (Eberron…but the name isn’t known to her). She doesn’t know much anything about them, beyond small details like Krynn’s folk, believes anything not from there is from the abyss, and Athas as being a wasteland of very dangerous natives. This is mostly because my interpretation of her arcana skill is strong in planar mechanics, and outer plane knowledge but as we will see later, that doesn’t make her a technical expert on the nature of magic [/QUOTE]
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