Misery in Mordent

[Snipehunt]

The folk of Southern Mordent keep to their own and avoid the dark and powerful forces that infect so much of the land. Small villages dot the coast of this land of swamps, moors, and deep, ancient forests. Superstitious, but not paralyzed by fear, these hardy, practical people live by fishing and trade with their neighbors, as they have for hundreds of years. The traumas and joys, hopes and fears of an ordinary life are more than enough for them. Rumors of hauntings or dark deeds are enough for the Mordentfolk to leave a place be, a strategy that has worked for hundreds of years.

But tonight, in the small village of Buldon, doors are barred shut as a strange fog boils seemingly from nowhere. The normal fogs peacefully blanket the village, bringing quiet and solitude with the earthy smell of swamps and bogs. Not this mist, so dense it feels like a clammy hand reaching to caress your face, bringing with it faint noises that sound vaguely like screaming babes, and hints of strange chanting in almost recognizable tongues.

The rattling of wooden wheels rustles through the near-quiet town. A dark shape forms in the mist, four black horses pulling an ornate carriage covered in somber black except for gold trim gleaming wetly in the light. The carriage bustles down the only street towards Thristletown, and slowly the noises fade away. The mist fades away as well. The silence seems like a sigh of relief . . .

 

[Snipehunt]

Baldor Soulstone

Baldor has returned home to his clan from his long travels, more skilled, a little richer, and much more powerful. He is greeted with cheers, as the greatest craftsmen his clan has produced in centuries has become even better.

Baldor's father greets him with mixed news. Baldor has a new nephew, named Datham'or, a bright, stout, stalwart little dwarf with bright eyes and already a firm hand. But the clan has been suffering attacks from goblins and their kin, and many are suffering from a strange, wasting sickness that saps their strength and leads, in the end, to madness. Baldor's brother-in-law, Kalok, was killed in an ambush that nearly took the life of Baldor's sister, Valodar.

Valador was not home when Baldor returned, and Baldor's father said that she had grown fierce and angry since Kalok's death. She often patrolled the clan borders alone for days at a time, and refused any company or to tell anything of her adventures.

Initially angry that no one had contacted him about these troubles, Baldor immediately began researching and using his strange (for a dwarf) arts to find a cure. He fell asleep, still in his armor and travelling gear, at his old workbench puzzling over the fierce sense of evil coming from his own home.

A thin scream woke Baldor up. It was the unfamiliar sound of an infant crying in terror. Baldor immediately thought of his new nephew, Datham'or. His darkvision lighting the way, he grabbed his warhammer and shield and ran down the hall when he stopped cold.

It was his sister, Valador, holding Datham'or, but holding next to the infant's heck a long, curved knife engraved with black and red runes.

"Stand back, brother. I know what I'm doing. And you do not," she said.

Valador then ran out the front door, and down a passageway into a small room Baldor had never seen before. She closed and locked it.

Baldor heard an eerie, almost formless chanting in his sister's voice, taht soon seemed to be joined by three more female voices, strange to him and sounding as if they came through a long tunnel. Baldor smashed the door off it hinges. A dark mist blew out of hte room, revealing Datham'or lieing bound in a small stone cradle. Valador had cut her forearm, using the blood to make a thin circle around the cradle. Her eyes were closed, but she chanted with an ecstatic expression on her face - joined by three voices arising from the very air!

Baldor ran forward and grabbed Datham'or in the crook of the arm holding the warhammer. Eyes rolling in fear, Baldor realized he could not leave the circle made of blood!

"You are too late, brother mine. I have bargained for the power I need to avenge my husband! Go with that reminder of all I once had - you who abandoned us to our fates."

A low rumbling noise erupted, and suddenly a phantom image of a dark coach drove through the walls. Barely slowing down, a female human opened the coach door, reached out a pale arm, and grabbed Datham'or. As the door opened, Baldor heard a femine voice in his head wailing and speaking faintly - ah, no, another, so, another wee babe, oh, so many but what's this, oh, ugly, mishapen, it would never live, not in Mordent, thing? well worth, ah, but so many, I did not know so many, the price well worth my Davey - which breaks off as the carriage door closes.

Baldor chases after, reaching for his spell components. A wave of mist stirkes him from behind, pulling him after the coach and through the wall . Baldor stumbles and finds himself on a cobblestone street in a small town. The coach disappears in the the distance.

 

[Snipehunt]

Karthak Rohat

Karthak stares into the darkness surrounding his tent, and instantly realizes he is somewhere else. He hears a cackling laugh in the wood, and sees a faint outline of a female figure.

"So, Giorgio, you think to revenge on us, do you?" an ancient female voice speaks. "You have killed enough Vistani blood, don't you think? But you probably don't even know who your 'enemy' is, do you?"

An old crone with wisps of white hair steps from the darkness in front of Karthak. She looks vaguely like the Gypsy fortuneteller that had led him to this bleak land, but is still very different. Karthak scowls and raises his axe, but stops as the woman pulls an object swaddled in white cloth and the size of a watermelon, from her robes. She pulls down on the cloth, revealing the small, sleeping face of a baby who looks just as Karthak remembers himself looking as a lad.

"Did not know you had a son, did you, Giorgio? Comes of a life without family or clan. No rules, no structure, to help you learn the importance of family ties.

"Learn now, Giorgio, that the vengeance of the Vistani is so soft, so sweet, that you will not even know you have been struck until you fall, bleeding from hidden wounds."

The babe stirs, its eyes fluttering open. He sees Karthak, and a small grin crosses the bab'es face. He makes a smal gurgling sound, and shifts in the swaddling as if to reach out to Karthak.

A rumbling erupts from the woods, and the clattering of many hooves. A dark coach drug by four black horses drives out from between two trees. As Karthak stands in shocked awe, the crone steps back and the coach drives right between the two. Without stopping, Karthak hears a sharp cry from the baby, then as the coach drives away, he sees a female arm dragging Karthak's son into the coach through the quickly closing door.

He hears a strange woman speaking in his head - oh dear oh what could this dear not another why make me take oh dear another but Davey I ah, so precious, somebody, I cannot let them have you, not the Three, somebody loved you so dear, Sisters, not them - which cuts off as the coach door slams shut. The coach, quickly reaching a dirt road, and drives away.

The old crone cackles as the coach drives away. Karthak thinks to strike with his axe, but abandons the thought - he must stop that coach!

Quickly realizing that his still wears his armor, Karthak grabs his longbow and other eqiupment, says goodbye fondly to his tent, and chases after the coach. He loses ground quickly, thouhg, and the coach runs out of sight just as he enters a small town.

All he can in quickly-gathering mist is a dwarvish figure standing bemused in the middle of the cobblestone street.

 

[Snipehunt]

Ivar

Ivar returns home from a long night enforcing orders for the Boss. He yawns, stretches, and opens the door, looking forward to sheeding his armor and dropping all but his essential weapons.

The open door reveals a room filled with mist - as if his mom had left the fire burning all day with damp wood. He hears a scream, and realizes to his dismay it's his young brother. A woman runs out of the mist, holding the struggling, crying infant. A large kerchief covers her hair and shades her face.

Startled, Ivar lunges at her out of reflex. But his sleep-deprived body is too slow, and he just misses. As the woman clatters down the steps, Ivar's mother appears like a ghost out of the mist.


Ivar takes the stairs in a leap, and runs out into the street, easily navigating in the dense fog. Funny, no fog when I came in he thinks. He follows the footsteps for several hundred feet before he begins to notice that he does not recognize any of the shops and homes, or even the very street on which he is running. The gravel of Greyhawk streets cobblestones have been replaced with cobblestones. Through the mist, he catches faint glimpses of strange names and oddly shaped windows and doors.

Ivar is closing on the fleeing kidnapper when he hears the clopping of several horse-hooves and sees a large dark shape appear out of the mists. A strange voice seems to burst from the darkness - An, I canna, I canna, do no ask this you Sisters you evil Sisters I canna I canna you Three someday this will be Oh, you Three over and over and - which shuts off at the sounds of the carriage's wooden door.

It occurs to Ivar that none of those words were spoken - he did not "hear" them. They simply appeared in his mind.

The coach only stands still for an instant, then the horses move quickly down the street. Ivar realizes he has no chance to catch it. He draws and fires his hand-crossbow at one of the horses, hoping to stop it's advance, but a strange force throws the bolt off target.

Ivar sees a human with a great axe panting and sweating in the middle of the street, and a dwarf looking oddly out of place.

 

[Mithreander]

Baldor curses as he finishes bouncing down the street. Coming to his feet finally, he watches the carrage disappear in the distance. Damn me short legs! He looks on the road for any sign of the carrages passage, but sees none and curses some more I be needin' a ranger, that be what I need! he thinks as he starts down the street to get his bearings. Seeing nothing he can recognize, he blames the fog at first.

Should 'ave taken out it's wheel, I should 'ave! thinking of past events, but quickly shoving those thoughts away. Don't help to dwell on things I can't be changin', after all.

With that last thought, the dwarven warrior moves to the nearest public area with people he can see... or if there are no people about, then to the nearest tavern or in. Bamn, I miss Hefty and Mule! he thinks, looking around.

 

[Andrew D. Gable]

Ivar finds himself in the cobbled streets of an unknown village. After getting his bearings, he paused, listening to the clatter of the departing coach. The half-orc walked over the cobbled street through the thinning mists towards the axe-weilder and the dwarf, after reassuring himself that his rapier was at his hip and his crossbow at the other. Just in case.

Where is this place? he thinks to himself as he nears the two. Not Greyhawk...boss isn't here...

 

[Thrarn Iranorn]

Karthak comes to a dead stop when he sees the town, the dwarf, and the cobblestone under his feet. Talking to himself he says, "This town wasn't here when I want to bed. I was on the edge of a field. I could see for miles. There was no town. I must still be dreaming." Biting his lip he realizes that he feels pain. "It has to be a dream” Quickly running up to the dwarf, he grabs him and angrily shouts, "Who are you?"

 

[Mithreander]

The dwarf, seeing the crazed man rush him, pulls back his fist and attempts to slam it into the careless, armored man.

"Careful, boy! I be in no mood for a hug!" The dwarf holds up his warehammer in warning as he answers the mans inquiry. "I be Baldor Soulstone. Now who be you, and tell me why me hammer shouldn't make a home in your skull?"

[OoC: I don't know if you'll roll or what, but, if not then here is mine and the link to the die-roller I'd use. Punch: 26: Subdual Damage: 6. That counter attack was done on the AoO that would have been prevoked by Karthak on an armed man.]

 

[Andrew D. Gable]

"Stop!" the half-orc shouts at the dwarf and the human. His already small eyes narrow into slits as he rests his hand on the pommel of his rapier. "Fight later! Figure out where we are now!" Ivar stares at the two.

Intimidate: 17.

 

[Mithreander]

The dwarf looks up in surprise at the half-orc. An orc-kin be steppin' in to STOP a fight? Be this right to mine eyes?

Intimidate check (though being a PC, it really does not matter): 19

"Aye, you speak the truth, green-blood, but the 'uman did start the agrivations!" the dwarf returns his glare at the human, though it lacks the conviction it did before.

"What say you, me lad? Set our differences aside, afor someone gets 'urt?