Sins of Our Fathers - 2/10 - Final Update
LuYangShih
First Post
The conversations are a most enjoyable read. That battle sequence with the Wyvern was certainly a highlight of the Story Hour, though. My personal favorite moments thus far, however, are Counselor Baphtemet attempting to entice the party, and the horrors wrought upon the Elves by the Dwem. You described those very well indeed, and I always enjoy reading well written villiany.
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Destan
Citizen of Val Hor
A Prophecy Born In Death
Raylin gingerly reached out and pushed aside a tuft of yellowed scrub grass. He kept his eyes focused on the tableau below as John cursed beside him. “By Selûne’s saucy smile, there’s a damned army down there.”
Raylin removed his hand just as cautiously and watched the scrub spring together once more. The ranger found it difficult to believe that anyone could possibly spy them this far off - and under the narrowest sliver of a moon - but Baden had sworn the dwem could see in darkness better than a hawk could at noontide. The dwarf was not one to exaggerate.
Raylin rolled onto his back, crossed his arms behind his head, and stared at the starry firmament above. “The moon is waning and the blackness is their time, not ours. We should make our approach on the morrow, with the sun at our backs.”
“The eastern slopes are bare of cover. Not so many trees, even at this distance, along that edge.” John rubbed the whiskers on his chin. “Certainly, you may be able to get close without being detected, and I have been known to quietly enter and exit a maiden’s bedchambers. The elf, even our groaning half-troll, would most likely prove capable. But Baden and Kellus…the two of them could muster all the stealth of a pair of ringing cymbals.”
Raylin twisted his head to one side and spat phlegm onto the weeds. “Then we go without them. Or we rely on shock instead of silence.”
“Shock?” John coughed with suppressed laughter. “Truly, clansman, the only shock will be in the dwem’s eyes when they realize we come charging to our deaths. And you’re forgetting the Rornman – he’s an integral part of this, aye? No one else can destroy the staff.”
“So he claims.”
“And he claimed as much under Kellus’ Zone of Truth.” John suddenly scowled. “It is not even a possibility to escort the old prune forward after the hill is cleared, for he claims his arcane powers may assist our efforts. We will need all the help we can get.”
John plucked a weed from the ground, placed the stem between his teeth, and rolled onto his back to study the constellations with the ranger. “We have been gone a long time, clansman. Do you think Baden is yet worried?”
Raylin grinned in the darkness. He craned his neck forward to glance down the rearward slope toward the copse of trees wherein the dwarf was awaiting their return. “Most likely, aye.”
“Good.” John laughed softly. “Let us tarry just a bit longer, then.”
Raylin chuckled and sat up. Suddenly, his tone grew somber. “There are twenty of them if there is one. Perhaps more, inside those canvas tents. We have done well together as a group, southlander, but we are not heroes of lore.”
“Mayhaps, mayhaps.” John jerked his chin toward the rearward slope before backing away from their vantage point.
Both men crawled though the heather, away from the dwem encampment upon the hill of Olgotha Mound, before gaining their feet. Raylin fell in alongside the bard as they made their way through wind-tickled weeds, across a muddy rivulet, and into the concealing shadows offered by a stand of firs.
“You were gone some time.” Baden’s helmed head followed his voice as the dwarf stood from behind an outcropping of rock. He picked his way down the boulders and joined his companions.
“We know.” John spat the stem from his lips, smiling. “Raylin thinks the dwem are too many.”
Baden arched a brow.
“Twenty,” John answered. “Perhaps more. There are five tents down below – each could hold up to ten of the little white-bearded bastards.”
“So it is as the Rornman said; dwem guard the Mound.” Baden ground his beard between his teeth.
Raylin used his hunting knife to draw what he had surveyed, trusting the dwarf’s darkvision to discern the sketch in the pallid moonlight. He dragged the tip of his blade in a wide circle to mark the mound itself before indicating the handful of massive menhirs – many still standing – with available pebbles. He traced the outlines of the five tents near the base. Finally he thrust his knife into the ground, drew a second dagger, and plunged that into the earth on the opposite side of the circle.
The ranger nodded toward the blades, eyes on Baden. “Two sentries, their backs against fallen stones, well-hidden in their cloaks. We saw them when the watch changed, else would have missed them both.”
Baden dropped to his knees and reviewed the sketch, the end of his beard brushing against the panorama. He exhaled hard enough to stir his mustache. “What you’ve drawn,” Baden gestured toward the ground as he shared a look with Raylin, “is not an encampment so much as a picnic. There are no lines of defense, no semblance of a military camp. You are certain this is the way of it?”
Raylin nodded. John leaned forward, adjusted one rock slightly, then poked a hole with his finger in the center of the sketched circle. “That’s where the lone dolmen stands.”
“Dolmen?” Baden cocked his head to one side.
“Sounds like an old bearded girlfriend's name, huh?" John smiled. "Yet it is two stone pillars, with a third crossing their tops. Beneath the dolmen is a large, flat rock, about the size of a small wagon - probably the altar that Aramin mentioned. But it’s too difficult to be certain from this distance.”
Baden rocked back onto his heels. “Dwem aren’t stupid. Nor are they careless about protecting their camps, especially upon the surface world. If they truly have set no other defenses…”
Raylin shrugged in the ensuing silence. “All men grow lax after countless nights spent on watch. They have good numbers and bare country to all sides. Doubtless their escape tunnel to Deepearth is not far from their present position.”
John nodded in agreement. “And the moonlight, though feeble, was enough to glint upon the mailed breast of every dwem we saw. That’s a band of warriors down there, friend dwarf. Armored, and armed. What do they have to fear?”
Baden was quick to answer. “Much. Most of all, however, they have to fear thinking the same way the both of you are right now.”
***
The Axemarch dwarf unceremoniously wiped away Raylin’s makeshift map. He grumbled softly for a moment before regaining his feet. “Then again, perhaps the two of you have the right of it.”
Raylin noted the lack of conviction in the dwarf’s words. “Speak your mind, Baden. If you believe us wrong, tell us the why of it.”
“Yesterday morning Aramin told us that Olgotha Mound was guarded. He said he had earlier scryed dwem upon its slopes. That much has proven true, to a point.” Baden walked deeper into the trees and his companions followed him. “Yet their positioning is all wrong. They do not guard the routes to the altar at the mound’s summit. Indeed, there are wide avenues of approach from nearly every direction.”
John ducked under a pine branch. “If they are not guarding the altar, then what are they doing down there?”
“Waiting,” answered Baden gruffly.
The trio finished their short trek to the group’s campsite in silence. They had dared not light a fire, so it was within the darkness beneath a rock ledge that the party, including the Rornman Aramin, huddled together. John recounted what they had seen, revealed Raylin’s suggested course of action, and finally mentioned Baden’s reservations. When he finished, dawn was not far off.
“So, friends,” Aramin asked wryly, “now that you have seen the truth is nothing less than what I have already said, tell me - do you still wish to accompany me?” His tone held nothing but contempt. “Mayhaps it would be better for you to forget this last expedition. Return to Ciddry. The Coastal Road is not far to the west. You could be drinking ale within the Guildsman’s Inn prior to nightfall tomorrow.”
“Cease, Rornman,” muttered Baden. The dwarf ignored Aramin’s smoldering stare while he addressed his companions. “Something is amiss. I fear a trap.”
“Do tell,” Amelyssan said, unperturbed.
“The dwem are positioned around the mound as was said. I am not thinking it would be too difficult to gain the summit, even without surprise.” Baden squinted toward the east. The higher peaks of the Balantir Cor were growing pink with dawn’s coming twilight. “No – arriving at the altar would not be nearly so hard as leaving it afterward. They could close all exit routes quickly enough.”
Kellus bent, retrieved his heavy breastplate, and began to buckle it around his chest. “We will fight better with our backs to those old stones; we will have the higher ground. The Rornman will have his time to do what must be done – destroy Margate’s staff on the altar.”
“You seem confident,” John observed with a smile.
Kellus began to work upon his greaves. “Recall, friends, that Aramin was subjected to our questions when my power would not allow him to lie. He told us the dwem would be here – they are. He told us he wished to destroy the staff – he does. He told us that the staff must be destroyed upon that altar – it must.”
The Rornman giggled. It was a perverse sound. His eyes shone in the fading darkness. “It is good to see at least one of you has faith, yes?”
Kellus ignored the comment. Rather he shared a meaningful look with each of his companions in turn. “The Rornman will never be far from me. Should this be a trap, as Baden fears, I will ensure he dies with the rest of us.”
Aramin’s chuckle sputtered into silence. “You are a rude one, Rhelmsman.” His tone was dangerous. “The lot of you could use a lesson or two in etiquette.”
Amelyssan tenderly placed his spellbook back within his satchel. “Kellus, mayhaps you could question Master Aramin – again – under your Zone. You could query him to help allay Baden’s fears, or prove the dwarf correct.”
Aramin bristled. “Enough!” He thrust a bent finger at Amelyssan. “You are but an apprentice with an arrogance that would serve to make an Archmage blush. To think I had considered assisting you in your studies, once this was finished, but-”
Kellus stepped forward. “Dawn comes.” The Rhelmsman eyed Amelyssan. “Regardless, friend, I have not the power to question him truthfully. Not now. My capabilities have already been directed toward the upcoming struggle.”
As if on cue, Kellus turned toward Vath. “Friend, would you accept a portion of my inner might? I can make you strong – stronger than even you now are.”
The half-troll gave a mute nod. Kellus produced a pinch of something that smelled of excrement, crushed it between thumb and forefinger, and spoke the soothing words of divinity. He reached out and laid a hand upon Vath’s shoulder. Instantly, the half-troll’s shoulders widened and his massive forearms corded with newly-granted strength. Vath smiled as he saw the wrist-cords of Ilmater dig further into his flesh.
Kellus repeated the act for Baden and then himself. The former Helmite then beseeched his own inner power to offer protection should Amelyssan be the target of foul magic.* The elf, for his own part, fingered a swatch of boiled leather and uttered a short Draconic phrase. A translucent nimbus swathed his form before winking out in the blink of an eye.
Baden loosed his shield. “Are we then decided?”
“We are,” John answered.
All eyes turned toward Raylin as he spoke. “Follow closely. Quietly, if you can. We go south down the dried gully we walked to arrive here, then eastward toward the grove of soldierpines in the shape of a temple dome. If the spirits do not favor us, rendezvous beneath those boughs if possible.
“From the temple grove, we will move northward and the land will fall beneath us. You will see the Olgotha Mound, then, through the scrubs.”
“And then?” John looked from Raylin to Aramin and back again.
“We move. Fast. It is a fair amount of ground to cover, and the last half will be in the open. By then the sun will be over the peaks, and may offer us some benefit against our Deepearth enemies.” Raylin fastened his gaze on Aramin and Amelyssan. “Stay close to those with steel in their hands. Do not stop, do not tarry. If one of us falls, keep moving.”
Raylin let his eyes drift over the rest of his companions, his face soft. “We must reach that altar. As quickly as possible. Once there, place your back to a friend or to a stone. Let the Rornman do what must be done.”
“And - what then?” John asked again, a sliver of sudden doubt in his voice.
Raylin grinned like a wolf of the steppes. “Why, then…then we again try to give you something to write a song about, southlander.”
* Kellus cast three Bull’s Strength spells before conferring a protective ward, from his Protection Domain, onto Amelyssan.
Raylin gingerly reached out and pushed aside a tuft of yellowed scrub grass. He kept his eyes focused on the tableau below as John cursed beside him. “By Selûne’s saucy smile, there’s a damned army down there.”
Raylin removed his hand just as cautiously and watched the scrub spring together once more. The ranger found it difficult to believe that anyone could possibly spy them this far off - and under the narrowest sliver of a moon - but Baden had sworn the dwem could see in darkness better than a hawk could at noontide. The dwarf was not one to exaggerate.
Raylin rolled onto his back, crossed his arms behind his head, and stared at the starry firmament above. “The moon is waning and the blackness is their time, not ours. We should make our approach on the morrow, with the sun at our backs.”
“The eastern slopes are bare of cover. Not so many trees, even at this distance, along that edge.” John rubbed the whiskers on his chin. “Certainly, you may be able to get close without being detected, and I have been known to quietly enter and exit a maiden’s bedchambers. The elf, even our groaning half-troll, would most likely prove capable. But Baden and Kellus…the two of them could muster all the stealth of a pair of ringing cymbals.”
Raylin twisted his head to one side and spat phlegm onto the weeds. “Then we go without them. Or we rely on shock instead of silence.”
“Shock?” John coughed with suppressed laughter. “Truly, clansman, the only shock will be in the dwem’s eyes when they realize we come charging to our deaths. And you’re forgetting the Rornman – he’s an integral part of this, aye? No one else can destroy the staff.”
“So he claims.”
“And he claimed as much under Kellus’ Zone of Truth.” John suddenly scowled. “It is not even a possibility to escort the old prune forward after the hill is cleared, for he claims his arcane powers may assist our efforts. We will need all the help we can get.”
John plucked a weed from the ground, placed the stem between his teeth, and rolled onto his back to study the constellations with the ranger. “We have been gone a long time, clansman. Do you think Baden is yet worried?”
Raylin grinned in the darkness. He craned his neck forward to glance down the rearward slope toward the copse of trees wherein the dwarf was awaiting their return. “Most likely, aye.”
“Good.” John laughed softly. “Let us tarry just a bit longer, then.”
Raylin chuckled and sat up. Suddenly, his tone grew somber. “There are twenty of them if there is one. Perhaps more, inside those canvas tents. We have done well together as a group, southlander, but we are not heroes of lore.”
“Mayhaps, mayhaps.” John jerked his chin toward the rearward slope before backing away from their vantage point.
Both men crawled though the heather, away from the dwem encampment upon the hill of Olgotha Mound, before gaining their feet. Raylin fell in alongside the bard as they made their way through wind-tickled weeds, across a muddy rivulet, and into the concealing shadows offered by a stand of firs.
“You were gone some time.” Baden’s helmed head followed his voice as the dwarf stood from behind an outcropping of rock. He picked his way down the boulders and joined his companions.
“We know.” John spat the stem from his lips, smiling. “Raylin thinks the dwem are too many.”
Baden arched a brow.
“Twenty,” John answered. “Perhaps more. There are five tents down below – each could hold up to ten of the little white-bearded bastards.”
“So it is as the Rornman said; dwem guard the Mound.” Baden ground his beard between his teeth.
Raylin used his hunting knife to draw what he had surveyed, trusting the dwarf’s darkvision to discern the sketch in the pallid moonlight. He dragged the tip of his blade in a wide circle to mark the mound itself before indicating the handful of massive menhirs – many still standing – with available pebbles. He traced the outlines of the five tents near the base. Finally he thrust his knife into the ground, drew a second dagger, and plunged that into the earth on the opposite side of the circle.
The ranger nodded toward the blades, eyes on Baden. “Two sentries, their backs against fallen stones, well-hidden in their cloaks. We saw them when the watch changed, else would have missed them both.”
Baden dropped to his knees and reviewed the sketch, the end of his beard brushing against the panorama. He exhaled hard enough to stir his mustache. “What you’ve drawn,” Baden gestured toward the ground as he shared a look with Raylin, “is not an encampment so much as a picnic. There are no lines of defense, no semblance of a military camp. You are certain this is the way of it?”
Raylin nodded. John leaned forward, adjusted one rock slightly, then poked a hole with his finger in the center of the sketched circle. “That’s where the lone dolmen stands.”
“Dolmen?” Baden cocked his head to one side.
“Sounds like an old bearded girlfriend's name, huh?" John smiled. "Yet it is two stone pillars, with a third crossing their tops. Beneath the dolmen is a large, flat rock, about the size of a small wagon - probably the altar that Aramin mentioned. But it’s too difficult to be certain from this distance.”
Baden rocked back onto his heels. “Dwem aren’t stupid. Nor are they careless about protecting their camps, especially upon the surface world. If they truly have set no other defenses…”
Raylin shrugged in the ensuing silence. “All men grow lax after countless nights spent on watch. They have good numbers and bare country to all sides. Doubtless their escape tunnel to Deepearth is not far from their present position.”
John nodded in agreement. “And the moonlight, though feeble, was enough to glint upon the mailed breast of every dwem we saw. That’s a band of warriors down there, friend dwarf. Armored, and armed. What do they have to fear?”
Baden was quick to answer. “Much. Most of all, however, they have to fear thinking the same way the both of you are right now.”
***
The Axemarch dwarf unceremoniously wiped away Raylin’s makeshift map. He grumbled softly for a moment before regaining his feet. “Then again, perhaps the two of you have the right of it.”
Raylin noted the lack of conviction in the dwarf’s words. “Speak your mind, Baden. If you believe us wrong, tell us the why of it.”
“Yesterday morning Aramin told us that Olgotha Mound was guarded. He said he had earlier scryed dwem upon its slopes. That much has proven true, to a point.” Baden walked deeper into the trees and his companions followed him. “Yet their positioning is all wrong. They do not guard the routes to the altar at the mound’s summit. Indeed, there are wide avenues of approach from nearly every direction.”
John ducked under a pine branch. “If they are not guarding the altar, then what are they doing down there?”
“Waiting,” answered Baden gruffly.
The trio finished their short trek to the group’s campsite in silence. They had dared not light a fire, so it was within the darkness beneath a rock ledge that the party, including the Rornman Aramin, huddled together. John recounted what they had seen, revealed Raylin’s suggested course of action, and finally mentioned Baden’s reservations. When he finished, dawn was not far off.
“So, friends,” Aramin asked wryly, “now that you have seen the truth is nothing less than what I have already said, tell me - do you still wish to accompany me?” His tone held nothing but contempt. “Mayhaps it would be better for you to forget this last expedition. Return to Ciddry. The Coastal Road is not far to the west. You could be drinking ale within the Guildsman’s Inn prior to nightfall tomorrow.”
“Cease, Rornman,” muttered Baden. The dwarf ignored Aramin’s smoldering stare while he addressed his companions. “Something is amiss. I fear a trap.”
“Do tell,” Amelyssan said, unperturbed.
“The dwem are positioned around the mound as was said. I am not thinking it would be too difficult to gain the summit, even without surprise.” Baden squinted toward the east. The higher peaks of the Balantir Cor were growing pink with dawn’s coming twilight. “No – arriving at the altar would not be nearly so hard as leaving it afterward. They could close all exit routes quickly enough.”
Kellus bent, retrieved his heavy breastplate, and began to buckle it around his chest. “We will fight better with our backs to those old stones; we will have the higher ground. The Rornman will have his time to do what must be done – destroy Margate’s staff on the altar.”
“You seem confident,” John observed with a smile.
Kellus began to work upon his greaves. “Recall, friends, that Aramin was subjected to our questions when my power would not allow him to lie. He told us the dwem would be here – they are. He told us he wished to destroy the staff – he does. He told us that the staff must be destroyed upon that altar – it must.”
The Rornman giggled. It was a perverse sound. His eyes shone in the fading darkness. “It is good to see at least one of you has faith, yes?”
Kellus ignored the comment. Rather he shared a meaningful look with each of his companions in turn. “The Rornman will never be far from me. Should this be a trap, as Baden fears, I will ensure he dies with the rest of us.”
Aramin’s chuckle sputtered into silence. “You are a rude one, Rhelmsman.” His tone was dangerous. “The lot of you could use a lesson or two in etiquette.”
Amelyssan tenderly placed his spellbook back within his satchel. “Kellus, mayhaps you could question Master Aramin – again – under your Zone. You could query him to help allay Baden’s fears, or prove the dwarf correct.”
Aramin bristled. “Enough!” He thrust a bent finger at Amelyssan. “You are but an apprentice with an arrogance that would serve to make an Archmage blush. To think I had considered assisting you in your studies, once this was finished, but-”
Kellus stepped forward. “Dawn comes.” The Rhelmsman eyed Amelyssan. “Regardless, friend, I have not the power to question him truthfully. Not now. My capabilities have already been directed toward the upcoming struggle.”
As if on cue, Kellus turned toward Vath. “Friend, would you accept a portion of my inner might? I can make you strong – stronger than even you now are.”
The half-troll gave a mute nod. Kellus produced a pinch of something that smelled of excrement, crushed it between thumb and forefinger, and spoke the soothing words of divinity. He reached out and laid a hand upon Vath’s shoulder. Instantly, the half-troll’s shoulders widened and his massive forearms corded with newly-granted strength. Vath smiled as he saw the wrist-cords of Ilmater dig further into his flesh.
Kellus repeated the act for Baden and then himself. The former Helmite then beseeched his own inner power to offer protection should Amelyssan be the target of foul magic.* The elf, for his own part, fingered a swatch of boiled leather and uttered a short Draconic phrase. A translucent nimbus swathed his form before winking out in the blink of an eye.
Baden loosed his shield. “Are we then decided?”
“We are,” John answered.
All eyes turned toward Raylin as he spoke. “Follow closely. Quietly, if you can. We go south down the dried gully we walked to arrive here, then eastward toward the grove of soldierpines in the shape of a temple dome. If the spirits do not favor us, rendezvous beneath those boughs if possible.
“From the temple grove, we will move northward and the land will fall beneath us. You will see the Olgotha Mound, then, through the scrubs.”
“And then?” John looked from Raylin to Aramin and back again.
“We move. Fast. It is a fair amount of ground to cover, and the last half will be in the open. By then the sun will be over the peaks, and may offer us some benefit against our Deepearth enemies.” Raylin fastened his gaze on Aramin and Amelyssan. “Stay close to those with steel in their hands. Do not stop, do not tarry. If one of us falls, keep moving.”
Raylin let his eyes drift over the rest of his companions, his face soft. “We must reach that altar. As quickly as possible. Once there, place your back to a friend or to a stone. Let the Rornman do what must be done.”
“And - what then?” John asked again, a sliver of sudden doubt in his voice.
Raylin grinned like a wolf of the steppes. “Why, then…then we again try to give you something to write a song about, southlander.”
* Kellus cast three Bull’s Strength spells before conferring a protective ward, from his Protection Domain, onto Amelyssan.
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Cinerarium
First Post
Destan said:
Hi Destan --
If you hadn't converted to 3E yet, are you taking some poetic license with the exact spells they cast?
Great story hour! Keep it up and I can't wait till we play again!
Cin
LuYangShih
First Post
Nice update. The party is certainly not very trusting of Aramin. Simply because he is rude and condescending does not mean he is evil.
Destan
Citizen of Val Hor
Cinerarium said:
You betcha. Our old house system had spells such as Minor Parasite, Phantasmal Disease, Mephindion's Sparks, Lanar's Lower Resistance, etc. These mean nothing to the 3E crowd (and with my failing memory, they don't mean much to me, either). We also had different schools of magic - Ascendancy, Verdancy, Eradication, Nether, and so on.
So while I've taken some liberties with the spellcasting - especially when recounting the first session's adventure - I've tried to introduce those spells the party gained when we made the switch, and I've related these to their more common pre-combat actions. Hopefully this will allow a transition to 3E in the following posts that is transparent to the readers.
My poetic license doesn't stop there. I've had to adjust other factors, as well, not all of which my players approve. I've had to remove a couple encounters - wandering monsters and the like - just to, well, maintain some sort of pacing. I'd imagine that such editing will have to occur more, not less, in the future; the group will begin to have many, many combats - and I've set myself up for failure by trying to be overly descriptive on each. You can only read 'the sword skittered across the beast's scales' one or two times before it becomes trite and boring.
At any rate, the whole spellcasting headache becomes moot after one more post. As was mentioned, after Olgotha we are firmly entrenched in the blissful world of 3E.
And pogre - you surprise me! I think you posted feedback before I even updated the story hour on the boards. I figured you were too busy killing off your entire party and commencing your next story hour!
As always, fellas, thanks for stopping by.
Destan
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