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Lost City of Gaxmoor - The Borderlands Campaign
- Thread starter S'mon
- Start date
Mathew_Freeman
First Post
Thanks Simon, the edit is done.
Leo's account
The Caves and Beyond
Having fought a hard battle in the Court of the Goblin King, Captain Xiang and the rest of the Heroes of Gaxmoor started to search the chamber more thoroughly. The court was bisected by Fjorint’s Wall of Thorns, sealing a good amount of goblins behind it. Some goblins had fled down a large corridor. At this moment, Sigurd disappeared in a familiar manner. A moment later Ramu Khem, the Aryptian appeared with the news the Sigurd was needed for an important conference with Kanor. Having completed their preliminary searching, Leo sent one of his Prying Eyes into the corridor. At the same time, Xiang and Fjorint approached this exit while the rest of the group made a few more preparations. Then Sigurd appeared again. Leo looked at him questioningly but he just made a signal that the matter could wait.
The exit being watched by Fjorint and Xiang was suddenly filled with ogres, including one who looked bigger and stronger than his companions. In the other entrance to the Court, goblin warg riders began struggling through the small gap in the vast, wooden doors. The ogres ran to the entrance of the chamber, trying to batter Xiang and the others. The large ogre made a telling strike on Xiang while Fjorint was injured several times by the others. Ramu and Cailin rapidly met the rear attack of the warg riders. Sigurd and Tarquin moved forward to help in the ogre attack. Leo moved to the rear of the chamber and cast one of his most powerful spells which devastated the warg riders, leaving only four wargs and two riders alive. On the other end, things were not going so well. Just as Sigurd and Tarquin arrived, Fjorint cast a fire spell on the ogres but was then struck down in a bloody heap. Raven, about to go and help with the wargs, saw that they were only a small threat, and rushed to join the fight with ogres. At the same time, Leo saw Xiang execute a dazzling combination of moves with his spear, puncturing the ogre leader several times. The creature staggered but roared in defiance at Xiang who scowled. Both Sigurd and Raven also struck telling blows. Cailin, in the meantime was shooting as rapidly as she could into wargs and goblins but gave a stifled cry when she saw a good score more of the creatures wriggle their way through the rear door. They fired their bows and scored a couple of glancing shots but ominously, they carefully positioned themselves into formation for maximum effect. The battle against the ogres continued. Tarquin had confirmed that Fjorint was indeed dead and moved to heal Raven, who had been struck badly. Xiang rid himself of his troublesome opponent and the rest of the warriors were then met with the sight of more goblin reinforcements coming behind the ogres. Cailin had been tripped by one of the wargs and was prone but fortunately Ramu, in a dazzling move, killed one of his goblin opponents and one of the wargs. Under the careful goblin formation, the ground erupted with a mass of black tentacles that grabbed goblins and wargs indiscriminately, causing havoc and destruction. Having grabbed their victims, there were audible cracks of bone as the tentacles squeezed. At the front, the last ogre fell and Raven gleefully fell on the goblins and hewing mightily with his axe, three of them fell. The rest, seeing this as well as the unnatural wriggling mass of tentacles still squeezing the life out of their comrades, fled.
The party regrouped. The bodies of the ogres were searched yielding certain valuables including an odd jewel encrusted Rod. At the same time Tarquin asked the others to sit Fjorint against a wall while he retrieved certain specific and spell components out of his pouch. He performed certain complicated prayers and the valuable diamond dust disappeared. At the same time, Fjorint coughed and stirred. Moments later, Tarquin gave her one of his most powerful healing spells. The colour came back into her cheeks, she flexed her muscles and was able to rise and walk around. Back up to full strength, the group formed up and quickly marched down the corridor with Cailin as a scout. The corridor curved and then branched, leading to a heavy steel door. Cailin motioned the group forward and made sure they were ready before she attempted to pick the lock. She managed this in a very professional manner and the door was opened to reveal a large, plush chamber decorated in a tasteless manner. Suffice to say it was the seraglio of the Goblin King. Inside were three goblin females and a semi naked blonde human woman. One of the goblins was holding the woman with a knife to her throat. She shouted something in goblin. Raven, in the first rank, dropped his weapon and held his hands up. Sigurd, shouted something out in goblin and continued shouting. The goblin shrank back and let the woman go. She promptly turned around and punched the goblin in the stomach before running to the group.
“Oh, thank you. My name is Lady Claudia of Gaxmoor. Someone will finally be able to get me of this filthy place,” she exclaimed. This was spoken in ancient Imarran so only Leo, Tarquin and Sigurd understood.
Sigurd put her behind him as the three goblins shrank past him and the rest of the group. As Sigurd was at the front and he did nothing to stop them, the rest assumed that this was part of the deal.
Almost casually Sigurd asked the Lady Claudia if she was acquainted with Larius, Sigurd’s cohort and captain.
“You know Larius? Where is he? How is he? What is he doing? How do you know him?” Both the tone of her voice, and the expression on her face said that the Lady Claudia was very well acquainted with the dour Larius.
More questioning revealed that she had been captured by Heracules and through many adventures had finally finished as part of the harem of the Goblin King. She also said that the ogres had their living quarters in the direction where the group was going while most of the goblins lived in the opposite direction.
Claudia was given some more clothing and the group set out down the corridor. Another chamber was discovered, obviously the chamber of the ogres. Then as the group were approaching another steel door Tarquin suddenly asked everyone to stop. He had an abstracted look on his face and in a few moments he informed the others that he had just had a magic message from Petronius. It was quite urgent that they return to Gaxmoor as Kanor wanted to speak with them as quickly as possible. After a quick consultation the group decided to investigate this last room and then leave for the city by arcane means. Cailin quickly unlocked the door and saw it was empty with three other identical steel doors. This bare room looked very suspicious so the group left it alone and decided to leave. One problem was that the group was too large by one person to be taken out at once. So the decision was taken to escort Alp to the nearby Druid’s Sacred Grove. From there he would then make his way to the Thuali tribe and inform them their former home was available to them again. The journey to the Grove was uneventful and as the group entered the area, they noticed a change in the atmosphere. The closest Leo had come to anything similar was when he entered the Temple of Urnus Gregaria. There was a feeling of power in the place but different to that of a Temple. As Alp entered the grove, a strange white boar entered the grove from the other side. With a happy cry Alp strode forward to the beast, greeting it like a long lost friend.
Thus, the group, along with the Lady Claudia, transported themselves to the Temple of Urnus Gregaria and the Tower of the White Way. The two separate groups were told in both places that Kanor had left word that they were to go to the palace as soon as they arrived. Both groups met at the palace and were ushered to Kanor’s presence. As soon as he saw them he said:
“Gysshk the Hobgoblin has just come from the south with a slave caravan. As you are aware, he was trying to get a seat on the ruling council of Carrisqui Town. Although Carrisqui has acknowledged my rule it never paid its dues to me or the League. Gysshk has been successful in obtaining a seat on the council and is now suggesting that if I set him as sole ruler of the town he will throw out the council and swear fealty to me. He has sweetened the deal by saying that he has been in touch with hobgoblin contingent of Heracules’s troops, that is a good four hundred warriors, and they are willing to desert on mass providing he can provide land and dwellings for them. They are also willing to fight for us in the coming winter campaign. If I accept his offer he specifically requested Capt. Xiang to be a member of the group that goes with him to make sure the council accepts the new regime. What to do you think I should do?”
Much discussion ensued after this momentous news but in the end it was decided that Gysshk’s offer was too good to turn down in view of the both the military gains and losses to Heracules, the offer was just too good to turn down. There were widely held reservations, especially by Sigurd and Raven. These were partly allayed as Kanor was more than happy to accept anyone from Carrisqui who was unhappy with hobgoblins living nearby. Gaxmoor was still only about half populated. The group retired, on the understanding that they would go with Gysshk first thing tomorrow.
The next morning the group met with Gysshk. He greeted the warriors of the group like long lost friends but was distinctly nervous when told that they would have to ride Phantom Steeds to Carrisqui. He was even more unhappy when he heard that he would not be able to take his guards but in the end he was convinced by Xiang and Sigurd that speed was of the utmost necessity. The journey South to Carrisqui was fast and uneventful and the group arrived at dusk. Wasting little time, Gysshk went to the Town Hall and summoned the council members. They duly arrived and were told the new status quo without ceremony. They fluttered and spluttered in the manner of politicians but they were cowed by Sigurd’s presence. Sigurd and the mayor were acquainted from the past when Sigurd demanded some back taxes from the town. Still spluttering, the council members retired. Leo turned invisible and followed them. They made their way to the mayor’s house; there, Leo heard a continuation of their outraged spluttering. This soon turned into a conversation about stirring the local population into a mob to oust Gysshk. Several of the members left to organise the mob. Leo followed one of them and cast one of his spells at him to make his mind more accepting of the regime change but he proved surprisingly resistant. Leo turned visible and fled, unwilling to cause needless casualties. Coming back to the Town Hall, Leo saw there was already a mob outside. He had to fly in and informed the others of what he had discovered. Sigurd stepped out in front of the people and calmly and carefully informed them of the sequence of events using his personal charisma and magnetism. He cut an imposing figure with his dazzling armour, imposing figure and personal charisma. Leo couldn’t help but be impressed. His appeal had an immediate effect on the mob, which settled down and soon individuals started drifting home. Gysshk now felt more confident. Leo hoped that the council members had the sense to leave Carrisqui very quickly. This night preferably. Gysshk was not a forgiving individual.
Three days later, Kanor sent troops to aid Gysshk’s authority and Leo cast Phantom Steeds so the group could leave for Gaxmoor. They went past the former goblin caves and saw that Alp’s tribe had started to move in. They reached Gaxmoor that evening and reported to Kanor who was satisfied at the result. He reminded them that the League conference was in five days time. However, he wanted to be at in Scornel a day ahead. Kanor was of the understanding that Leo would transport him to the Temple of Carthea in Scornel and Leo informed the High Priestess, Aquila, that they were on their way.
During those five days, the group sold the goods they had taken from the goblins and made ready for the journey to Scornel. Leo was able to inscribe a couple of spells into his spell book. He was also approached by Fjorint, who asked him if he knew any trees in the temple. Trees were not something he paid particular attention to but Fjorint explained that she had a specific power that allowed her to literally walk between trees. Provided she knew the location of two trees of the same species, distance was not an issue. If Leo could let her know of any trees in Scornel, preferably close to the temple, she would be able to take the rest of the group to the city. Thus, Leo was given a crash course in trees on the understanding that as soon as he arrived in the city he would contact Fjorint and let her know about a suitable tree nearby to which she could “step”. Leo thought this was an interesting branch of magic. It also explained certain rumours he had heard about the abilities of druids.
The day before the great congress, Leo transported Kanor, Sigurd, Xiang and Tarquin to the Temple. They were met by a tall, raven-haired woman wearing flowing diaphanous robes whom Leo recognised as Aquila Valira, the High Priestess.
“Greetings Leo, Kanor. Ah Sigurd, it is good to see you again. We had an interesting discussion last time we met.”
Sigurd smiled in a slightly embarrassed manner. The discussion was on the philosophy of democracy and he had disagreed with the priestess. Sigurd had a fairly simple view of democracy. He was right and everyone else was wrong.
“Come. We have prepared quarters for you. I do hope you will be able to stay with us. There will be a dinner tonight and Maxilio Verbaris, mayor of Scornel will be there. I know you want to see him.”
Leo answered. “You are most generous my lady. Before we accept your kind offer though please bear with us for a little time. We will be back in a moment. Ramu, would you be so kind as to escort Kanor to his quarters.”
With those words, Leo found the nearest oak tree, following instructions. He then relayed the information arcanely and moments later he saw the rest of the group “step” out of the tree.
The rest of the day was at the disposal of the group. Leo wondered around the city. It was very different from Gaxmoor. It was built on several terraces, with the lowest bordering Deepwater Lake. The climate was kind to this land and the houses were uniformly white, giving the city a gleam. The streets were paved and everywhere there were signs of commerce and prosperity. People were rarely armed and if they were they marked themselves as either strangers or guardsmen. There were restaurants, shops and throngs of people. Leo spent an enjoyable day and in the late afternoon he went back to the temple. He met the others who had spent the day similarly. Cailin related that she had seen a large crowd around a gate, which was cheering a procession of armed knights in bronze armour. The crowd chanted “Kardus, Kardus”. This must have been the legendary warlord who had had so many successes against the Mongali. Xiang and Sigurd had sampled the local restaurants and could recommend the fish.
That evening a sumptuous dinner was arranged. Attending was the group together with the Priestess, Maxilio Verbarius, mayor of Scornel and Kanor. Much was discussed. Sigurd suggested raiding parts of the Mongali homelands from Trafalgis but Maxilio dismissed that as geographically impractical. Kanor asked for help against Heracules but was bluntly told that the resources for that were just not there. He was also told that it was deeply unlikely that he would be chosen war leader. Maxilio mentioned that Zalindra consort to Tarkane was in the city. She had offered a huge amount of troops if Scornel acknowledge Tarkane as Overking. Kanor mentioned his success with the Makyans but again Maxilio seemed to dismiss this. Leo was getting the impression that Maxilio was dismissive of the Borderlands in general. He watched and waited, knowing that Maxilio would have several visits like this tonight and thinking it very likely that certain decisions that were supposed to be discussed during the Congress, had been made months ago. Tomorrow, Maxilio would do his utmost to push them through.
The Caves and Beyond
Having fought a hard battle in the Court of the Goblin King, Captain Xiang and the rest of the Heroes of Gaxmoor started to search the chamber more thoroughly. The court was bisected by Fjorint’s Wall of Thorns, sealing a good amount of goblins behind it. Some goblins had fled down a large corridor. At this moment, Sigurd disappeared in a familiar manner. A moment later Ramu Khem, the Aryptian appeared with the news the Sigurd was needed for an important conference with Kanor. Having completed their preliminary searching, Leo sent one of his Prying Eyes into the corridor. At the same time, Xiang and Fjorint approached this exit while the rest of the group made a few more preparations. Then Sigurd appeared again. Leo looked at him questioningly but he just made a signal that the matter could wait.
The exit being watched by Fjorint and Xiang was suddenly filled with ogres, including one who looked bigger and stronger than his companions. In the other entrance to the Court, goblin warg riders began struggling through the small gap in the vast, wooden doors. The ogres ran to the entrance of the chamber, trying to batter Xiang and the others. The large ogre made a telling strike on Xiang while Fjorint was injured several times by the others. Ramu and Cailin rapidly met the rear attack of the warg riders. Sigurd and Tarquin moved forward to help in the ogre attack. Leo moved to the rear of the chamber and cast one of his most powerful spells which devastated the warg riders, leaving only four wargs and two riders alive. On the other end, things were not going so well. Just as Sigurd and Tarquin arrived, Fjorint cast a fire spell on the ogres but was then struck down in a bloody heap. Raven, about to go and help with the wargs, saw that they were only a small threat, and rushed to join the fight with ogres. At the same time, Leo saw Xiang execute a dazzling combination of moves with his spear, puncturing the ogre leader several times. The creature staggered but roared in defiance at Xiang who scowled. Both Sigurd and Raven also struck telling blows. Cailin, in the meantime was shooting as rapidly as she could into wargs and goblins but gave a stifled cry when she saw a good score more of the creatures wriggle their way through the rear door. They fired their bows and scored a couple of glancing shots but ominously, they carefully positioned themselves into formation for maximum effect. The battle against the ogres continued. Tarquin had confirmed that Fjorint was indeed dead and moved to heal Raven, who had been struck badly. Xiang rid himself of his troublesome opponent and the rest of the warriors were then met with the sight of more goblin reinforcements coming behind the ogres. Cailin had been tripped by one of the wargs and was prone but fortunately Ramu, in a dazzling move, killed one of his goblin opponents and one of the wargs. Under the careful goblin formation, the ground erupted with a mass of black tentacles that grabbed goblins and wargs indiscriminately, causing havoc and destruction. Having grabbed their victims, there were audible cracks of bone as the tentacles squeezed. At the front, the last ogre fell and Raven gleefully fell on the goblins and hewing mightily with his axe, three of them fell. The rest, seeing this as well as the unnatural wriggling mass of tentacles still squeezing the life out of their comrades, fled.
The party regrouped. The bodies of the ogres were searched yielding certain valuables including an odd jewel encrusted Rod. At the same time Tarquin asked the others to sit Fjorint against a wall while he retrieved certain specific and spell components out of his pouch. He performed certain complicated prayers and the valuable diamond dust disappeared. At the same time, Fjorint coughed and stirred. Moments later, Tarquin gave her one of his most powerful healing spells. The colour came back into her cheeks, she flexed her muscles and was able to rise and walk around. Back up to full strength, the group formed up and quickly marched down the corridor with Cailin as a scout. The corridor curved and then branched, leading to a heavy steel door. Cailin motioned the group forward and made sure they were ready before she attempted to pick the lock. She managed this in a very professional manner and the door was opened to reveal a large, plush chamber decorated in a tasteless manner. Suffice to say it was the seraglio of the Goblin King. Inside were three goblin females and a semi naked blonde human woman. One of the goblins was holding the woman with a knife to her throat. She shouted something in goblin. Raven, in the first rank, dropped his weapon and held his hands up. Sigurd, shouted something out in goblin and continued shouting. The goblin shrank back and let the woman go. She promptly turned around and punched the goblin in the stomach before running to the group.
“Oh, thank you. My name is Lady Claudia of Gaxmoor. Someone will finally be able to get me of this filthy place,” she exclaimed. This was spoken in ancient Imarran so only Leo, Tarquin and Sigurd understood.
Sigurd put her behind him as the three goblins shrank past him and the rest of the group. As Sigurd was at the front and he did nothing to stop them, the rest assumed that this was part of the deal.
Almost casually Sigurd asked the Lady Claudia if she was acquainted with Larius, Sigurd’s cohort and captain.
“You know Larius? Where is he? How is he? What is he doing? How do you know him?” Both the tone of her voice, and the expression on her face said that the Lady Claudia was very well acquainted with the dour Larius.
More questioning revealed that she had been captured by Heracules and through many adventures had finally finished as part of the harem of the Goblin King. She also said that the ogres had their living quarters in the direction where the group was going while most of the goblins lived in the opposite direction.
Claudia was given some more clothing and the group set out down the corridor. Another chamber was discovered, obviously the chamber of the ogres. Then as the group were approaching another steel door Tarquin suddenly asked everyone to stop. He had an abstracted look on his face and in a few moments he informed the others that he had just had a magic message from Petronius. It was quite urgent that they return to Gaxmoor as Kanor wanted to speak with them as quickly as possible. After a quick consultation the group decided to investigate this last room and then leave for the city by arcane means. Cailin quickly unlocked the door and saw it was empty with three other identical steel doors. This bare room looked very suspicious so the group left it alone and decided to leave. One problem was that the group was too large by one person to be taken out at once. So the decision was taken to escort Alp to the nearby Druid’s Sacred Grove. From there he would then make his way to the Thuali tribe and inform them their former home was available to them again. The journey to the Grove was uneventful and as the group entered the area, they noticed a change in the atmosphere. The closest Leo had come to anything similar was when he entered the Temple of Urnus Gregaria. There was a feeling of power in the place but different to that of a Temple. As Alp entered the grove, a strange white boar entered the grove from the other side. With a happy cry Alp strode forward to the beast, greeting it like a long lost friend.
Thus, the group, along with the Lady Claudia, transported themselves to the Temple of Urnus Gregaria and the Tower of the White Way. The two separate groups were told in both places that Kanor had left word that they were to go to the palace as soon as they arrived. Both groups met at the palace and were ushered to Kanor’s presence. As soon as he saw them he said:
“Gysshk the Hobgoblin has just come from the south with a slave caravan. As you are aware, he was trying to get a seat on the ruling council of Carrisqui Town. Although Carrisqui has acknowledged my rule it never paid its dues to me or the League. Gysshk has been successful in obtaining a seat on the council and is now suggesting that if I set him as sole ruler of the town he will throw out the council and swear fealty to me. He has sweetened the deal by saying that he has been in touch with hobgoblin contingent of Heracules’s troops, that is a good four hundred warriors, and they are willing to desert on mass providing he can provide land and dwellings for them. They are also willing to fight for us in the coming winter campaign. If I accept his offer he specifically requested Capt. Xiang to be a member of the group that goes with him to make sure the council accepts the new regime. What to do you think I should do?”
Much discussion ensued after this momentous news but in the end it was decided that Gysshk’s offer was too good to turn down in view of the both the military gains and losses to Heracules, the offer was just too good to turn down. There were widely held reservations, especially by Sigurd and Raven. These were partly allayed as Kanor was more than happy to accept anyone from Carrisqui who was unhappy with hobgoblins living nearby. Gaxmoor was still only about half populated. The group retired, on the understanding that they would go with Gysshk first thing tomorrow.
The next morning the group met with Gysshk. He greeted the warriors of the group like long lost friends but was distinctly nervous when told that they would have to ride Phantom Steeds to Carrisqui. He was even more unhappy when he heard that he would not be able to take his guards but in the end he was convinced by Xiang and Sigurd that speed was of the utmost necessity. The journey South to Carrisqui was fast and uneventful and the group arrived at dusk. Wasting little time, Gysshk went to the Town Hall and summoned the council members. They duly arrived and were told the new status quo without ceremony. They fluttered and spluttered in the manner of politicians but they were cowed by Sigurd’s presence. Sigurd and the mayor were acquainted from the past when Sigurd demanded some back taxes from the town. Still spluttering, the council members retired. Leo turned invisible and followed them. They made their way to the mayor’s house; there, Leo heard a continuation of their outraged spluttering. This soon turned into a conversation about stirring the local population into a mob to oust Gysshk. Several of the members left to organise the mob. Leo followed one of them and cast one of his spells at him to make his mind more accepting of the regime change but he proved surprisingly resistant. Leo turned visible and fled, unwilling to cause needless casualties. Coming back to the Town Hall, Leo saw there was already a mob outside. He had to fly in and informed the others of what he had discovered. Sigurd stepped out in front of the people and calmly and carefully informed them of the sequence of events using his personal charisma and magnetism. He cut an imposing figure with his dazzling armour, imposing figure and personal charisma. Leo couldn’t help but be impressed. His appeal had an immediate effect on the mob, which settled down and soon individuals started drifting home. Gysshk now felt more confident. Leo hoped that the council members had the sense to leave Carrisqui very quickly. This night preferably. Gysshk was not a forgiving individual.
Three days later, Kanor sent troops to aid Gysshk’s authority and Leo cast Phantom Steeds so the group could leave for Gaxmoor. They went past the former goblin caves and saw that Alp’s tribe had started to move in. They reached Gaxmoor that evening and reported to Kanor who was satisfied at the result. He reminded them that the League conference was in five days time. However, he wanted to be at in Scornel a day ahead. Kanor was of the understanding that Leo would transport him to the Temple of Carthea in Scornel and Leo informed the High Priestess, Aquila, that they were on their way.
During those five days, the group sold the goods they had taken from the goblins and made ready for the journey to Scornel. Leo was able to inscribe a couple of spells into his spell book. He was also approached by Fjorint, who asked him if he knew any trees in the temple. Trees were not something he paid particular attention to but Fjorint explained that she had a specific power that allowed her to literally walk between trees. Provided she knew the location of two trees of the same species, distance was not an issue. If Leo could let her know of any trees in Scornel, preferably close to the temple, she would be able to take the rest of the group to the city. Thus, Leo was given a crash course in trees on the understanding that as soon as he arrived in the city he would contact Fjorint and let her know about a suitable tree nearby to which she could “step”. Leo thought this was an interesting branch of magic. It also explained certain rumours he had heard about the abilities of druids.
The day before the great congress, Leo transported Kanor, Sigurd, Xiang and Tarquin to the Temple. They were met by a tall, raven-haired woman wearing flowing diaphanous robes whom Leo recognised as Aquila Valira, the High Priestess.
“Greetings Leo, Kanor. Ah Sigurd, it is good to see you again. We had an interesting discussion last time we met.”
Sigurd smiled in a slightly embarrassed manner. The discussion was on the philosophy of democracy and he had disagreed with the priestess. Sigurd had a fairly simple view of democracy. He was right and everyone else was wrong.
“Come. We have prepared quarters for you. I do hope you will be able to stay with us. There will be a dinner tonight and Maxilio Verbaris, mayor of Scornel will be there. I know you want to see him.”
Leo answered. “You are most generous my lady. Before we accept your kind offer though please bear with us for a little time. We will be back in a moment. Ramu, would you be so kind as to escort Kanor to his quarters.”
With those words, Leo found the nearest oak tree, following instructions. He then relayed the information arcanely and moments later he saw the rest of the group “step” out of the tree.
The rest of the day was at the disposal of the group. Leo wondered around the city. It was very different from Gaxmoor. It was built on several terraces, with the lowest bordering Deepwater Lake. The climate was kind to this land and the houses were uniformly white, giving the city a gleam. The streets were paved and everywhere there were signs of commerce and prosperity. People were rarely armed and if they were they marked themselves as either strangers or guardsmen. There were restaurants, shops and throngs of people. Leo spent an enjoyable day and in the late afternoon he went back to the temple. He met the others who had spent the day similarly. Cailin related that she had seen a large crowd around a gate, which was cheering a procession of armed knights in bronze armour. The crowd chanted “Kardus, Kardus”. This must have been the legendary warlord who had had so many successes against the Mongali. Xiang and Sigurd had sampled the local restaurants and could recommend the fish.
That evening a sumptuous dinner was arranged. Attending was the group together with the Priestess, Maxilio Verbarius, mayor of Scornel and Kanor. Much was discussed. Sigurd suggested raiding parts of the Mongali homelands from Trafalgis but Maxilio dismissed that as geographically impractical. Kanor asked for help against Heracules but was bluntly told that the resources for that were just not there. He was also told that it was deeply unlikely that he would be chosen war leader. Maxilio mentioned that Zalindra consort to Tarkane was in the city. She had offered a huge amount of troops if Scornel acknowledge Tarkane as Overking. Kanor mentioned his success with the Makyans but again Maxilio seemed to dismiss this. Leo was getting the impression that Maxilio was dismissive of the Borderlands in general. He watched and waited, knowing that Maxilio would have several visits like this tonight and thinking it very likely that certain decisions that were supposed to be discussed during the Congress, had been made months ago. Tomorrow, Maxilio would do his utmost to push them through.
Dispater
Explorer
Old enemies, new allies
"I'm are going to meet the representatives of the entire Scornic league in two days. I would like you to represent me in the military affairs of the Borderlands."
"I see." Sigurd chewed the meat slowly.
"What do you mean?"
"I think it would be unwise."
The Margrave lifted his glass.
"You are concerned the league might think we're in some sort of pact."
"They might be biased against me. I would like to offer an alliance, but for the moment I am neutral."
"Well, regardless, I am going to go ahead and put myself forward as field commander for the Scornic forces against the Mongali."
Sigurd nodded tactfully, then thought about the Margrave's field experience.
"Harecules needs to be dealt with."
"And I need the men I can get."
"I think we can win the league over in a way both can benefit."
---
"Wait! Bloody &%&$!!"
Gysshk had trouble trying to cling on to the phantom steeds, misty, ghostly horses whose hooves moved effortlessly over the land, crossing distance in a few hours where normal steeds would have taken days. The hobgoblin wasn't the best of riders, as they all could understand, but when he had first insisted on taking the caravan at normal pace, Xiang had told him firmly that this was not an option. This group of adventurers lived, killed and travelled fast. They were not exactly wasting time having picnics out in the open.
Impressive they were, Xiang in the lead, the former cavalryman looking ever so daunting with his black armour and spear at hand. Then followed up by two strong and fanatical holy warriors, Ramu and Raven, then Leo and the forrest witch, Callin, a rogue, Tarquin and himself. After Aos' death, Sigurd was the only one left of the company's old gang. The swordsman whom Sigurd had campaigned so many years had been cut down in front of his eyes, defiant to his last breath. He guessed their friendship had taken an end in the Aryptian desert, where clearly he had gone mad, but he couldn't help but looking over his shoulder in the midst of combat sometimes, somehow expecting to see the swashbuckler cutting enemies apiece.
Xiang was now the Margrave's favourite, who sent his captain south and north, trusting him to deal with his neighbours and allies. However, their current mission was of a tricky nature; assisting their old enemy Gysshk in taking over the local city council of Carisqui, where he had lately ever so conveniently become a council member. In return Gysshk had guaranteed 400 hobgoblin warriors waiting to defect from Harecules forces, joining the side of the Margrave in return for land and protection in Carisqui town.
The city walls came to sight at the end of the day. The party had at blazing speed crossed through a frozen landscape, and the slow warning of the deep winter approaching, with the coming of frost giants, marching through ice and snow. How do you defeat an army of frost giants in heavy winter? There would be a chance only if archers and crossbowmen could stick enough arrows in them, but in order to do so one would have to sending normal infantry to engage them, which would be suicide. Not even pikemen, who had long spears, would be at an advantage because the giants were huge and fierce, their mauls and axes would cut through them like a knife through hot butter. Only by being willing to sacrifice could Dulleaberg, and these hogoblins would maybe suit the role. The notion that the latter could defect in the middle of combat had been brought up and discussed, but if would be a risky plan. The hogoblins might chose to stay in Harecules ranks, and although they already held the half-demon in great contempt, he could always threaten them with punishments worse than death should he win the battle.
To the extent Gysshk could be trusted, Sigurd reckoned that the hogoblin would live up to his current obligation, regardless of his final motives. Additionally, the hogoblins' defection might demoralise other parts of Harecules army, but he was unsure if the Margrave had land to house them all. That the half-demon continued to be a never-ending thorn to Kanor's foot was perhaps remedied by that Harecules was running out of allies. His reputation of having been defeated twice in the field, on both occasions where he ran like a little girl, will unquestionably have spread among his troops.
---
The doors to the council swung open upon Gysshk's request, for the guards knew little of what ill fate awaited them. The merchant had quickly called for a hurried assembly of the other council members, the time was approaching midnight, and the mayor of the town looked confusedly at the party backing up Gysshk's demands for the town council to be demoted, making himself to sole leader of the city.
"You're out, I'm in. Get out, you're finished. You're history!" Sigurd wondered how the hogoblin ever got a seat in the town council in the first place.
"Tyrant! Traitor!" The councillors who valued their independence above all else had failed to meet up with the Margrave's requests, and now they paid for it. Had they held their obligations, maybe Kanor would not so willingly have taken their freedom away, but as it was now, he had everything to gain and little to lose by doing this. The situation bordered on violence and the fallen mayor signalled for his guards to take Gysshk away, the hogoblin actually making the situation worse for himself with his remarks and taunts. Sigurd could see the situation turning into a bloodbath so he stepped up.
"Silence! We are the men and women that have helped you in the past against dragons and would-be invaders. We are not here to bring about war or disorder to this city, neither is Gysshk. By the power of the authority of the Margrave he is to be instituted as mayor, and along with him there will be four hundred others of his kin coming to settle on this land. In return, I give you my word as King that no man will be harmed should you all chose to resign peacefully."
"This is outrageous! This is a breach of the law! We are not going to be governed by a filthy..."
"Mayor, as representative of your people, it is in your interests that no blood is spilled. Now, I ask you this question. Do you want to continue your lives in peace, or do you want to turn this place into a slaughterhouse?"
The stunned councillors stopped to think.
"Gysshk, swear before this council that no harm will fall upon them as long as you are in power." Reluctantly, the hogoblin merchant complied. No doubt after preciously few moments treacherous thoughts came to the minds of the councillors and they all resigned and left the halls with hurried determinedness. Gysshk smiled to himself and sank into his chair, gleeful at having his way with the townspeople. In the meantime, the word had miraculously spread. Commoners were at their doorsteps, with rumours abound that an army of hogoblins was invading the city, that the council had been attacked, that the mayor had been slain.
Xiang and Sigurd, the two warriors walked out with dignity, looking out at the masses gathered below them. It took the commoners little time to recognise them, both that had held prestige all over the Borderlands. Sigurd raised his hands reassuringly and for a moment, the crowd stood still.
"Citizens! There has been a change of power tonight. By the order of Margrave Manor, councillor Gysshk has been promoted to mayor."
"What about the hogoblin invasion?" An elderly smith at the front raised his voice.
"There is no invasion. There will come hogoblins, but they will live and work in this land like honest citizens. No blood has been spilt, neither will it be."
"If you feel wronged, you are free to leave this city" added Captain Xiang diplomatically "The Margrave extends his invitation for those who chose so to come and live in Gaxmor, where there is land and opportunities."
"Go home to your beds and rest. All is safe tonight." Sigurd felt this was the only reassurance he could offer them. Nobody knew what tomorrow would bring.
---
"I suggest you speak with a more silvery tongue from this moment on. Humans are not bullied so easily such as hogoblins.”
Gysshk growled.
“We'll be keeping an eye on you." The party began to leave the halls. The hogoblin might be realising that although his rule had been affirmed, it was as thin as ice. Sigurd hoped Kanor was wise enough to be prepared to remove Gysshk if Harecules was defeated, because one way or the other, he would become trouble in the end.
---
Here's to 225 xp for 14th lvl!
"I'm are going to meet the representatives of the entire Scornic league in two days. I would like you to represent me in the military affairs of the Borderlands."
"I see." Sigurd chewed the meat slowly.
"What do you mean?"
"I think it would be unwise."
The Margrave lifted his glass.
"You are concerned the league might think we're in some sort of pact."
"They might be biased against me. I would like to offer an alliance, but for the moment I am neutral."
"Well, regardless, I am going to go ahead and put myself forward as field commander for the Scornic forces against the Mongali."
Sigurd nodded tactfully, then thought about the Margrave's field experience.
"Harecules needs to be dealt with."
"And I need the men I can get."
"I think we can win the league over in a way both can benefit."
---
"Wait! Bloody &%&$!!"
Gysshk had trouble trying to cling on to the phantom steeds, misty, ghostly horses whose hooves moved effortlessly over the land, crossing distance in a few hours where normal steeds would have taken days. The hobgoblin wasn't the best of riders, as they all could understand, but when he had first insisted on taking the caravan at normal pace, Xiang had told him firmly that this was not an option. This group of adventurers lived, killed and travelled fast. They were not exactly wasting time having picnics out in the open.
Impressive they were, Xiang in the lead, the former cavalryman looking ever so daunting with his black armour and spear at hand. Then followed up by two strong and fanatical holy warriors, Ramu and Raven, then Leo and the forrest witch, Callin, a rogue, Tarquin and himself. After Aos' death, Sigurd was the only one left of the company's old gang. The swordsman whom Sigurd had campaigned so many years had been cut down in front of his eyes, defiant to his last breath. He guessed their friendship had taken an end in the Aryptian desert, where clearly he had gone mad, but he couldn't help but looking over his shoulder in the midst of combat sometimes, somehow expecting to see the swashbuckler cutting enemies apiece.
Xiang was now the Margrave's favourite, who sent his captain south and north, trusting him to deal with his neighbours and allies. However, their current mission was of a tricky nature; assisting their old enemy Gysshk in taking over the local city council of Carisqui, where he had lately ever so conveniently become a council member. In return Gysshk had guaranteed 400 hobgoblin warriors waiting to defect from Harecules forces, joining the side of the Margrave in return for land and protection in Carisqui town.
The city walls came to sight at the end of the day. The party had at blazing speed crossed through a frozen landscape, and the slow warning of the deep winter approaching, with the coming of frost giants, marching through ice and snow. How do you defeat an army of frost giants in heavy winter? There would be a chance only if archers and crossbowmen could stick enough arrows in them, but in order to do so one would have to sending normal infantry to engage them, which would be suicide. Not even pikemen, who had long spears, would be at an advantage because the giants were huge and fierce, their mauls and axes would cut through them like a knife through hot butter. Only by being willing to sacrifice could Dulleaberg, and these hogoblins would maybe suit the role. The notion that the latter could defect in the middle of combat had been brought up and discussed, but if would be a risky plan. The hogoblins might chose to stay in Harecules ranks, and although they already held the half-demon in great contempt, he could always threaten them with punishments worse than death should he win the battle.
To the extent Gysshk could be trusted, Sigurd reckoned that the hogoblin would live up to his current obligation, regardless of his final motives. Additionally, the hogoblins' defection might demoralise other parts of Harecules army, but he was unsure if the Margrave had land to house them all. That the half-demon continued to be a never-ending thorn to Kanor's foot was perhaps remedied by that Harecules was running out of allies. His reputation of having been defeated twice in the field, on both occasions where he ran like a little girl, will unquestionably have spread among his troops.
---
The doors to the council swung open upon Gysshk's request, for the guards knew little of what ill fate awaited them. The merchant had quickly called for a hurried assembly of the other council members, the time was approaching midnight, and the mayor of the town looked confusedly at the party backing up Gysshk's demands for the town council to be demoted, making himself to sole leader of the city.
"You're out, I'm in. Get out, you're finished. You're history!" Sigurd wondered how the hogoblin ever got a seat in the town council in the first place.
"Tyrant! Traitor!" The councillors who valued their independence above all else had failed to meet up with the Margrave's requests, and now they paid for it. Had they held their obligations, maybe Kanor would not so willingly have taken their freedom away, but as it was now, he had everything to gain and little to lose by doing this. The situation bordered on violence and the fallen mayor signalled for his guards to take Gysshk away, the hogoblin actually making the situation worse for himself with his remarks and taunts. Sigurd could see the situation turning into a bloodbath so he stepped up.
"Silence! We are the men and women that have helped you in the past against dragons and would-be invaders. We are not here to bring about war or disorder to this city, neither is Gysshk. By the power of the authority of the Margrave he is to be instituted as mayor, and along with him there will be four hundred others of his kin coming to settle on this land. In return, I give you my word as King that no man will be harmed should you all chose to resign peacefully."
"This is outrageous! This is a breach of the law! We are not going to be governed by a filthy..."
"Mayor, as representative of your people, it is in your interests that no blood is spilled. Now, I ask you this question. Do you want to continue your lives in peace, or do you want to turn this place into a slaughterhouse?"
The stunned councillors stopped to think.
"Gysshk, swear before this council that no harm will fall upon them as long as you are in power." Reluctantly, the hogoblin merchant complied. No doubt after preciously few moments treacherous thoughts came to the minds of the councillors and they all resigned and left the halls with hurried determinedness. Gysshk smiled to himself and sank into his chair, gleeful at having his way with the townspeople. In the meantime, the word had miraculously spread. Commoners were at their doorsteps, with rumours abound that an army of hogoblins was invading the city, that the council had been attacked, that the mayor had been slain.
Xiang and Sigurd, the two warriors walked out with dignity, looking out at the masses gathered below them. It took the commoners little time to recognise them, both that had held prestige all over the Borderlands. Sigurd raised his hands reassuringly and for a moment, the crowd stood still.
"Citizens! There has been a change of power tonight. By the order of Margrave Manor, councillor Gysshk has been promoted to mayor."
"What about the hogoblin invasion?" An elderly smith at the front raised his voice.
"There is no invasion. There will come hogoblins, but they will live and work in this land like honest citizens. No blood has been spilt, neither will it be."
"If you feel wronged, you are free to leave this city" added Captain Xiang diplomatically "The Margrave extends his invitation for those who chose so to come and live in Gaxmor, where there is land and opportunities."
"Go home to your beds and rest. All is safe tonight." Sigurd felt this was the only reassurance he could offer them. Nobody knew what tomorrow would bring.
---
"I suggest you speak with a more silvery tongue from this moment on. Humans are not bullied so easily such as hogoblins.”
Gysshk growled.
“We'll be keeping an eye on you." The party began to leave the halls. The hogoblin might be realising that although his rule had been affirmed, it was as thin as ice. Sigurd hoped Kanor was wise enough to be prepared to remove Gysshk if Harecules was defeated, because one way or the other, he would become trouble in the end.
---
Here's to 225 xp for 14th lvl!
Last edited:
StalkingBlue
First Post
[OOC note: The following is an account of Fjorent of Beskarn's recent spirit journey. Unlike some stuff I've created freeform in the past for other characters, this is actual content from an actual RP session.]
Witch’s Hour in Scorn’el
The chalk screeches on the floorboards as the star grows its fifth arm, and Fjorent sits back to contemplate her work. Five points, five tallow candles. It’s not as if the shape mattered for the efficacy of the focus; but someone might enter despite bolts and warnings, and a Witch has a reputation to maintain – and a body to protect while she is away from the Pale. Superstition may still stay a hand where other barriers fail.
The pouch. Fjorent shakes a few desiccated, woody slivers into her palm and stirs through them with a finger. Skin-thin for an easy ride – trunk-thick for death and truth and night. Which one to choose? The rich food and wine at Scorn’el Mayor Maxilio’s dinner table have left her light-headed, and the lures of the True are not to be trifled with. Yet she needs answers tonight.
Two smooth thick slices go back into the pouch. They would leave a Witch out for a night even without the wine to account for; too long, too dangerous here and tonight. Most of the other slivers are thin enough to see through, potent enough for a brief dip into the True but no serious work. Which leaves that lumpy one, slightly uneven at the end where the mushroom from which was cut curved around its tree, long unchosen because of it. Fjorent sighs. Shape doesn’t matter …
The lumpy bit of mushroom bends and cracks between the Witch’s teeth, tasting of dust and leather. The candles spit and flicker. Then as the mushroom starts releasing its deeply stored juices, her gums tingle and go numb and she settles back to welcome the acrid taste of the True.
The taste of forest. The taste of Beskarn. Each and every time again, the first time. Spring again, a fly whirling insanely through the sunbeams among ---
***
Whirling mists at first, merely. The sensation of her own skin more sharply defined. Then the curtain of mists draws back from a grey, bleak landscape. Bleakness that, in the True, hurts the eye.
The Witch, still in human form, draws her sickle and raises her free hand. Two parallel cuts in the fleshy base of her left thumb, two drops of bright blood drawn. Where her blood drips on the barren ground – One, a skull cracks against a castle wall – flowers spring up from the ground, spread like ripples on a lake – Two, her sickle slits a prone man’s throat – a carpet of a thousand colours and impossibly brilliant greens grows up – a living forest. The Witch breathes. One answer has been given and it is what she had hoped.
Far off a village nestles among the trees. Here and tonight, that village is Arkand. The Witch selects her form for keen vision and speed and changes. Feet claw and fingers feather, and (a strand of moss whirling off a talon) the Witch-eagle rises on the air and speeds towards the village to investigate.
The village appears healthy and at peace. Bear guards patrol with pikes and spears, gazelles are chatting in the marketplace. As the Witch-eagle spirals down searching for a certain spirit she wishes to see, she suddenly feels agitation boil up from below. The landscape changes again, unforested hills stretch away from the village, an immense dark cloud moves rapidly up from the west.
Strong current, unasked for. Here is the Present changing into a Future. Must learn more. The Witch leaves Arkand be and speeds towards the looming cloud.
A gigantic shadow flits across her from above and behind, the whirl of a wingtip buffets her and sends the ground spiralling crazily up towards her until, bruised but intact, she manages to catch air under her wings and right herself. The creature is a great eagle, which just now reaches the cloud and swoops down at it, sending lightning flashing from its talons. Fire billows upwards from the cloud: battle has been joined.
Cold seeps strength from the Witch-eagle as she flies. She is far from her Pale body and this cloud is dark and strong. Yet she must see more. Answers. She presses on.
Faces swim in the cloud as she expected: thousands upon thousands of Mongali faces contorted with the fear and lust of battle. The horde is immense and beyond it stretches rank upon ghostly rank of Mongali ancestors, as far as eagle eyes can see and farther. Only with her mind can the Witch reach to that faraway, point of utter darkness from which this neverending, never vanquished stream pours: Mon Gal, the first Mongali ancestor. Tales told in the Pale claim that Mon Gal destroyed the gods who made him, though he himself was but a man.
More eagles have joined the first to battle the cloud. Some fall, defeated. The cold so close to the Horde makes the Witch’s wings tire. She has seen as much as she dares, and wheels away.
The Arkand village lies in her path and this time freely offers what lay hidden in it before: a sheep stands in deep talk with a slim greyhound. The Witch recognises the Margravine (no murderess after all) with Captain Jethis. As the Witch-eagle sinks low enough to overhear their words, the sheep glances up briefly and frowns: sharp senses, that one has. The Witch rises on the wind to not disturb her further.
As the Witch-eagle travels north towards the faint call of her body in the Pale, the sun drowns and the moon flies up into the night sky. A white-domed city spreads, dominating a lake. In through a window of the Temple of Carthea she flies, to check on the spirits of both her old friends in passing. The badger Raven is hunkered down and snores peacefully; the gazelle Cailin lies curled up, magic patterns glimmering along her forelegs, graceful even in sleep. Maybe, the Witch thinks, the two of them in themselves should be enough to keep her with her new allies?
Yet, too many doubts remain. The world is at a turning point. So many Futures will be discarded, at each further step one takes ... She has strength left to seek more answers, and flies off to find the spirits of those men that puzzle her.
The first bedchamber the Witch enters has a sleek black cat stretched happily along her rich, soft bed. Wrong room, obviously, this is the High Priestess and not the Margrave. She finds Kanor at her second attempt: a kestrel pacing tensely back and forth, wings held tautly as if the man has his hands clamped behind his back as he is thinking furiously. As she watches he takes a sharp turn and looks straight at her, through her. Blind to her hovering spirit’s presence. Ambitious. Also, a man in sore need for guidance. She wonders fleetingly why he has not brought his advisor witch Grimhelda to a council of this importance, then forgets.
Captain Xiang next – a man of many voices, many faces. Again, she hopes for clarity. It takes her a while to locate him in the whirling mists of the guest quarters. Then, without warning, the Panther.
It paces back and forth madly, imprisoned by invisible, intangible walls, claws gouging the flagstones where it walks, lines sharply discrete, mass impossibly focussed even for the True --- Too much, this is too much!
The Panther turns its head and stares at her with eyes completely blank, with nothing and nothing beyond them. More swiftly than a wing beats they join into a maelstrom that tears at her very spirit and soul. The Witch flutters and with an effort of will, flees.
After this experience it costs her to draw up courage and seek out more knowledge. What hidden agenda, what dark secret may she find in that other man who has struck her as dangerous, although for very different reasons?
None, as it turns out. The priest Tarquin is a plump little mole, all four legs splayed in the oblivion of sleep.
The Witch’s body in the Pale calls more persistently now as her True strength wanes. She slips into her chamber, settles into her sprawling body and stretches, testing sensation. Still brimmingly sharp and defined, still True. She sits up straighter and concentrates, hoping she may accomplish one more thing this night.
The pentagram and sputtering candles dim and swim and make way for what she needs: a forest, clearing, a still pool. As she bends forward to look in, as always her True skin crawls with the old memory – Not. Now. Stay. Away. I. Took Your. Head!
The question. Stay with her new companions; or go? The pool shivers.
Conflict. Her conflict, their conflict? Unclear. This is puzzling.
Then, in quick succession, images storm her.
Evil, huge, shapeless, ancient, of immense power.
Evil, smaller, younger but just as powerful. She has never met him but she recognises the Cambion.
Her companions face them – the Panther here, the mole there. The Witch is with them, an unsettling echo of the Witch watching through the pool echoing the Witch on the ground echoing the watching Witch …
Powerful cold magic streaks from the group but does not reach its target – it is deflected off the ancient evil and rebounds on the group. The Witch’s life spark dies, Just like when the ogre – She wrenches her mind from this intrusion of a memory from the Pale, irrelevant here, back to the vision in her pool. More people have died from the deflected cold. The mole is frozen solid, fur spiky with frost. The Panther steps up to battle the Cambion – and with the certainty of one drifting outside the Rivers of Time, the Witch above the pool knows that the warrior will lose, loses and has already lost.
***
One by one, the candles burn down, strangely insipid after the vividness of the True. The Witch summons the strength to blink. A hand. Reluctantly she flexes its fingers, retakes possession of her Pale flesh. Black bruises run up her arm where the giant eagle’s wing buffeted her in the True. The bitter aftertaste of mushroom fills her mouth. To curl up and forget …
Yet there is nothing for it. She has received guidance. Without thinking further, as a Witch must, she picks herself up giddily to go to the man who needs guidance more than anyone.
A dragon, she reflects as she strides down the corridor towards the Margrave’s quarters. That was what the shapeless form would have been. Cold spells against a red dragon … that do not work? Impossible … And yet. A red dragon has been seen destroying a fortress that stood in the way of the Cambion’s army. A dragon that was reported not once to have used its fire breath …
Witch’s Hour in Scorn’el
The chalk screeches on the floorboards as the star grows its fifth arm, and Fjorent sits back to contemplate her work. Five points, five tallow candles. It’s not as if the shape mattered for the efficacy of the focus; but someone might enter despite bolts and warnings, and a Witch has a reputation to maintain – and a body to protect while she is away from the Pale. Superstition may still stay a hand where other barriers fail.
The pouch. Fjorent shakes a few desiccated, woody slivers into her palm and stirs through them with a finger. Skin-thin for an easy ride – trunk-thick for death and truth and night. Which one to choose? The rich food and wine at Scorn’el Mayor Maxilio’s dinner table have left her light-headed, and the lures of the True are not to be trifled with. Yet she needs answers tonight.
Two smooth thick slices go back into the pouch. They would leave a Witch out for a night even without the wine to account for; too long, too dangerous here and tonight. Most of the other slivers are thin enough to see through, potent enough for a brief dip into the True but no serious work. Which leaves that lumpy one, slightly uneven at the end where the mushroom from which was cut curved around its tree, long unchosen because of it. Fjorent sighs. Shape doesn’t matter …
The lumpy bit of mushroom bends and cracks between the Witch’s teeth, tasting of dust and leather. The candles spit and flicker. Then as the mushroom starts releasing its deeply stored juices, her gums tingle and go numb and she settles back to welcome the acrid taste of the True.
The taste of forest. The taste of Beskarn. Each and every time again, the first time. Spring again, a fly whirling insanely through the sunbeams among ---
***
Whirling mists at first, merely. The sensation of her own skin more sharply defined. Then the curtain of mists draws back from a grey, bleak landscape. Bleakness that, in the True, hurts the eye.
The Witch, still in human form, draws her sickle and raises her free hand. Two parallel cuts in the fleshy base of her left thumb, two drops of bright blood drawn. Where her blood drips on the barren ground – One, a skull cracks against a castle wall – flowers spring up from the ground, spread like ripples on a lake – Two, her sickle slits a prone man’s throat – a carpet of a thousand colours and impossibly brilliant greens grows up – a living forest. The Witch breathes. One answer has been given and it is what she had hoped.
Far off a village nestles among the trees. Here and tonight, that village is Arkand. The Witch selects her form for keen vision and speed and changes. Feet claw and fingers feather, and (a strand of moss whirling off a talon) the Witch-eagle rises on the air and speeds towards the village to investigate.
The village appears healthy and at peace. Bear guards patrol with pikes and spears, gazelles are chatting in the marketplace. As the Witch-eagle spirals down searching for a certain spirit she wishes to see, she suddenly feels agitation boil up from below. The landscape changes again, unforested hills stretch away from the village, an immense dark cloud moves rapidly up from the west.
Strong current, unasked for. Here is the Present changing into a Future. Must learn more. The Witch leaves Arkand be and speeds towards the looming cloud.
A gigantic shadow flits across her from above and behind, the whirl of a wingtip buffets her and sends the ground spiralling crazily up towards her until, bruised but intact, she manages to catch air under her wings and right herself. The creature is a great eagle, which just now reaches the cloud and swoops down at it, sending lightning flashing from its talons. Fire billows upwards from the cloud: battle has been joined.
Cold seeps strength from the Witch-eagle as she flies. She is far from her Pale body and this cloud is dark and strong. Yet she must see more. Answers. She presses on.
Faces swim in the cloud as she expected: thousands upon thousands of Mongali faces contorted with the fear and lust of battle. The horde is immense and beyond it stretches rank upon ghostly rank of Mongali ancestors, as far as eagle eyes can see and farther. Only with her mind can the Witch reach to that faraway, point of utter darkness from which this neverending, never vanquished stream pours: Mon Gal, the first Mongali ancestor. Tales told in the Pale claim that Mon Gal destroyed the gods who made him, though he himself was but a man.
More eagles have joined the first to battle the cloud. Some fall, defeated. The cold so close to the Horde makes the Witch’s wings tire. She has seen as much as she dares, and wheels away.
The Arkand village lies in her path and this time freely offers what lay hidden in it before: a sheep stands in deep talk with a slim greyhound. The Witch recognises the Margravine (no murderess after all) with Captain Jethis. As the Witch-eagle sinks low enough to overhear their words, the sheep glances up briefly and frowns: sharp senses, that one has. The Witch rises on the wind to not disturb her further.
As the Witch-eagle travels north towards the faint call of her body in the Pale, the sun drowns and the moon flies up into the night sky. A white-domed city spreads, dominating a lake. In through a window of the Temple of Carthea she flies, to check on the spirits of both her old friends in passing. The badger Raven is hunkered down and snores peacefully; the gazelle Cailin lies curled up, magic patterns glimmering along her forelegs, graceful even in sleep. Maybe, the Witch thinks, the two of them in themselves should be enough to keep her with her new allies?
Yet, too many doubts remain. The world is at a turning point. So many Futures will be discarded, at each further step one takes ... She has strength left to seek more answers, and flies off to find the spirits of those men that puzzle her.
The first bedchamber the Witch enters has a sleek black cat stretched happily along her rich, soft bed. Wrong room, obviously, this is the High Priestess and not the Margrave. She finds Kanor at her second attempt: a kestrel pacing tensely back and forth, wings held tautly as if the man has his hands clamped behind his back as he is thinking furiously. As she watches he takes a sharp turn and looks straight at her, through her. Blind to her hovering spirit’s presence. Ambitious. Also, a man in sore need for guidance. She wonders fleetingly why he has not brought his advisor witch Grimhelda to a council of this importance, then forgets.
Captain Xiang next – a man of many voices, many faces. Again, she hopes for clarity. It takes her a while to locate him in the whirling mists of the guest quarters. Then, without warning, the Panther.
It paces back and forth madly, imprisoned by invisible, intangible walls, claws gouging the flagstones where it walks, lines sharply discrete, mass impossibly focussed even for the True --- Too much, this is too much!
The Panther turns its head and stares at her with eyes completely blank, with nothing and nothing beyond them. More swiftly than a wing beats they join into a maelstrom that tears at her very spirit and soul. The Witch flutters and with an effort of will, flees.
After this experience it costs her to draw up courage and seek out more knowledge. What hidden agenda, what dark secret may she find in that other man who has struck her as dangerous, although for very different reasons?
None, as it turns out. The priest Tarquin is a plump little mole, all four legs splayed in the oblivion of sleep.
The Witch’s body in the Pale calls more persistently now as her True strength wanes. She slips into her chamber, settles into her sprawling body and stretches, testing sensation. Still brimmingly sharp and defined, still True. She sits up straighter and concentrates, hoping she may accomplish one more thing this night.
The pentagram and sputtering candles dim and swim and make way for what she needs: a forest, clearing, a still pool. As she bends forward to look in, as always her True skin crawls with the old memory – Not. Now. Stay. Away. I. Took Your. Head!
The question. Stay with her new companions; or go? The pool shivers.
Conflict. Her conflict, their conflict? Unclear. This is puzzling.
Then, in quick succession, images storm her.
Evil, huge, shapeless, ancient, of immense power.
Evil, smaller, younger but just as powerful. She has never met him but she recognises the Cambion.
Her companions face them – the Panther here, the mole there. The Witch is with them, an unsettling echo of the Witch watching through the pool echoing the Witch on the ground echoing the watching Witch …
Powerful cold magic streaks from the group but does not reach its target – it is deflected off the ancient evil and rebounds on the group. The Witch’s life spark dies, Just like when the ogre – She wrenches her mind from this intrusion of a memory from the Pale, irrelevant here, back to the vision in her pool. More people have died from the deflected cold. The mole is frozen solid, fur spiky with frost. The Panther steps up to battle the Cambion – and with the certainty of one drifting outside the Rivers of Time, the Witch above the pool knows that the warrior will lose, loses and has already lost.
***
One by one, the candles burn down, strangely insipid after the vividness of the True. The Witch summons the strength to blink. A hand. Reluctantly she flexes its fingers, retakes possession of her Pale flesh. Black bruises run up her arm where the giant eagle’s wing buffeted her in the True. The bitter aftertaste of mushroom fills her mouth. To curl up and forget …
Yet there is nothing for it. She has received guidance. Without thinking further, as a Witch must, she picks herself up giddily to go to the man who needs guidance more than anyone.
A dragon, she reflects as she strides down the corridor towards the Margrave’s quarters. That was what the shapeless form would have been. Cold spells against a red dragon … that do not work? Impossible … And yet. A red dragon has been seen destroying a fortress that stood in the way of the Cambion’s army. A dragon that was reported not once to have used its fire breath …
Mathew_Freeman
First Post
Love the animal versions of the party! Tarquin is Mole Boy from now on. Makes me wonder what you've got Leo down as...
Makes me wonder what you've got Leo down as...Tallarn said:Love the animal versions of the party! Tarquin is Mole Boy from now on.
That's for me to know and Fjorent to (maybe) find out.
I think the only one Fjorent/Kerstin was puzzled by was Margravine Eloise appearing as an ewe, a female sheep ("she's not stupid!"), but a sheep is just an older lamb...
StalkingBlue
First Post
S'mon said:That's for me to know and Fjorent to (maybe) find out.
I think the only one Fjorent/Kerstin was puzzled by was Margravine Eloise appearing as an ewe, a female sheep ("she's not stupid!"), but a sheep is just an older lamb...
The sheep didn't surprise me (although it did make me laugh). What surprised me was that for the second time in a row Eloise reacted a lot smarter than I'd have expected her to. That woman can't only spot a witch in bat shape, she can spot a witch who isn't actually there!
Scary ...
I mean, scary for a sheep. Uhm.
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