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Maissen: Shades of Grey [UPDATE 12/12, post 199]
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<blockquote data-quote="Beale Knight" data-source="post: 2659037" data-attributes="member: 7033"><p><strong>Session 13 pt1: The Dream, Portagrumble</strong></p><p></p><p>It seemed like we discussed our options for a month. None of us really wanted to leave Maissen, so we didn’t consider independence, and none of us really wanted to become locked into a particular tract of land. Left with the options of becoming Agents of the Church or Agents of the State. From Kerros’ descriptions, it sounded like being Agents of the Church would have us doing the same sort of “adventuring” missions we’d grown used to in the past weeks. </p><p></p><p>That at last became our decision. We slept secure in the knowledge that if nothing else, we could soon start to head home. </p><p></p><p>What a difference a dream can make. Late in the night Aneirin, Ren, and Dumb Bear all awoke at the same time. After a few moments discussion, they realized they’d been stirred by the same dream. The EXACT same, very vivid, dream.</p><p></p><p>Each of us, alone in the dream, walked through a fog. A figure formed in the distance and a voice from all around boomed, "<span style="color: Silver">I AM THE FINGER!</span>” That figure receded and another figure formed to boom, “<span style="color: Silver">I AM THE PALM!</span>” A series of figures formed and dissipated, and each repeated that they were the palm. Then a last figure formed, and boomed that he was the finger. We were each then alone in the dream fog.</p><p></p><p>As we each moved through the fog we came to a figure standing with his back to us. He turned and revealed himself to be none other than Thrand the hunter, leader of the Maissen council. “<span style="color: DarkOrchid">I am the Thumb</span>,” he said before dissipating. </p><p></p><p>The fog then receded and we each stood alone on the island between the two rope bridges, the site of Madge and Killian’s deaths. The destroyed bridge was repaired and a crowd of some three hundred people were in the valley. As one they looked up and shouted, “<span style="color: Silver">WE ARE THE GRIP!</span>”</p><p></p><p>We were then each alone on the island, holding a scrap of parchment which read, “<span style="color: Red">The truth is here if you want it. Independence will give you independence. Throw off your shackles and join us. Return to this spot and whisper your allegiance to the peoples of Maissen rather then the rulers.</span>”</p><p></p><p>It was very unsettling. Clearly someone was trying to manipulate us into returning to the rope bridge, but there were a host of questions. Who was doing it? Was it Thrand? That seemed ridiculous, that the head of the council would encourage us to act against Maissen; so who? Could it be a trick of Idien, or the Ogre Mage? Maybe even the cloud giants, but why would they bother to utilize a figure only two of our group would know – one, considering Bessie seemed wholly unaffected by the dream message. </p><p></p><p>Our discussion woke the druid, and after some more conversation, we decided to investigate the dream. We were only a day or so from the bridge anyway, it was too close to not look into. </p><p></p><p>Before we left the next morning we tracked down Kerros for one more question. How long would our term of service be if we signed on as Agents of the Church or State? Clearly leaning toward “as long as we wish,” we finally came to realize that meant at least five years, that was the standard agreement - five years at a time. </p><p></p><p>That settled, we packed our gear and let the dwarves know we were headed out. We were met with looks of disbelief. Didn’t we know there was a huge encampment of ogres and giants just beyond the gate? We’d be taking not only our lives in our hands, but also the safety of the entire community if we left now, at least if we left through the main gate. The dwarves agreed to take us out via one of their many secret doors – one very far away from the main gate and all the fighting. </p><p></p><p>It turned out to be a blessing that they did that. Led by one of their own, we trekked through the underground for several hours in all but total safety. At last our guide touched a section of wall. Dirt shifted and fell away, and he pushed open a wide portal. </p><p></p><p>We were about fifty yards above the trail we’d traveled weeks earlier. After thanking our guide profusely, we exited and made our way down. Despite our efforts to take careful note of exactly where the secret door was, half of such a door's secret is spoiled just by knowing it’s there, we could tell no difference between it and the mountain side. It was truly a masterwork of dwarven engineering. It’s doubtful we could ever even stop at this same spot again on purpose, so seamlessly did that door fit the landscape. </p><p></p><p>By our reckoning it was a few hours after noon. It was actually possible to reach the rope bridge before nightfall. There was no activity on the trail, nor signs of any recently. The war had obviously not reached here yet. It’s sobering to think what we would have had to battle to get even this far had we left through the dwarves’ main gate. </p><p></p><p>We headed east. Our travel went smoothly for almost hour or so, and then things came crashing down. Ren, riding ahead to scout the trail, had the trail collapse under him. He and Sandy the War lizard fell about ten feet into a tunnel. Sticking its head out from one side of the tunnel was a badger – a giant badger, his head alone the size of Sandy.</p><p></p><p>And it spoke.</p><p></p><p>“Wait,” it said, “we can work this out.”</p><p></p><p>The rest of the group made their way to the collapsed section of tunnel and listened as the badger, “Portagrumble”, explained how he had friends in trouble and how he had come to appeal to us for aid. He had been tunneling throughout the area for more than a week, just underground – close enough to hear activity and conversations. He believed us to be the kind of heroes he needed.</p><p></p><p>It seems Portagrumble awoke two weeks ago. He didn’t remember falling asleep; he’d been eating, and then something happened to wake him up. Bessie concluded it must have been the earthquake. The fallout from that event seemed to have no end. </p><p></p><p>Portagrumble noticed that his home was now covered with ivy, and he feared that a great deal of time had passed. It had. There was no doubt he was from the same era as Aneirin. Especially when he told us that his friends were halflings. Halflings brought to his home by Maissen personally. </p><p></p><p>Maissen had been leading the halflings and Portagrumble to safety. Idein was on the move and, as the giant badger said, he had a recipe for halflings. So Maissen led them to a place of safety, where they constructed a village and lived safely for awhile. And then they all fell asleep. Portagrumble awoke, but he found the halflings were all asleep. This was why he needed help. </p><p></p><p>Portagrumble told us where the village was, how long it would take to get there, and warned us we would have to enter the palace, where he couldn’t go. Understanding, we agreed to help and said we would meet him there – at the main building he said. </p><p></p><p>Wondering how this would affect the war and balance of power, we kept on the trail. The halfling village was well southeast of our position, so we could easily continue our investigation at the rope bridge and then go to see about this strange situation. </p><p></p><p>The afternoon wore peacefully on into Day Forty-Six, which saw us head into thick woods. The trail was familiar but we weren’t the only ones on it. Late in the morning, we were ambushed. A pair of minotaurs ran out from either side of the trail, swinging strange, horn crafted axes. </p><p></p><p>The first cut through Dumb Bear’s horse with a single clean stroke, turning the animal into pieces before we could blink. The elf’s instincts took over, and Dumb Bear jumped off his horse and landed square on his feet before the monster before the horse even hit the ground. </p><p></p><p>The second minotaur charged at Aneirin’s new horse, but the fighter’s skill on horseback wasn’t limited to the late, great Avarshan. Aneirin neatly dodged the charging minotaur, then wheeled around to strike him from behind with his lance even as Ren sent an arrow into it. The minotaur barely noticed the missile, too distracted by the lance that literally ran him through. </p><p></p><p>Bessie had already begun a summoning, and now a hippogriff appeared to join the fight, striking at and distracting the first minotaur as the druid sent a crossbow bolt into it. He pounded Dumb Bear with his axe and gorged him with his horns, but the raging elf barbarian answered with his flail, hitting the minotaur so hard muscle and flesh flew from the monster’s chest. </p><p></p><p>The second minotaur realized his advantage, if he had indeed ever had one, was lost, and tried to flee the way he came. Ren drove Sandy back down the trail and into the woods and then fired another arrow into him from his enchanted bow. The arrow struck right at the back of the neck and was just enough to send the minotaur to the ground. </p><p></p><p>Aneirin, poised to chase down the second minotaur, now charged on to the first one. His already bloodied lance pierced the minotaur, who was now surrounded – Dumb Bear on one side, Aneirin on another, a dead horse carcass on a third side. The minotaur turned to the last avenue of escape, forgetting completely about Bessie’s summoned hippogriff. The noble animal raked the minotaur with its claws, reaching into the wound Dumb Bear had delivered and opening the minotaur’s chest wide open. The monster was dead before its body hit the ground. </p><p></p><p>We had won the battle, but the price was a valuable horse and severely wounded Dumb Bear. Bessie’s druidic magic healed him, and he confessed another worthy hit would probably have dropped him. Then he kicked the nearby corpse. </p><p></p><p>From our attackers we gained the two horn-axes, probably valuable gold nose rings with inset green gems, the monsters’ horns, and their armbands. The last gave us pause. The armbands were decorated with a flat stone bearing the Chakta symbol of a cow atop a bison. That there was a connection was obvious; what it was remained a mystery.</p><p></p><p>Once we pushed the corpses from the trail, we prepared to put our looted gain into our newly acquired portable hole. Only when we opened the cloth did we realize we had never emptied it of the water and fish Balloong had filled it with. The decision to empty it right then and there was easy to make, and made us laugh – thinking about the inevitable pursuers and what they will think coming across this scene. A battle, blood everywhere, a horse carcass nearby, two dead minotaurs devoid of horns just off the trail, and a big – BIG -pile of rotting fish! </p><p></p><p>Levity aside, we still had a place to reach today, and so we continued, Dumb Bear riding behind Ren. Once it was in sight we were amazed to find that one aspect of our dream had already proven true: the bridge was repaired. </p><p></p><p>The elf was the first to hear it. Someone was on the far side of the bridge. We dismounted and left Bobrick with the animals, and then cautiously walked up to the bridge’s edge. As we did, we saw a figure come out from the rock on the far side. </p><p></p><p>It was Legand! The slave we – Ren, Bessie, with Madge and Killian, had saved from the pack of wolves. “Greetings” he called. “I am pleased to see you chose to come.”</p><p></p><p>“We have chosen to investigate our dream,” Ren said. “Was that your doing?”</p><p></p><p>“I had a hand in that,” he said. “Will you meet me on the island?”</p><p></p><p>We decided that would be safe enough, and it beat shouting across the canyon. On the middle island Legand explained our dream to us. To our relief, he avoid being mysterious. </p><p>He was, he told us, the Palm. The Grip was a group of revolutionaries and their leader, the Thumb, was none other than Tharand. The same Tharand of our dream. The same Tharand that was leader of Maissen’s ruling council. </p><p></p><p>The Grip was not the same as the Barcu, but they were allied with them. Their goal was the same. Not the destruction of Maissen, nor war against its people, but the overthrow of the ruling council. The council had over time come to stand against what Maissen the man had chosen to stand for, and the time had come to return to the ideals of the past. If we would meet with Tharand, here at the island, he would further answer our questions. We need not necessarily commit ourselves, Legand said, but he seemed confident we would.</p><p></p><p>We agreed to meet and listen to Tharand, already interested in the proposal. We shared Legand luxurious camp that night, and late the next morning he arrived – and not alone.</p><p></p><p>Next: Throwing Our Lot, Redbreats' End POST 191</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Beale Knight, post: 2659037, member: 7033"] [b]Session 13 pt1: The Dream, Portagrumble[/b] It seemed like we discussed our options for a month. None of us really wanted to leave Maissen, so we didn’t consider independence, and none of us really wanted to become locked into a particular tract of land. Left with the options of becoming Agents of the Church or Agents of the State. From Kerros’ descriptions, it sounded like being Agents of the Church would have us doing the same sort of “adventuring” missions we’d grown used to in the past weeks. That at last became our decision. We slept secure in the knowledge that if nothing else, we could soon start to head home. What a difference a dream can make. Late in the night Aneirin, Ren, and Dumb Bear all awoke at the same time. After a few moments discussion, they realized they’d been stirred by the same dream. The EXACT same, very vivid, dream. Each of us, alone in the dream, walked through a fog. A figure formed in the distance and a voice from all around boomed, "[COLOR=Silver]I AM THE FINGER![/COLOR]” That figure receded and another figure formed to boom, “[COLOR=Silver]I AM THE PALM![/COLOR]” A series of figures formed and dissipated, and each repeated that they were the palm. Then a last figure formed, and boomed that he was the finger. We were each then alone in the dream fog. As we each moved through the fog we came to a figure standing with his back to us. He turned and revealed himself to be none other than Thrand the hunter, leader of the Maissen council. “[COLOR=DarkOrchid]I am the Thumb[/COLOR],” he said before dissipating. The fog then receded and we each stood alone on the island between the two rope bridges, the site of Madge and Killian’s deaths. The destroyed bridge was repaired and a crowd of some three hundred people were in the valley. As one they looked up and shouted, “[COLOR=Silver]WE ARE THE GRIP![/COLOR]” We were then each alone on the island, holding a scrap of parchment which read, “[COLOR=Red]The truth is here if you want it. Independence will give you independence. Throw off your shackles and join us. Return to this spot and whisper your allegiance to the peoples of Maissen rather then the rulers.[/COLOR]” It was very unsettling. Clearly someone was trying to manipulate us into returning to the rope bridge, but there were a host of questions. Who was doing it? Was it Thrand? That seemed ridiculous, that the head of the council would encourage us to act against Maissen; so who? Could it be a trick of Idien, or the Ogre Mage? Maybe even the cloud giants, but why would they bother to utilize a figure only two of our group would know – one, considering Bessie seemed wholly unaffected by the dream message. Our discussion woke the druid, and after some more conversation, we decided to investigate the dream. We were only a day or so from the bridge anyway, it was too close to not look into. Before we left the next morning we tracked down Kerros for one more question. How long would our term of service be if we signed on as Agents of the Church or State? Clearly leaning toward “as long as we wish,” we finally came to realize that meant at least five years, that was the standard agreement - five years at a time. That settled, we packed our gear and let the dwarves know we were headed out. We were met with looks of disbelief. Didn’t we know there was a huge encampment of ogres and giants just beyond the gate? We’d be taking not only our lives in our hands, but also the safety of the entire community if we left now, at least if we left through the main gate. The dwarves agreed to take us out via one of their many secret doors – one very far away from the main gate and all the fighting. It turned out to be a blessing that they did that. Led by one of their own, we trekked through the underground for several hours in all but total safety. At last our guide touched a section of wall. Dirt shifted and fell away, and he pushed open a wide portal. We were about fifty yards above the trail we’d traveled weeks earlier. After thanking our guide profusely, we exited and made our way down. Despite our efforts to take careful note of exactly where the secret door was, half of such a door's secret is spoiled just by knowing it’s there, we could tell no difference between it and the mountain side. It was truly a masterwork of dwarven engineering. It’s doubtful we could ever even stop at this same spot again on purpose, so seamlessly did that door fit the landscape. By our reckoning it was a few hours after noon. It was actually possible to reach the rope bridge before nightfall. There was no activity on the trail, nor signs of any recently. The war had obviously not reached here yet. It’s sobering to think what we would have had to battle to get even this far had we left through the dwarves’ main gate. We headed east. Our travel went smoothly for almost hour or so, and then things came crashing down. Ren, riding ahead to scout the trail, had the trail collapse under him. He and Sandy the War lizard fell about ten feet into a tunnel. Sticking its head out from one side of the tunnel was a badger – a giant badger, his head alone the size of Sandy. And it spoke. “Wait,” it said, “we can work this out.” The rest of the group made their way to the collapsed section of tunnel and listened as the badger, “Portagrumble”, explained how he had friends in trouble and how he had come to appeal to us for aid. He had been tunneling throughout the area for more than a week, just underground – close enough to hear activity and conversations. He believed us to be the kind of heroes he needed. It seems Portagrumble awoke two weeks ago. He didn’t remember falling asleep; he’d been eating, and then something happened to wake him up. Bessie concluded it must have been the earthquake. The fallout from that event seemed to have no end. Portagrumble noticed that his home was now covered with ivy, and he feared that a great deal of time had passed. It had. There was no doubt he was from the same era as Aneirin. Especially when he told us that his friends were halflings. Halflings brought to his home by Maissen personally. Maissen had been leading the halflings and Portagrumble to safety. Idein was on the move and, as the giant badger said, he had a recipe for halflings. So Maissen led them to a place of safety, where they constructed a village and lived safely for awhile. And then they all fell asleep. Portagrumble awoke, but he found the halflings were all asleep. This was why he needed help. Portagrumble told us where the village was, how long it would take to get there, and warned us we would have to enter the palace, where he couldn’t go. Understanding, we agreed to help and said we would meet him there – at the main building he said. Wondering how this would affect the war and balance of power, we kept on the trail. The halfling village was well southeast of our position, so we could easily continue our investigation at the rope bridge and then go to see about this strange situation. The afternoon wore peacefully on into Day Forty-Six, which saw us head into thick woods. The trail was familiar but we weren’t the only ones on it. Late in the morning, we were ambushed. A pair of minotaurs ran out from either side of the trail, swinging strange, horn crafted axes. The first cut through Dumb Bear’s horse with a single clean stroke, turning the animal into pieces before we could blink. The elf’s instincts took over, and Dumb Bear jumped off his horse and landed square on his feet before the monster before the horse even hit the ground. The second minotaur charged at Aneirin’s new horse, but the fighter’s skill on horseback wasn’t limited to the late, great Avarshan. Aneirin neatly dodged the charging minotaur, then wheeled around to strike him from behind with his lance even as Ren sent an arrow into it. The minotaur barely noticed the missile, too distracted by the lance that literally ran him through. Bessie had already begun a summoning, and now a hippogriff appeared to join the fight, striking at and distracting the first minotaur as the druid sent a crossbow bolt into it. He pounded Dumb Bear with his axe and gorged him with his horns, but the raging elf barbarian answered with his flail, hitting the minotaur so hard muscle and flesh flew from the monster’s chest. The second minotaur realized his advantage, if he had indeed ever had one, was lost, and tried to flee the way he came. Ren drove Sandy back down the trail and into the woods and then fired another arrow into him from his enchanted bow. The arrow struck right at the back of the neck and was just enough to send the minotaur to the ground. Aneirin, poised to chase down the second minotaur, now charged on to the first one. His already bloodied lance pierced the minotaur, who was now surrounded – Dumb Bear on one side, Aneirin on another, a dead horse carcass on a third side. The minotaur turned to the last avenue of escape, forgetting completely about Bessie’s summoned hippogriff. The noble animal raked the minotaur with its claws, reaching into the wound Dumb Bear had delivered and opening the minotaur’s chest wide open. The monster was dead before its body hit the ground. We had won the battle, but the price was a valuable horse and severely wounded Dumb Bear. Bessie’s druidic magic healed him, and he confessed another worthy hit would probably have dropped him. Then he kicked the nearby corpse. From our attackers we gained the two horn-axes, probably valuable gold nose rings with inset green gems, the monsters’ horns, and their armbands. The last gave us pause. The armbands were decorated with a flat stone bearing the Chakta symbol of a cow atop a bison. That there was a connection was obvious; what it was remained a mystery. Once we pushed the corpses from the trail, we prepared to put our looted gain into our newly acquired portable hole. Only when we opened the cloth did we realize we had never emptied it of the water and fish Balloong had filled it with. The decision to empty it right then and there was easy to make, and made us laugh – thinking about the inevitable pursuers and what they will think coming across this scene. A battle, blood everywhere, a horse carcass nearby, two dead minotaurs devoid of horns just off the trail, and a big – BIG -pile of rotting fish! Levity aside, we still had a place to reach today, and so we continued, Dumb Bear riding behind Ren. Once it was in sight we were amazed to find that one aspect of our dream had already proven true: the bridge was repaired. The elf was the first to hear it. Someone was on the far side of the bridge. We dismounted and left Bobrick with the animals, and then cautiously walked up to the bridge’s edge. As we did, we saw a figure come out from the rock on the far side. It was Legand! The slave we – Ren, Bessie, with Madge and Killian, had saved from the pack of wolves. “Greetings” he called. “I am pleased to see you chose to come.” “We have chosen to investigate our dream,” Ren said. “Was that your doing?” “I had a hand in that,” he said. “Will you meet me on the island?” We decided that would be safe enough, and it beat shouting across the canyon. On the middle island Legand explained our dream to us. To our relief, he avoid being mysterious. He was, he told us, the Palm. The Grip was a group of revolutionaries and their leader, the Thumb, was none other than Tharand. The same Tharand of our dream. The same Tharand that was leader of Maissen’s ruling council. The Grip was not the same as the Barcu, but they were allied with them. Their goal was the same. Not the destruction of Maissen, nor war against its people, but the overthrow of the ruling council. The council had over time come to stand against what Maissen the man had chosen to stand for, and the time had come to return to the ideals of the past. If we would meet with Tharand, here at the island, he would further answer our questions. We need not necessarily commit ourselves, Legand said, but he seemed confident we would. We agreed to meet and listen to Tharand, already interested in the proposal. We shared Legand luxurious camp that night, and late the next morning he arrived – and not alone. Next: Throwing Our Lot, Redbreats' End POST 191 [/QUOTE]
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