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Shadows over the Sunderland
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<blockquote data-quote="wolfheart" data-source="post: 6269388" data-attributes="member: 15874"><p><span style="color: #FF8C00">1st Eismond 1309 MC</span></p><p></p><p>In the hours after midnight, a cart rolled through lightly blowing snow headed towards Northbridge. In the far distance, the glow of an enormous fire can be seen in the cloudy night sky, all that remains of the Dunwall estate. Hidden in a niche under a pile of furs and leather, a son and a bastard daughter both deal with the loss of a father.</p><p></p><p>“I am sorry Alton. Father really seemed to be a great man.” Jeyne says in a reserved tone.</p><p></p><p>“Do not call him that again,” he replies abrasively. “You may carry his blood, but you do not have the right to call him ‘father’. Why he spent time and resources to search for you is beyond my comprehension. He should have been relieved that you were lost, and left you that way.”</p><p></p><p>Jeyne is taken aback at the hostility. She should have seen it coming as Alton had not said two words to her in her days at the estate leading up to the events of the previous night. But she thought the loss of their shared parent would have softened that edge. </p><p></p><p>“Had he not come for me, and the others, his death would have been in vain. At least now we have a chance to avenge him and carry on his investigations. Something is at work here, something larger than you or me or the Baron,” she says.</p><p></p><p>“I could have handled all of this myself,” he says. “I told him as much, but he kept insisting that this was the better way.”</p><p></p><p>“Then trust in his wisdom.”</p><p></p><p>“It seems I have no choice. As that is all I have left now.”</p><p></p><p>Jeyne lets Alton’s words hang in the clinging air of the compartment in the wagon. She turns herself into a more comfortable position and leaves the firstborn son of the Baron to brood in the dark.</p><p></p><p>-----</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #FF8C00">2nd Eismond 1309 MC</span></p><p></p><p>The light snow and gentle winds of the previous day are but a memory as dawn breaks on the second day of their journey. Augmented by the proximity to the great lake Dwemerand, the storm grows in intensity. The stinging wind drives snow into the eyes and every loose fold in the cloaks of the companions and slows their progress. They take some small comfort in the thought that tracking them in this storm will be near impossible for the necromancer and his minions.</p><p></p><p>They have traveled without sleep, wanting to put as much space between them and their presumed pursuers as possible. They are flying to the relative safety of the Priory of Movan, still a half day away as near as can be told. The decision not to stop seems all the wiser with the recent deterioration in the weather.</p><p></p><p>The ponies are starting to labor, fighting against their instinct to go to ground in the storm, and they are becoming more unmanageable with every passing hour. Weyland and Lucan have been doing their best to keep the animals calm, Beric aiding them when necessary. </p><p></p><p>Up ahead, through the sheets of snow, it appears that a tree is down across the roadway. Beric frowns as he notices wisps of smoke as from the burning of newly cut branches coming from the area directly behind the tree. There is also what looks like some sort of crude shelter.</p><p></p><p>“We’ve got trouble ahead,” he breathes to the others, and unsheathes his greataxe. “Bandits or worse I would guess.”</p><p></p><p>The company has been noticed too. Four forms can be seen to be moving about behind the cover of the fallen tree. One barks orders to the others in the unmistakable, guttural tongue of goblins. The bandits appear to be unpacking crossbows from leather wraps designed to keep them dry in the storm. One bandit, a female and the one giving orders, stands up from behind the log and fires an arrow from a longbow.</p><p></p><p>The arrow bites into the flesh at Beric’s thigh and he roars in pain. He does not allow his wound to slow his progress. He, Grimnir and Lucan begin to charge the barricade.</p><p></p><p>Merilwen, after casting a spell of protection on herself, makes eye contact with one of the bandits. She seizes his will and causes him to fall into a deep slumber. The bandit slumps to the ground, dropping his still unloaded crossbow.</p><p></p><p>Weyland lets go of the reigns of the ponies to cast a spell of blessing which radiates out from him through the storm like an ethereal blue wave, bolstering the company. </p><p></p><p>Errol let’s fly an arrow at a bandit who is breaking for the woods on the roadside opposite their little shelter. His arrow finds purchase in the side of the bandit before he can reach the cover of the trees, an impressive shot in the swirling winds of the storm.</p><p></p><p>The female bandit runs for the woods, rounding about their shelter to disappear into the wood.</p><p></p><p>Lucan breaks off his charge to head into the wood in the direction of the female bandit.</p><p></p><p>Beric reaches the felled tree and jumps up onto the log. The bandit, a swarthy half-goblin, fires his crossbow but the bolt goes wide. Beric does not hesitate; he launches himself from the log driving his greataxe into the shoulder of the hated goblinkin. A boiling rage clear on his face being the last thing the poor bandit sees before falling into unconsciousness.</p><p></p><p>Grimnir leaps the log at its thinner end, landing atop the slumbering bandit. He finishes the sleeping goblinkin by making a paste of its face with his hammer.</p><p></p><p>The bandit that was wounded by Errol fires its crossbow from the safety of the dense wood at the distracted dwarf, but the bolt skips off his shield.</p><p></p><p>Weyland finishes his spell and then realizes the ponies are bolting from the clatter of the battle. He chases after them but is only able to catch one, who he manages to calm down enough to be manageable. The other pony disappears into the storm, along with much of their provisions.</p><p></p><p>Lucan stalks through the trees looking for the bandit leader. He is surprised by a whirl of motion exploding from the storm. The female half-goblin grins grimly as she looks in Lucan’s eyes, satisfied that the thrust of her sword up through his ribcage will finish him. She whispers something in goblin, pulls her sword from the wound and disappears again into the storm.</p><p></p><p>The wounded bandit breaks from his cover after seeing the quick deaths of his fellow bandits. He runs wildly up the road, away from the company. As he flees, Errol lets another arrow fly which strikes the bandit in the back, dropping him face down in the snow.</p><p></p><p>As the chaos and clamor of the skirmish subsides, Merilwen looks about. Straining to see through the blowing snow she notices the absence of Lucan. Errol says he saw him head into the wood after one of the bandits. Errol and Grimnir head into the wood with weapons at the ready, calling their companions name.</p><p></p><p>Weyland leads the one pony up to the barricade and ties it off to a sturdy branch on the felled tree in the road. He moves over to Beric and examines the arrow wound.</p><p></p><p>He is interrupted by shouts from the wood. Grimnir and Errol have found Lucan and Grimnir has returned to the woods edge and is frantically summoning the priest.</p><p></p><p>Beric tells him to go and Weyland follows the dwarf back into the wood. It takes seconds for them to come on the grisly scene; Lucan is slumped against a tree with blood draining from under his armor to pool beneath him in the snow. Errol stands guard over the body, arrow nocked and scanning the wood for any threat.</p><p></p><p>Weyland and the others pull the helm and scaled armor coat from the downed warrior. Weyland gasps at the sight of the gash in Lucan’s ribcage. Weyland pours the healing power of Sirona into his friend. The bleeding stops but the wound does not fully seal, the flesh remaining torn and wet.</p><p></p><p>Lucan gasps as the healing magic repairs the damage to his internal organs and snaps him back to consciousness. He looks up at Grimnir, Errol and Weyland and then looks about frantically for his assailant. Sensing he is not in imminent danger, he relaxes and lets Weyland dresses the wound and bandage his ribs. They help him to his feet and wrap him in his winter gear. He is led back out of the wood to the group at the barricade. He winces as he walks, each step aggravating the freshly sealed wound.</p><p></p><p>Beric sits on the log, working the arrow out of his thigh with the tip of his dagger. Weyland helps him get it loose and cleans and bandages that wound as well.</p><p></p><p>Merilwen has been investigating the shelter behind the felled tree. She finds a stash of loot which looks to have been from previous victims of the bandits. There are also some blankets and putrid foodstuffs but nothing else of interest.</p><p></p><p>Errol and Merilwen search the bodies of the bandits for anything that might be of value or give them a clue to their identity or any purpose beyond petty thievery. They note all of them are mongrel half-goblins, the perverse and vile product of goblins capturing human victims. They bear no other markings of note, but Beric makes a mental note to search for the hovel that birthed these abominations once the weather breaks.</p><p></p><p>They are still a couple hours away from the Priory. The storm seems to be intensifying, and Lucan is in no state for traveling swiftly on foot. The decision is made to lose the provisions from the pony and Lucan is hoisted up awkwardly onto its back. They make their way up the road as fast as the storm and their condition will allow. Soon the barricade disappears behind them in a swirl of windblown snow.</p><p></p><p>The trudge along and start to feel almost claustrophobic as the storm continues to rage around them. They would have lost their way entirely if not for Beric’s skills as a guide and tracker.</p><p></p><p>As they struggle against the storm, they think they can hear the baying of wolves over the howls of the wind. Every so often they can see the forms of wolves stalking at their flanks. This keeps the company on edge as the fear of the wolves gets magnified by the limits of their senses in the storm.</p><p></p><p>They move with as much speed as they can muster in their current state. Lucan finds it harder to stay on the clearly agitated pony as he hovers on the edge of consciousness again. A limping Beric bends his will against the wind, keeping the company on track. The others are beginning to struggle as the snow steadily cakes layers of ice on their fur and leather cloaks.</p><p></p><p>They round a bend in the road which on a clear day would open onto a stretch of the trail with views of Lake Dwemerand and the rocky palisade on which the Priory sits. A wolf dashes for the woods from the roadside, baying as it goes. Another noise can be heard, however. The resonant tolling of a great bell rides on the wind.</p><p></p><p>Weyland exclaims that this can only be the bell at the priory. For in his time there it was common practice to ring the bell during storms to lead travelers caught on the road to the sanctuary of their halls. This knowledge raises the company’s morale and gives them a clanging beacon to guide their newly excited footsteps.</p><p></p><p>They have not traveled more than a hundred feet more when the storm erupts with a rush of fur and fangs. The wolf that broke for the woods has brought a small pack around to attack the party. One wolf charges into their center, and launches itself at the pony hoping to take it down. Another wolf rushes in trying to trip Merilwen, snapping at her heels.</p><p></p><p>She reels and mutters some arcane syllables. A fan of lightning erupts from her fingertips, causing the wolf to convulse and scorches its flesh. The wolf scrambles back to the wood, yelping in agony.</p><p></p><p>The wolf is somewhat successful in downing the pony, it stumbles and deposits Lucan face down onto the snow. The wolf is on Lucan in an instant, snapping at his neck. The heft of the cloak on his back saves the injured warrior from too much harm. Grimnir rounds on the wolf, driving his hammer into its side. The crunch of bone can be heard and the hind limbs of the wolf go limp. It reals and gnashes it teeth at the dwarf.</p><p></p><p>While the attention of the group is focused on Merilwen and Lucan, another trio of wolves appears out of the swirling snow. One nips at Errol but cannot find a hold on him as he twists away. Another goes after Beric, perhaps attracted to the bloodstained bandage around his leg.</p><p></p><p>Beric sees the wolf in time and brings his axe to bear against the creature. Blood and gore fly in the wind as with a mighty upswing the wolf’s head is sundered. The effort unbalances Beric as his weight shifts to his wounded leg and he falls into the snow.</p><p></p><p>The last wolf launches itself at Weyland, knocking him to the ground and making the reigns of the pony fall from his grasp. The pony bolts in a frenzy of fear and disappears into the storm. The wolf lands on Weyland’s shield, pinning it between him and the beast. He can feel the breath of the wolf as it snaps at his helmet trying to bite through the metal. Several puncture wounds open up in the cleric’s face.</p><p></p><p>Errol draws his sword and takes up a defensive position as he and the wolf that attacked him circle and look for an opening. Merilwen steps into this fray, she unleashes an arcane scream that tears at the flesh of the wolf and dazes it. Errol wastes no time in driving his sword through the neck of the beast, spilling its life out on the snow crusted road.</p><p></p><p>Grimnir wastes no time in coming to the cleric’s aid. He drives his hammer into the spine of the wolf while it tries to tear away Weyland’s helm. The crunch of bone is heard again, and this wolf goes limp as well. </p><p></p><p>It takes little time for Beric and Grimnir to finish the two damaged wolves. </p><p></p><p>Weyland uses a prayer to heal the lacerations on his face, restoring it to the weathered visage to which the company was accustomed. He checks on Lucan and finds he thankfully has not been further injured.</p><p></p><p>Grimnir and Errol hoist Lucan between them and the company limps on toward the bells. The wolves who fled do not return, perhaps looking for some easier prey. And over the span of an hour the bell continues to grow louder as they close in on their destination.</p><p></p><p>Once the bells have grown close, Merilwen waves her hand over the tip of her staff and a bright light bursts forth.</p><p></p><p>-----</p><p>Malvenos stands peering out into the storm from the gate tower of the Priory of Movan. The half-elf has the sharpest senses amongst those dwelling in the priory, and so is given this duty in times of especially bad weather. As the bells toll in the chapel’s tower behind him, he fights to stay attentive to his task. Who would be so foolish to have set out into the high country in this kind of weather?</p><p></p><p>He is surprised to see a light flair out in the snow. At first he thinks it is some trick of his mind. But the light persists, and it appears to move back and forth as though someone is trying to signal him. Roused from the monotony of his task, he leaps up and begins to strike an alarm bell, calling down to the other occupants of the priory for help.</p><p></p><p>-----</p><p>Another clang can be heard through the storm now. They must have seen the light of Merilwen’s staff at the priory and are sounding another bell. A wave of relief comes over the companions as they now know they are not going to be lost in the storm.</p><p></p><p>Soon, a trio of lights can be seen in the distance. As they grow closer, they can be seen to be lanterns carried by robed figures. The figures are shouting something against the wind and swinging the lanterns as they walk. As the two groups meet in the midst of the storm the priests welcome them to the Priory of Movan. They help the companions carry the nearly lifeless form of Lucan as they cover the last few hundred feet back to the gates.</p><p></p><p>They are drawn inside and guided to a small room in the base of the gate tower. Lucan is brought straight to the infirmary. They are set in front of a fire and the priests take their snow caked cloaks to hang on pegs near the door. They are surprised to see Weyland among the company and cheerfully greet him as one who has returned home from a long journey.</p><p></p><p>Weyland is taken away to the chapel to consult with the Curate, Father Ruan. The others are brought broth and bread, set in chairs and wrapped in fresh blankets. One of the priests applies a fresh bandage to Beric’s leg. The company sits in silence for some time, enjoying the hot meal and the warmth of the fireside. </p><p></p><p>-----</p><p></p><p>A wagon rolls to a stop outside the river gate to the city of Northbridge. Alton and Jeyne lie silently in the false bottom, under piles of fur and leather, listening to the muffled conversation going on outside.</p><p></p><p>“Hail, gatekeeper!” The halfling Hobb calls out to the imposing structure.</p><p></p><p>A head appears from a hatch high on the wall, “State your business traveler,” the guard calls down through a light snow.</p><p></p><p>“I come from the north, bearing furs and leather for the tailor Burwick,” the halfling replies. “Why is it the gates are shut during the light of day?”</p><p></p><p>“Ever since the Burning Yule, the Archduke has ordered the gates closed. It is rumored that some of the treacherous rats are still abroad. Stand down and prepare to be inspected.”</p><p></p><p>The gate opens slightly and a couple guards sporting halberds step out into the snow. They approach the wagon, telling the halfling and the two laborers to step away. The one laborer, Jon, dismounts from his pony and ties it off to the wagon. He steps away with arms raised to show he has no weapon. Hobb and the other laborer, Berne, hop off the wagon and do the same.</p><p></p><p>“What are you talking about, the Burning Yule. What nonsense is this?” Hobb asks, trying to pry what information he can from the gatekeeper.</p><p></p><p>“You don’t know bout the Burning Yule?” says the gatekeeper. </p><p></p><p>“No, we spent the yuletide on the road, coming down from near The Crown.”</p><p></p><p>“Well, it’s only the biggest news in ages. Seems there were a bunch of noble families secretly worshipin’ The Enemy. The queen’s forces rooted them out, though. Razed their manors and drug a bunch of ‘em out in the streets. Hanged ‘em all.”</p><p></p><p>“Gods preserve us,” Hobb exclaims. He makes a great show of making the sign of Atar and shudders at the description.</p><p></p><p>The guards who came out to the wagon are distracted by the ongoing conversation, and only give the wagon a cursory scan. Seeing only bundles of furs and leather, they wave up to the gatekeeper. He disappears behind his hatch and a moment later the gate opens. The guards wave them through and go back to their posts.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="wolfheart, post: 6269388, member: 15874"] [COLOR="#FF8C00"]1st Eismond 1309 MC[/COLOR] In the hours after midnight, a cart rolled through lightly blowing snow headed towards Northbridge. In the far distance, the glow of an enormous fire can be seen in the cloudy night sky, all that remains of the Dunwall estate. Hidden in a niche under a pile of furs and leather, a son and a bastard daughter both deal with the loss of a father. “I am sorry Alton. Father really seemed to be a great man.” Jeyne says in a reserved tone. “Do not call him that again,” he replies abrasively. “You may carry his blood, but you do not have the right to call him ‘father’. Why he spent time and resources to search for you is beyond my comprehension. He should have been relieved that you were lost, and left you that way.” Jeyne is taken aback at the hostility. She should have seen it coming as Alton had not said two words to her in her days at the estate leading up to the events of the previous night. But she thought the loss of their shared parent would have softened that edge. “Had he not come for me, and the others, his death would have been in vain. At least now we have a chance to avenge him and carry on his investigations. Something is at work here, something larger than you or me or the Baron,” she says. “I could have handled all of this myself,” he says. “I told him as much, but he kept insisting that this was the better way.” “Then trust in his wisdom.” “It seems I have no choice. As that is all I have left now.” Jeyne lets Alton’s words hang in the clinging air of the compartment in the wagon. She turns herself into a more comfortable position and leaves the firstborn son of the Baron to brood in the dark. ----- [COLOR="#FF8C00"]2nd Eismond 1309 MC[/COLOR] The light snow and gentle winds of the previous day are but a memory as dawn breaks on the second day of their journey. Augmented by the proximity to the great lake Dwemerand, the storm grows in intensity. The stinging wind drives snow into the eyes and every loose fold in the cloaks of the companions and slows their progress. They take some small comfort in the thought that tracking them in this storm will be near impossible for the necromancer and his minions. They have traveled without sleep, wanting to put as much space between them and their presumed pursuers as possible. They are flying to the relative safety of the Priory of Movan, still a half day away as near as can be told. The decision not to stop seems all the wiser with the recent deterioration in the weather. The ponies are starting to labor, fighting against their instinct to go to ground in the storm, and they are becoming more unmanageable with every passing hour. Weyland and Lucan have been doing their best to keep the animals calm, Beric aiding them when necessary. Up ahead, through the sheets of snow, it appears that a tree is down across the roadway. Beric frowns as he notices wisps of smoke as from the burning of newly cut branches coming from the area directly behind the tree. There is also what looks like some sort of crude shelter. “We’ve got trouble ahead,” he breathes to the others, and unsheathes his greataxe. “Bandits or worse I would guess.” The company has been noticed too. Four forms can be seen to be moving about behind the cover of the fallen tree. One barks orders to the others in the unmistakable, guttural tongue of goblins. The bandits appear to be unpacking crossbows from leather wraps designed to keep them dry in the storm. One bandit, a female and the one giving orders, stands up from behind the log and fires an arrow from a longbow. The arrow bites into the flesh at Beric’s thigh and he roars in pain. He does not allow his wound to slow his progress. He, Grimnir and Lucan begin to charge the barricade. Merilwen, after casting a spell of protection on herself, makes eye contact with one of the bandits. She seizes his will and causes him to fall into a deep slumber. The bandit slumps to the ground, dropping his still unloaded crossbow. Weyland lets go of the reigns of the ponies to cast a spell of blessing which radiates out from him through the storm like an ethereal blue wave, bolstering the company. Errol let’s fly an arrow at a bandit who is breaking for the woods on the roadside opposite their little shelter. His arrow finds purchase in the side of the bandit before he can reach the cover of the trees, an impressive shot in the swirling winds of the storm. The female bandit runs for the woods, rounding about their shelter to disappear into the wood. Lucan breaks off his charge to head into the wood in the direction of the female bandit. Beric reaches the felled tree and jumps up onto the log. The bandit, a swarthy half-goblin, fires his crossbow but the bolt goes wide. Beric does not hesitate; he launches himself from the log driving his greataxe into the shoulder of the hated goblinkin. A boiling rage clear on his face being the last thing the poor bandit sees before falling into unconsciousness. Grimnir leaps the log at its thinner end, landing atop the slumbering bandit. He finishes the sleeping goblinkin by making a paste of its face with his hammer. The bandit that was wounded by Errol fires its crossbow from the safety of the dense wood at the distracted dwarf, but the bolt skips off his shield. Weyland finishes his spell and then realizes the ponies are bolting from the clatter of the battle. He chases after them but is only able to catch one, who he manages to calm down enough to be manageable. The other pony disappears into the storm, along with much of their provisions. Lucan stalks through the trees looking for the bandit leader. He is surprised by a whirl of motion exploding from the storm. The female half-goblin grins grimly as she looks in Lucan’s eyes, satisfied that the thrust of her sword up through his ribcage will finish him. She whispers something in goblin, pulls her sword from the wound and disappears again into the storm. The wounded bandit breaks from his cover after seeing the quick deaths of his fellow bandits. He runs wildly up the road, away from the company. As he flees, Errol lets another arrow fly which strikes the bandit in the back, dropping him face down in the snow. As the chaos and clamor of the skirmish subsides, Merilwen looks about. Straining to see through the blowing snow she notices the absence of Lucan. Errol says he saw him head into the wood after one of the bandits. Errol and Grimnir head into the wood with weapons at the ready, calling their companions name. Weyland leads the one pony up to the barricade and ties it off to a sturdy branch on the felled tree in the road. He moves over to Beric and examines the arrow wound. He is interrupted by shouts from the wood. Grimnir and Errol have found Lucan and Grimnir has returned to the woods edge and is frantically summoning the priest. Beric tells him to go and Weyland follows the dwarf back into the wood. It takes seconds for them to come on the grisly scene; Lucan is slumped against a tree with blood draining from under his armor to pool beneath him in the snow. Errol stands guard over the body, arrow nocked and scanning the wood for any threat. Weyland and the others pull the helm and scaled armor coat from the downed warrior. Weyland gasps at the sight of the gash in Lucan’s ribcage. Weyland pours the healing power of Sirona into his friend. The bleeding stops but the wound does not fully seal, the flesh remaining torn and wet. Lucan gasps as the healing magic repairs the damage to his internal organs and snaps him back to consciousness. He looks up at Grimnir, Errol and Weyland and then looks about frantically for his assailant. Sensing he is not in imminent danger, he relaxes and lets Weyland dresses the wound and bandage his ribs. They help him to his feet and wrap him in his winter gear. He is led back out of the wood to the group at the barricade. He winces as he walks, each step aggravating the freshly sealed wound. Beric sits on the log, working the arrow out of his thigh with the tip of his dagger. Weyland helps him get it loose and cleans and bandages that wound as well. Merilwen has been investigating the shelter behind the felled tree. She finds a stash of loot which looks to have been from previous victims of the bandits. There are also some blankets and putrid foodstuffs but nothing else of interest. Errol and Merilwen search the bodies of the bandits for anything that might be of value or give them a clue to their identity or any purpose beyond petty thievery. They note all of them are mongrel half-goblins, the perverse and vile product of goblins capturing human victims. They bear no other markings of note, but Beric makes a mental note to search for the hovel that birthed these abominations once the weather breaks. They are still a couple hours away from the Priory. The storm seems to be intensifying, and Lucan is in no state for traveling swiftly on foot. The decision is made to lose the provisions from the pony and Lucan is hoisted up awkwardly onto its back. They make their way up the road as fast as the storm and their condition will allow. Soon the barricade disappears behind them in a swirl of windblown snow. The trudge along and start to feel almost claustrophobic as the storm continues to rage around them. They would have lost their way entirely if not for Beric’s skills as a guide and tracker. As they struggle against the storm, they think they can hear the baying of wolves over the howls of the wind. Every so often they can see the forms of wolves stalking at their flanks. This keeps the company on edge as the fear of the wolves gets magnified by the limits of their senses in the storm. They move with as much speed as they can muster in their current state. Lucan finds it harder to stay on the clearly agitated pony as he hovers on the edge of consciousness again. A limping Beric bends his will against the wind, keeping the company on track. The others are beginning to struggle as the snow steadily cakes layers of ice on their fur and leather cloaks. They round a bend in the road which on a clear day would open onto a stretch of the trail with views of Lake Dwemerand and the rocky palisade on which the Priory sits. A wolf dashes for the woods from the roadside, baying as it goes. Another noise can be heard, however. The resonant tolling of a great bell rides on the wind. Weyland exclaims that this can only be the bell at the priory. For in his time there it was common practice to ring the bell during storms to lead travelers caught on the road to the sanctuary of their halls. This knowledge raises the company’s morale and gives them a clanging beacon to guide their newly excited footsteps. They have not traveled more than a hundred feet more when the storm erupts with a rush of fur and fangs. The wolf that broke for the woods has brought a small pack around to attack the party. One wolf charges into their center, and launches itself at the pony hoping to take it down. Another wolf rushes in trying to trip Merilwen, snapping at her heels. She reels and mutters some arcane syllables. A fan of lightning erupts from her fingertips, causing the wolf to convulse and scorches its flesh. The wolf scrambles back to the wood, yelping in agony. The wolf is somewhat successful in downing the pony, it stumbles and deposits Lucan face down onto the snow. The wolf is on Lucan in an instant, snapping at his neck. The heft of the cloak on his back saves the injured warrior from too much harm. Grimnir rounds on the wolf, driving his hammer into its side. The crunch of bone can be heard and the hind limbs of the wolf go limp. It reals and gnashes it teeth at the dwarf. While the attention of the group is focused on Merilwen and Lucan, another trio of wolves appears out of the swirling snow. One nips at Errol but cannot find a hold on him as he twists away. Another goes after Beric, perhaps attracted to the bloodstained bandage around his leg. Beric sees the wolf in time and brings his axe to bear against the creature. Blood and gore fly in the wind as with a mighty upswing the wolf’s head is sundered. The effort unbalances Beric as his weight shifts to his wounded leg and he falls into the snow. The last wolf launches itself at Weyland, knocking him to the ground and making the reigns of the pony fall from his grasp. The pony bolts in a frenzy of fear and disappears into the storm. The wolf lands on Weyland’s shield, pinning it between him and the beast. He can feel the breath of the wolf as it snaps at his helmet trying to bite through the metal. Several puncture wounds open up in the cleric’s face. Errol draws his sword and takes up a defensive position as he and the wolf that attacked him circle and look for an opening. Merilwen steps into this fray, she unleashes an arcane scream that tears at the flesh of the wolf and dazes it. Errol wastes no time in driving his sword through the neck of the beast, spilling its life out on the snow crusted road. Grimnir wastes no time in coming to the cleric’s aid. He drives his hammer into the spine of the wolf while it tries to tear away Weyland’s helm. The crunch of bone is heard again, and this wolf goes limp as well. It takes little time for Beric and Grimnir to finish the two damaged wolves. Weyland uses a prayer to heal the lacerations on his face, restoring it to the weathered visage to which the company was accustomed. He checks on Lucan and finds he thankfully has not been further injured. Grimnir and Errol hoist Lucan between them and the company limps on toward the bells. The wolves who fled do not return, perhaps looking for some easier prey. And over the span of an hour the bell continues to grow louder as they close in on their destination. Once the bells have grown close, Merilwen waves her hand over the tip of her staff and a bright light bursts forth. ----- Malvenos stands peering out into the storm from the gate tower of the Priory of Movan. The half-elf has the sharpest senses amongst those dwelling in the priory, and so is given this duty in times of especially bad weather. As the bells toll in the chapel’s tower behind him, he fights to stay attentive to his task. Who would be so foolish to have set out into the high country in this kind of weather? He is surprised to see a light flair out in the snow. At first he thinks it is some trick of his mind. But the light persists, and it appears to move back and forth as though someone is trying to signal him. Roused from the monotony of his task, he leaps up and begins to strike an alarm bell, calling down to the other occupants of the priory for help. ----- Another clang can be heard through the storm now. They must have seen the light of Merilwen’s staff at the priory and are sounding another bell. A wave of relief comes over the companions as they now know they are not going to be lost in the storm. Soon, a trio of lights can be seen in the distance. As they grow closer, they can be seen to be lanterns carried by robed figures. The figures are shouting something against the wind and swinging the lanterns as they walk. As the two groups meet in the midst of the storm the priests welcome them to the Priory of Movan. They help the companions carry the nearly lifeless form of Lucan as they cover the last few hundred feet back to the gates. They are drawn inside and guided to a small room in the base of the gate tower. Lucan is brought straight to the infirmary. They are set in front of a fire and the priests take their snow caked cloaks to hang on pegs near the door. They are surprised to see Weyland among the company and cheerfully greet him as one who has returned home from a long journey. Weyland is taken away to the chapel to consult with the Curate, Father Ruan. The others are brought broth and bread, set in chairs and wrapped in fresh blankets. One of the priests applies a fresh bandage to Beric’s leg. The company sits in silence for some time, enjoying the hot meal and the warmth of the fireside. ----- A wagon rolls to a stop outside the river gate to the city of Northbridge. Alton and Jeyne lie silently in the false bottom, under piles of fur and leather, listening to the muffled conversation going on outside. “Hail, gatekeeper!” The halfling Hobb calls out to the imposing structure. A head appears from a hatch high on the wall, “State your business traveler,” the guard calls down through a light snow. “I come from the north, bearing furs and leather for the tailor Burwick,” the halfling replies. “Why is it the gates are shut during the light of day?” “Ever since the Burning Yule, the Archduke has ordered the gates closed. It is rumored that some of the treacherous rats are still abroad. Stand down and prepare to be inspected.” The gate opens slightly and a couple guards sporting halberds step out into the snow. They approach the wagon, telling the halfling and the two laborers to step away. The one laborer, Jon, dismounts from his pony and ties it off to the wagon. He steps away with arms raised to show he has no weapon. Hobb and the other laborer, Berne, hop off the wagon and do the same. “What are you talking about, the Burning Yule. What nonsense is this?” Hobb asks, trying to pry what information he can from the gatekeeper. “You don’t know bout the Burning Yule?” says the gatekeeper. “No, we spent the yuletide on the road, coming down from near The Crown.” “Well, it’s only the biggest news in ages. Seems there were a bunch of noble families secretly worshipin’ The Enemy. The queen’s forces rooted them out, though. Razed their manors and drug a bunch of ‘em out in the streets. Hanged ‘em all.” “Gods preserve us,” Hobb exclaims. He makes a great show of making the sign of Atar and shudders at the description. The guards who came out to the wagon are distracted by the ongoing conversation, and only give the wagon a cursory scan. Seeing only bundles of furs and leather, they wave up to the gatekeeper. He disappears behind his hatch and a moment later the gate opens. The guards wave them through and go back to their posts. [/QUOTE]
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