stonegod's Expedition to Castle Ravenloft: Ch. I [IC]

[James Heard]

Janis awakes and looks sourly at the missing place of the Stalker.

I thought he was cured. Oh well.

"He's obviously one of them now."

Janis emits a cold, brutal laugh.

I suppose his grave shall say "Betrayer" now.

Janis collects her things and begins her dedications to the new day.

"We'll show him what Selase learned," Janis mutters.

 

[DEFCON 1]

He fell asleep where he knelt in the bushes. Eventually the emotional and spiritual pain he was experiencing overtook him, and Jarrith curled up beneath Ashlyn's blanket, his body oblivious to the hard, cold ground. An uneasy asleep overtook him, as his mind raced on and on and on with only one thought. 'Unclean'.

A number of hours later, Tessa gently shook him for the final shift of the watch. He and she were taking the last one before the group started off again, and he awoke with a start. "Wha-- No-- Khen-- What? Oh... oh... it's you."

He stood up and kept the blanket wrapped around him and almost sleptwalked his way with Tessa back to the campsite. He found his clothes where they lay, and spend several minutes putting them back on as the others awake prepared to get some last few hours of rest. Jarrith spoke barely little to any of them... his mind elsewhere and his voice distant. Even now, standing fully dressed, he still felt unclean. He felt tainted. Dirty. Wretched. He had always had a dark edge, but that more of an attitudinal thing rather than a blot upon his soul. He mindlessly gathered his equipment and then moved outside the camp circle to begin his watch.

*****

It did not go well. Out here in the forest, the sounds of nature all around him, the distant howls that may or may not have been wolves... every one of them made him feel more and more alone. And with each passing second, the agoraphobia began to take hold and grow. He felt desperate and angry and hurt and fearful... and every sound made his head snap around, looking for the source. Barovia was a cursed land. They all knew it from the beginning... but they fought against it. Believed it could be cleansed. But the losses of Selase, Daellin, Perriwimple, the halfling... as well as the countless number of townsfolk... did nothing to erase the thoughts in Jarrith's mind that the land was impossible to cleanse. It was either going to soil them, or take them to hell. And he most assuredly was soiled. The Voice was shrinking. Growing more quiet. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Or was there?

He was dirty and he was tainted... but part of that was because he needed a cleansing that none of the people still with him here could accomplish. Marot was a good soul and a good friend, but had not the spiritual accumen to help him. Lady Ashlyn was certainly one infused with light... but the light of the Host was much different than the Flame. She could not help him. Tessa? Ladreth? He barely knew either of them and could get nothing from them. And Janis? No... nevermind about Janis. She walks her own tainted path with her own troubles... fighting against some invisible ghostly army that destroyed her homeland... the problems she carries with her would only deepen the problems of his own.

No... only one person could cleanse him. Only one person knew of his faith, of his desire to do good, of his need to be... more than he is. And that person is currently sitting a silent and lonely vigil on an desolate road to an abandoned castle. Alone. Without his Brother either. They never should have split. It wasn't right. The sum was always much, much more than the parts. And that was it then.

Jarrith stood up and glanced back to the camp. He then ducked into the shadow of a tree and began to silently creep over to the horses. Ever-so-slightly he undid the knots holding the horse in place, then began leading it away. When he was finally at a distance where he felt he could mount up... he did so. And began making his way out of the woods... back to the road... back to the village... back to the moutain path... back to his Brother.

And he would never leave his Brother's side again.

 

[Stormwind]

As she wakes, Ashlyn too notes the missing form of the stalker. Her head turns towards her dark mount, which raises it's head from the grass it has been chewing to look directly at her with all too intelligent eyes. A moment of silence and then the majestic beast turns it's head towards the direction from which they came and whinneys once, before returning to its meal.

Ashlyn bows her head slightly and sighs before rising to her feet.
As Janis emits a short brutal laugh, Ashlyn turns to the pale woman and shakes her head, "I don't think so. He took his horse and headed back towards the town. That speaks of a considered action, not the mindless response of a beast as he was during the night. If I had to guess, I would say that he has gone to find his brother in arms."

Ashlyn's shoulders stiffen as she draws herself up by force of will, "Nethertheless, we should break fast and proceed. This is not a place to tarry and we do not have an abundance of time, we must also get back to Lysaga hill in time for tonight if we are to retrieve the medallion, must we not."

Ashlyn quickly packs her bedroll and the torch back into her saddlebags and is soon ready to move out.

 

[stonegod]

21 Sar, Zarantyr 998 YK
[HPs restored as w/ a nights rest; new spells can be chosen, etc.]

Forest Trials

The party's sleep is fretful, no one rests well that night. The Stalker easily slips away from a camp more attuned to watching out than watching in. The morning's distasteful surprise does little to raise their spirits. But they had to move forward. Wolves in the morning, and witches at night. For it was the night of the dark moon, and the Green Lady was waiting.

A Lost Flame

Dark thoughts milling about this head, the Stalker skulks through the forest. The ride back is easier than the ride in---the direction is set---but the trees are no further apart. Thus, it is late morning before he exits onto the Barovian road. As the looming trees finally separate, Jarrith sees something his dark ruminations probably suspected.

Wolf tracks. Many of them. Heading towards the village.

 

[James Heard]

Janis nods to herself in confirmation.

"Let's do this."

Janis looks as if she might say something further, but holds her tongue.

 

[s@squ@tch]

Marot the Deadly

Marot awakes to another cold, gray morning in this 'Barovia'.

He starts to go through his morning routine of preparing himself for the day, and notices that Jarrith is gone.

Not thinking much of it, he continues packing up his gear -- until he hears the interchange between Janis and Ashlyn.

"Jarrith is gone?" He thinks to himself.

The warlock is crestfallen -- first they lost Selase, then Daellin... Now with Jarrith and Khensu both gone, Marot feels very little connection to the group.

He never saw eye to eye with Janis, but honestly, who would? These newcomers all show some merit -- Ashlyn, Tessa, Ladreth, but he didn't know them, and is only now starting to get familiar with their personalities and quirks.

"But you cannot give up Marot -- you have vowed to free this land from its curse -- even if the Thaolist Six are no more, you still have a duty to this land."

Marot finishes his packing, then joins the others.

"This land has taken its toll on all of us. May the Flame keep us in these dark times."

"The loss of Jarrith will only make things harder, but we must persevere."

 

[DEFCON 1]

As he exits the treeline, the claw and paw marks on the ground are unmistakable. Wolves. Lots of them. Heading into town. Jarrith closes his eyes and breathes heavily, then shakes his head in sadness. "This insanity is never going to end, is it?" he thinks to himself. "Did we awaken a nest of wasps yesterday after all?"

He climbs up upon the horse and then urges it forward at a fast clip into town. Best to quickly check things out before heading up the mountain. Who knows at this point what might have happened? Of all the other thoughts running through his head, there is one that is much stronger than all the rest. "I hope Khensu is all right."

 

[pathfinderq1]

The night had been a miserable one- mostly the tension and worry, but the actual conditions had not helped either. Tessa was actually fairly glad that she didn't need much sleep- she didn't think she would have gotten enough to matter.

But they had made it to another morning, and as she went through her sunrise prayers and rituals, she was once more filled with the power of the Sovereign Host and the strength and energy of her faith. Jarrith's departure was sad, and in its own way troubling, but she could hope to see him again- he was not dead, and his lycanthropic taint had been cleansed. She was as confident as she could be, considering the situation- and she helped break down their rudimentary camp with a smile, determined to share the rediscovered warmth of her spirit. She tried not to think about what might lie ahead tonight on Lysaga Hill...

OOC: Slight change to spell list upcoming...

 

[ethandrew]

Ladreth waited out most of the night as a silent sentry, patrolling the perimeters of their makeshift camp. When the others were roused for their shift, the half-orc leaned up against a tree and slept in that manner until dawn broke and the movements of his companions woke him. The absence of the shifter didn't strike pangs of remorse into the warrior's heart, he figured he went back to town to cure what ailed him, or folded under the pressure. Countless of times Ladreth had witnessed hardy men fall to the pressures of a warrior's life, and what this shifter had gone through in the past day was more than most men can take, what with being nearly headless and a giant man-eating wolf.

 

[stonegod]

A Lost Flame

The Stalker knew something was not right, and drove his horse forward. The scene that he found was a one too familiar. Recently repaired doors busted through. Blood stains on the streets, walls. Wet things he did his best not to identify.

His quick mind noticed that not all the houses were hit. Several on the periphery of town, but then the battered houses become fewer. The blood is no less, however. He suspects that a fight was put up. The caravaners? The townfolk would not have done this, surely. He pressed on, needing answers.

In the town square, he found the bodies. Gathered together, stacked, the collateral of death. Unlike the death from the plague, the quiet corpses screamed their violent ends. Barovian womenfolk and the Jorasco halflings went about their needed work, preparing for another day of burials. The Barovians looked numb; even the halflings has a distant look to them.

Jarrith almost pressed on, his questions answered without raising his voice when thought he saw it. A silvery warhorse, now caked it blood, but surely the same horse. Luminous! But another glance and the apparition was gone. But the sign was clear. Khensu was here.

A man driven, Jarrith threw himself off Selase's old mount, and flung open the door. Expecting the worse, what he found was little better.

A litter. And tending it, two forms. One smaller, blood, dirt and gore hiding its figure. The other, larger but just as haggard. The latter turned, and with a horror in his eyes as deep as the chasm in Jarrith's soul, Khensu met Jarrith's gaze.

"I have failed him, Brother."