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Story Hour
The Ballad of Hal Whitewyrm
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<blockquote data-quote="Paka" data-source="post: 5700689" data-attributes="member: 100"><p><u><p style="text-align: center">GM</p><p></u>Laelin looks like he is about to vomit in fear as he puts down his crossbow. The Head-Taker sneers at him.</p><p></p><p>“You thought you could put a bolt in me and perhaps the rest might run in fear, hm? You’ve heard that orcs run, that they are tough in the first volleys but are easy to rout, hm?”</p><p></p><p>Laelin doesn’t respond.</p><p></p><p>“You don’t know this breed of orc; you don’t know the monsters who gather under the Many Arrows banner and end the knee to the first true orc king in history. Hal, here, just saved your life…for now.”</p><p></p><p>He Who Cleaves Heads of King Obould’s Enemies from their shoulders and puts them Upon Stakes for all to See signals to the least of his two orcs to retrieve your weapons and then barks at the other in Black Tongue to look at the elf boy, who had nearly gotten his gag from his mouth. For a few minutes, he argues with his wolf-mount, a gray bitch the size of a pony.</p><p></p><p>“Sorry if we’re being rude, half-elf. Stormcloud thinks that you are only waiting for a moment of weakness on the road so that you can ambush us. I argue that perhaps you are speaking true and then we can show such mercy and let Xerez of Zhentil Keep know full well that he is not dealing with common orc from the some broken tribe in the hills.</p><p></p><p>“I think the two of you are an opportunity for us to show how very civilized we are under Obould’s rule.</p><p></p><p>“We’ll rest here for the day and set out at dusk, traveling by starlight. The water is said to be from an elf warrior-maid’s tears after she drowned her own children rather than let demons have her family when Myth Drannor fell. Have yourself a drink; its delicious.”</p><p></p><p><u><p style="text-align: center">Player</p><p></u>After we have set up camp for the coming day, I ponder these orc from King Obould’s band. By all that I know about orc, I should be dead the moment he smelled that I was not being entirely truthful. And yet here I am, alive for the moment—in dire straits, but alive. Head-Taker speaks of orc civility, of a new type of orc, not a “common orc” but civilized under Obould’s rule. This is marvelous, confusing and terrifying all at once; a kingdom of such orc could very well spell doom for a large part of the land.</p><p></p><p>Moving my thoughts to more pressing matters, I find a moment when I can sit by Laelin and speak with him out of earshot of the orc and wolves, or at least as possible as that is given our situation. “Be strong and steadfast. Above all, be strong and steadfast. And do not do anything foolish that can get us killed. Doing foolish things,” I add with a small smile, “seems to be my job.”</p><p></p><p>Every time I drink water from the spring I consciously call to mind the source of the name as told mockingly by Head-Taker. To me, that sorrow is strength, and I hope to draw some of it into my being. I think of Nasharel and wonder if I will see her again; with <a href="http://forgottenrealms.wikia.com/wiki/Sune" target="_blank">Sune’s</a> and <a href="http://forgottenrealms.wikia.com/wiki/Hanali_Celanil" target="_blank">Hanali Celanil’s</a> blessings I know I will. I know the orc think it funny to have the elves drink from these waters of sorrow, but I drink them proudly to elevate the sacrifice of that elf-maid to the heavens.</p><p></p><p>At every opportunity I can, I sneak looks at the gagged elf boy and his eyes of an orange known all-too-well to me—a connection I am extremely glad these orc have not noticed between their gagged captive and myself—and at the sword Head-Taker carries with him. The blade, the handle, it all screams Whitewyrm to me.</p><p></p><p>Patience…</p><p></p><p>I also hope the Hunt can figure out what happened, though I doubt that very much. We are on our own, and we will face Xerez, and possibly our deaths, alone. And soon.</p><p></p><p><u><p style="text-align: center">GM</p><p></u>The weather is crisp autumn cold and clear nights; the ancient trees hide the stars.</p><p></p><p>You walk through the night with the orc pack and they adjust their pace so that you can keep up. One of the Black Hunters suggests you keep your hands on his saddle because traveling by night in the Cormanthor is walking in total darkness that only the orc’s eyes that burn like coal can pierce. Head-Taker checks the hunter’s saddle carefully, making certain that no weapons are available to you. The elf boy is trundled up like a pig, set on the front of the Head-Taker’s saddle.</p><p></p><p>When the first light of dawn spills overhead, a Black Hunter returns and you can see that you had been walking all night with only two orc and their wolves. Head-Taker had sent one of his Black Hunters ahead to scout the Dead God’s Glade. The scout gives his report in the Black Tongue, that to your ears sounds like grunts and snarls and vomiting mixed with nails scratching on slate.</p><p></p><p>The scout found something to be wrong in the glade, where Xerez was supposed to wait for his treasures.</p><p></p><p>You have made camp at the base of a cyclopean tree so large that you can’t see the leaves. During the next day, while the wolves and orc take their turns resting and watching you, Laelin approaches. He has gotten ride of the black hand that was over his breastplate, stained it entirely with berries so that the hand is no longer noticeable. You speak in hushed whispers.</p><p></p><p>“Why do they fear that child, so? What magic could an elven boy know that would threaten them so thoroughly? They check his gag as if their lives depended on it.”</p><p></p><p>“We’re headed north. Something is wrong; their rider came back with tidings from the Dead God’s Glade and smelled something rotten. We’re about half a day west of the Myth. We’re headed to Zhentil Keep, dammit…into Bane’s own blood-soaked den.”</p><p></p><p><u><p style="text-align: center">Player</p><p></u>“The elf-lad—and I hesitate to call someone older than both of us a lad were he not an Elf—my best guess is that he has the power of Elven Songs at his disposal. They were very clear in their threat to him that first night: no singing. My other guess is that that sword Head-Taker carries about on him all the time belongs to the lad. I have heard stories of Sword Singers, elves whose blades sing the songs of deadly battle, but I would not know how to recognize one. Were that Nasharel could help.</p><p></p><p>“The lad might be our wild card to get out of this mess. I don’t know how, but getting that gag off and letting him Sing is something we should strive to do if and when the right opportunity presents itself.”</p><p></p><p>The snows will begin soon, I think to myself as I ponder Laelin’s news. But not before we arrive at our destination.</p><p></p><p>“We need to find out what is going on at the Glade. The hour of reckoning approaches, Blackhand: the mad wizard or the cursed city—one of them is our destiny, and we will soon know which.</p><p></p><p>“Remain vigilant of the area. During the day we have a slight advantage. I will return.”</p><p></p><p>I walk over to where Head-Taker speaks to the orc rider, remaining a few paces away. When they are done conversing in their infernal language, I ask of Head-Taker, “Are there problems up ahead in the Dead God’s Glade? Has Xerez reneged on his promise?”</p><p></p><p><em>Can I do a Foreign Languages Beginner’s Luck test to understand the Black Tongue or would I need an instructor for the first lesson? Perhaps I can have the rough basics for an initial test from having heard it on and off during my youth in Xerez’s dungeons?</em></p><p></p><p><u><p style="text-align: center">GM</p><p></u>I’m fine with you being able to piece that together with a Beginner’s Luck test. Ob 3 doubled to Ob 6.</p><p></p><p>The Head-Taker squints at you, head obviously hurting at the hour of Highsun. When you approach he is talking in low tones with Stormcloud, clearly his most trusted adviser.</p><p></p><p>“Apparently, a few different parties showed up and got into a fight in the glade. A company of mercenaries, a murder of gnolls and a band of Red Wizards had a conflict. The Red Wizards starting throwing around arcane fire and the glade is on fire. I want no part of such a conflict, though there is the possiblity of running through and taking that which can no longer be held. Tempting…</p><p></p><p>“But no, we’ll head north to Zhentil Keep and make our exchange there.</p><p></p><p>“Unless there’s more you can tell me about this mischief. Any of your raven-knights we should be warned about on the road to the keep? If you tell me the truth, I’ll kill your friend quickly and sell you as a slave at Zhentil Keep. A half-elf with skills like yours might find a good life there in chains. What do you say?”</p><p></p><p><em>If you succeed the roll, you’ll get more information on the inner-workings of the pack and what is going on among them. If you fail, you remain in the dark and might catch words out of context that you don’t fully understand.</em></p><p></p><p><u><p style="text-align: center">Player</p><p></u><em>Foreign Languages [Black Tongue] Beginner’s Luck Test (Perception): B4 = 4,6,6,5 + 1 Fate artha for Luck → 4,4 – 6 successes! Tymora smiles on me again.</em></p><p></p><p>“As I told you, He Who Cleaves Heads of King Obould’s Enemies from their shoulders and puts them Upon Stakes for all to See, I have nothing to do with any Knights, be they of the Raven, the North, Myth Drannor or Bane’s Ass. That sounds like nothing more than petty, power-hungry infighting between short-sighted fools with too much greed and very little wisdom, nothing more.</p><p></p><p>“It might be a good opportunity to seize some loot… For yourself and the glory of King Obould, of course. It’s what I would do, given the gnats have taken care of each other already. Besides, that IS the meeting point. I doubt Xerez would let a mere fire he can extinguish with mighty sorcery derail his precious quest.”</p><p></p><p><em>Persuasion test?</em></p><p></p><p>Judd </p><p>October 04, 2011 14:49</p><p>You pick up words here and there, words in the orc’s language you learned while in slavery and bits and pieces of the elven tongue seem slipped in there, as if the languages were somehow related in ancient times.</p><p></p><p>It is worse than they are letting on in the common tongue. Xerez lost some scouts and some troops in the conflagrations and was seen leaving the glade, unable to get any intelligence about what is really going on. From what the scout says, you can smell The Hunt all over this. The battle prowess of <a href="http://www.obsidianportal.com/campaigns/the-song-of-hal-whitewyrm/characters/battle-father-crommlar-muriel" target="_blank">Battle-father Crommlar Muriel</a> and <a href="http://www.obsidianportal.com/campaigns/the-song-of-hal-whitewyrm/characters/vorass-the-maul" target="_blank">Vorass the Maul</a> led by <a href="http://www.obsidianportal.com/campaigns/the-song-of-hal-whitewyrm/characters/shasslan-the-huntress" target="_blank">Shasslan the Huntress</a> with a touch of <a href="http://www.obsidianportal.com/campaigns/the-song-of-hal-whitewyrm/characters/orlin-the-illusionist" target="_blank">Orlin the Illusionist</a> is at work here.</p><p></p><p>The orcs aren’t sure if this is the Knights of the North, in-fighting among evil folk or some kind of Zhentarim trickery. They are far from Obould’s keep and are not used to dealing with these kinds of delicate situations. The strain is showing and they are clearly not fighting more in an effort to show a united pack in front of you and Laelin.</p><p></p><p>Stormcloud growls at your suggestion. Head-taker scowls.</p><p></p><p><em>Persuasion, ob 4.</em></p><p></p><p><u><p style="text-align: center">Player</p><p></u><em>Persuasion Beginner’s Luck Test (Will, Ob 8): 1,1,6,1 – 1 success. Gotta fail to learn. Two more Aptitude tests and I get Persuasion.</em></p><p></p><p>My words sound hollow even to myself. But we need to make it by the Glade; we need the Hunt to meet with us. I just don’t see how either of us can outrun a great wolf…</p><p></p><p>“It is, of course, your choice, Head-Taker.”</p><p></p><p><u><p style="text-align: center">GM</p><p></u>“I know damned well whose choice it is, half-breed.”</p><p></p><p>There is a moment that night, traveling in the dark, stumbling through the Cormanthor and you come to Myth Drannor marker, a stone plinth with markings from those days when dwarven artisans, elven singers and human sorcerers made magic that has not been seen since. The orc are looking it over, making sure they have not wandered too close to the ruins.</p><p></p><p>A wolf whose name you do not know, who rides the less respected of the two Black Hunters turns to you and with his snout, struggles to form the awkward, whispered words, “Escape. Please. Us. Please. Escape.”</p><p></p><p>When the orc mount up, the talking omega wolf won’t even look at you.</p><p></p><p>From the look on Laelin’s face, he doesn’t like this at all. In the distance, you can smell the Red Wizard’s smoke. You are so close to the ruins of Myth Drannor that you can feel the Mythal, like a distant hum of arcane power in the air.</p><p></p><p><em>Daniel, feel free to ask me where things are or to draw a little map if you want to get an idea of how things are situated before doing something reckless and awesome and possibly suicidal.</em></p><p></p><p>The lesser hunter is watering the elf-boy at dawn, pressing his face into pond-water so that he doesn’t have the time nor the ability to draw enough breath for a song. The rest of the orc are busy – posting the heads and the banner, removing the harness from the wolves and eating raw deer-meat when the omega approaches you again.</p><p></p><p>“Escape? Plan? Myth Danno?” it whispers and then walks away before anyone can see.</p><p></p><p>The camp is at a small pond. There is a marker here, some remnant of Myth Drannor that has lost meaning.</p><p></p><p><a href="http://www.lomion.de/cmm/img/foulwing.gif" target="_blank">The Foulwing </a>lands on a branch without a sound, emitting some kind of bullfrog croak to announce its rider’s presence. From the letter on the harness, you can tell the beast and its rider are from Zhentil Keep. The rider has a spellbook strapped to her lowerback, attached to her belt be a black chain. Her armor is the black boiled leather common to the Foulwing riders and a sleek helm. She is holding a long barbed spear.</p><p></p><p>Foulwings are used in aerial raids and also for tracking down escaped slaves.</p><p></p><p>“What brings you to the forest with hostages, orcs?” she asks.</p><p></p><p>The Head-taker steps among the rotting heads posted to mark the camp. “We seek Xerez. We have good for him and an offer from King Obould himself. I am ”/campaigns/the-song-of-hal-whitewyrm/characters/head-taker-obould" class=“wiki-content-link”>He Who Cleaves Heads of King Obould’s Enemies from their shoulders and puts them Upon Stakes for all to See. Who are you, beastrider?"</p><p></p><p>The beast’s slobber rubs color from the bark as it rips a branch off of the tree and begins to digest it. Its smell is otherworldly. Your body has no idea how to process such scents and so it reverts to revulsion and nausea.</p><p></p><p>The wolves are growling, bristling with anger, teeth bared, hair on their backs standing on end.</p><p></p><p>The rider responds, “I am Reltav, an apprentice of Xerez. I am prepared to pay you in hard gold or slave vouchers, He Who Cleaves. What do you have of the Whitewyrm Clan?”</p><p></p><p>“I take Heads for the Orc King and as my station demands, I want to sit down with Xerez at the very least and Manshoon if Zhentil Keep wishes to honor its relationship with the Keep of Many Arrows and make that relationship stronger. I am not a gnoll murder-priest, nor am I a mercenary with an outlaw’s brand on my cheek.</p><p></p><p>“Surely you know Hal Stephaln,” the Head-Taker says, taking his sword out, “famous bounty hunter…”</p><p></p><p>“I don’t. Should I?” she asks from atop her Foulwing that is currently defecating on a Cormanthor tree, its otherworldly secretions stripping the bark of all color.</p><p></p><p>When you were in slavery, Xerez never had an apprentice.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Paka, post: 5700689, member: 100"] [U][CENTER]GM[/CENTER][/U] Laelin looks like he is about to vomit in fear as he puts down his crossbow. The Head-Taker sneers at him. “You thought you could put a bolt in me and perhaps the rest might run in fear, hm? You’ve heard that orcs run, that they are tough in the first volleys but are easy to rout, hm?” Laelin doesn’t respond. “You don’t know this breed of orc; you don’t know the monsters who gather under the Many Arrows banner and end the knee to the first true orc king in history. Hal, here, just saved your life…for now.” He Who Cleaves Heads of King Obould’s Enemies from their shoulders and puts them Upon Stakes for all to See signals to the least of his two orcs to retrieve your weapons and then barks at the other in Black Tongue to look at the elf boy, who had nearly gotten his gag from his mouth. For a few minutes, he argues with his wolf-mount, a gray bitch the size of a pony. “Sorry if we’re being rude, half-elf. Stormcloud thinks that you are only waiting for a moment of weakness on the road so that you can ambush us. I argue that perhaps you are speaking true and then we can show such mercy and let Xerez of Zhentil Keep know full well that he is not dealing with common orc from the some broken tribe in the hills. “I think the two of you are an opportunity for us to show how very civilized we are under Obould’s rule. “We’ll rest here for the day and set out at dusk, traveling by starlight. The water is said to be from an elf warrior-maid’s tears after she drowned her own children rather than let demons have her family when Myth Drannor fell. Have yourself a drink; its delicious.” [U][CENTER]Player[/CENTER][/U] After we have set up camp for the coming day, I ponder these orc from King Obould’s band. By all that I know about orc, I should be dead the moment he smelled that I was not being entirely truthful. And yet here I am, alive for the moment—in dire straits, but alive. Head-Taker speaks of orc civility, of a new type of orc, not a “common orc” but civilized under Obould’s rule. This is marvelous, confusing and terrifying all at once; a kingdom of such orc could very well spell doom for a large part of the land. Moving my thoughts to more pressing matters, I find a moment when I can sit by Laelin and speak with him out of earshot of the orc and wolves, or at least as possible as that is given our situation. “Be strong and steadfast. Above all, be strong and steadfast. And do not do anything foolish that can get us killed. Doing foolish things,” I add with a small smile, “seems to be my job.” Every time I drink water from the spring I consciously call to mind the source of the name as told mockingly by Head-Taker. To me, that sorrow is strength, and I hope to draw some of it into my being. I think of Nasharel and wonder if I will see her again; with [URL="http://forgottenrealms.wikia.com/wiki/Sune"]Sune’s[/URL] and [URL="http://forgottenrealms.wikia.com/wiki/Hanali_Celanil"]Hanali Celanil’s[/URL] blessings I know I will. I know the orc think it funny to have the elves drink from these waters of sorrow, but I drink them proudly to elevate the sacrifice of that elf-maid to the heavens. At every opportunity I can, I sneak looks at the gagged elf boy and his eyes of an orange known all-too-well to me—a connection I am extremely glad these orc have not noticed between their gagged captive and myself—and at the sword Head-Taker carries with him. The blade, the handle, it all screams Whitewyrm to me. Patience… I also hope the Hunt can figure out what happened, though I doubt that very much. We are on our own, and we will face Xerez, and possibly our deaths, alone. And soon. [U][CENTER]GM[/CENTER][/U] The weather is crisp autumn cold and clear nights; the ancient trees hide the stars. You walk through the night with the orc pack and they adjust their pace so that you can keep up. One of the Black Hunters suggests you keep your hands on his saddle because traveling by night in the Cormanthor is walking in total darkness that only the orc’s eyes that burn like coal can pierce. Head-Taker checks the hunter’s saddle carefully, making certain that no weapons are available to you. The elf boy is trundled up like a pig, set on the front of the Head-Taker’s saddle. When the first light of dawn spills overhead, a Black Hunter returns and you can see that you had been walking all night with only two orc and their wolves. Head-Taker had sent one of his Black Hunters ahead to scout the Dead God’s Glade. The scout gives his report in the Black Tongue, that to your ears sounds like grunts and snarls and vomiting mixed with nails scratching on slate. The scout found something to be wrong in the glade, where Xerez was supposed to wait for his treasures. You have made camp at the base of a cyclopean tree so large that you can’t see the leaves. During the next day, while the wolves and orc take their turns resting and watching you, Laelin approaches. He has gotten ride of the black hand that was over his breastplate, stained it entirely with berries so that the hand is no longer noticeable. You speak in hushed whispers. “Why do they fear that child, so? What magic could an elven boy know that would threaten them so thoroughly? They check his gag as if their lives depended on it.” “We’re headed north. Something is wrong; their rider came back with tidings from the Dead God’s Glade and smelled something rotten. We’re about half a day west of the Myth. We’re headed to Zhentil Keep, dammit…into Bane’s own blood-soaked den.” [U][CENTER]Player[/CENTER][/U] “The elf-lad—and I hesitate to call someone older than both of us a lad were he not an Elf—my best guess is that he has the power of Elven Songs at his disposal. They were very clear in their threat to him that first night: no singing. My other guess is that that sword Head-Taker carries about on him all the time belongs to the lad. I have heard stories of Sword Singers, elves whose blades sing the songs of deadly battle, but I would not know how to recognize one. Were that Nasharel could help. “The lad might be our wild card to get out of this mess. I don’t know how, but getting that gag off and letting him Sing is something we should strive to do if and when the right opportunity presents itself.” The snows will begin soon, I think to myself as I ponder Laelin’s news. But not before we arrive at our destination. “We need to find out what is going on at the Glade. The hour of reckoning approaches, Blackhand: the mad wizard or the cursed city—one of them is our destiny, and we will soon know which. “Remain vigilant of the area. During the day we have a slight advantage. I will return.” I walk over to where Head-Taker speaks to the orc rider, remaining a few paces away. When they are done conversing in their infernal language, I ask of Head-Taker, “Are there problems up ahead in the Dead God’s Glade? Has Xerez reneged on his promise?” [I]Can I do a Foreign Languages Beginner’s Luck test to understand the Black Tongue or would I need an instructor for the first lesson? Perhaps I can have the rough basics for an initial test from having heard it on and off during my youth in Xerez’s dungeons?[/I] [U][CENTER]GM[/CENTER][/U] I’m fine with you being able to piece that together with a Beginner’s Luck test. Ob 3 doubled to Ob 6. The Head-Taker squints at you, head obviously hurting at the hour of Highsun. When you approach he is talking in low tones with Stormcloud, clearly his most trusted adviser. “Apparently, a few different parties showed up and got into a fight in the glade. A company of mercenaries, a murder of gnolls and a band of Red Wizards had a conflict. The Red Wizards starting throwing around arcane fire and the glade is on fire. I want no part of such a conflict, though there is the possiblity of running through and taking that which can no longer be held. Tempting… “But no, we’ll head north to Zhentil Keep and make our exchange there. “Unless there’s more you can tell me about this mischief. Any of your raven-knights we should be warned about on the road to the keep? If you tell me the truth, I’ll kill your friend quickly and sell you as a slave at Zhentil Keep. A half-elf with skills like yours might find a good life there in chains. What do you say?” [I]If you succeed the roll, you’ll get more information on the inner-workings of the pack and what is going on among them. If you fail, you remain in the dark and might catch words out of context that you don’t fully understand.[/I] [U][CENTER]Player[/CENTER][/U] [I]Foreign Languages [Black Tongue] Beginner’s Luck Test (Perception): B4 = 4,6,6,5 + 1 Fate artha for Luck → 4,4 – 6 successes! Tymora smiles on me again.[/I] “As I told you, He Who Cleaves Heads of King Obould’s Enemies from their shoulders and puts them Upon Stakes for all to See, I have nothing to do with any Knights, be they of the Raven, the North, Myth Drannor or Bane’s Ass. That sounds like nothing more than petty, power-hungry infighting between short-sighted fools with too much greed and very little wisdom, nothing more. “It might be a good opportunity to seize some loot… For yourself and the glory of King Obould, of course. It’s what I would do, given the gnats have taken care of each other already. Besides, that IS the meeting point. I doubt Xerez would let a mere fire he can extinguish with mighty sorcery derail his precious quest.” [I]Persuasion test?[/I] Judd October 04, 2011 14:49 You pick up words here and there, words in the orc’s language you learned while in slavery and bits and pieces of the elven tongue seem slipped in there, as if the languages were somehow related in ancient times. It is worse than they are letting on in the common tongue. Xerez lost some scouts and some troops in the conflagrations and was seen leaving the glade, unable to get any intelligence about what is really going on. From what the scout says, you can smell The Hunt all over this. The battle prowess of [URL="http://www.obsidianportal.com/campaigns/the-song-of-hal-whitewyrm/characters/battle-father-crommlar-muriel"]Battle-father Crommlar Muriel[/URL] and [URL="http://www.obsidianportal.com/campaigns/the-song-of-hal-whitewyrm/characters/vorass-the-maul"]Vorass the Maul[/URL] led by [URL="http://www.obsidianportal.com/campaigns/the-song-of-hal-whitewyrm/characters/shasslan-the-huntress"]Shasslan the Huntress[/URL] with a touch of [URL="http://www.obsidianportal.com/campaigns/the-song-of-hal-whitewyrm/characters/orlin-the-illusionist"]Orlin the Illusionist[/URL] is at work here. The orcs aren’t sure if this is the Knights of the North, in-fighting among evil folk or some kind of Zhentarim trickery. They are far from Obould’s keep and are not used to dealing with these kinds of delicate situations. The strain is showing and they are clearly not fighting more in an effort to show a united pack in front of you and Laelin. Stormcloud growls at your suggestion. Head-taker scowls. [I]Persuasion, ob 4.[/I] [U][CENTER]Player[/CENTER][/U] [I]Persuasion Beginner’s Luck Test (Will, Ob 8): 1,1,6,1 – 1 success. Gotta fail to learn. Two more Aptitude tests and I get Persuasion.[/I] My words sound hollow even to myself. But we need to make it by the Glade; we need the Hunt to meet with us. I just don’t see how either of us can outrun a great wolf… “It is, of course, your choice, Head-Taker.” [U][CENTER]GM[/CENTER][/U] “I know damned well whose choice it is, half-breed.” There is a moment that night, traveling in the dark, stumbling through the Cormanthor and you come to Myth Drannor marker, a stone plinth with markings from those days when dwarven artisans, elven singers and human sorcerers made magic that has not been seen since. The orc are looking it over, making sure they have not wandered too close to the ruins. A wolf whose name you do not know, who rides the less respected of the two Black Hunters turns to you and with his snout, struggles to form the awkward, whispered words, “Escape. Please. Us. Please. Escape.” When the orc mount up, the talking omega wolf won’t even look at you. From the look on Laelin’s face, he doesn’t like this at all. In the distance, you can smell the Red Wizard’s smoke. You are so close to the ruins of Myth Drannor that you can feel the Mythal, like a distant hum of arcane power in the air. [I]Daniel, feel free to ask me where things are or to draw a little map if you want to get an idea of how things are situated before doing something reckless and awesome and possibly suicidal.[/I] The lesser hunter is watering the elf-boy at dawn, pressing his face into pond-water so that he doesn’t have the time nor the ability to draw enough breath for a song. The rest of the orc are busy – posting the heads and the banner, removing the harness from the wolves and eating raw deer-meat when the omega approaches you again. “Escape? Plan? Myth Danno?” it whispers and then walks away before anyone can see. The camp is at a small pond. There is a marker here, some remnant of Myth Drannor that has lost meaning. [URL="http://www.lomion.de/cmm/img/foulwing.gif"]The Foulwing [/URL]lands on a branch without a sound, emitting some kind of bullfrog croak to announce its rider’s presence. From the letter on the harness, you can tell the beast and its rider are from Zhentil Keep. The rider has a spellbook strapped to her lowerback, attached to her belt be a black chain. Her armor is the black boiled leather common to the Foulwing riders and a sleek helm. She is holding a long barbed spear. Foulwings are used in aerial raids and also for tracking down escaped slaves. “What brings you to the forest with hostages, orcs?” she asks. The Head-taker steps among the rotting heads posted to mark the camp. “We seek Xerez. We have good for him and an offer from King Obould himself. I am ”/campaigns/the-song-of-hal-whitewyrm/characters/head-taker-obould" class=“wiki-content-link”>He Who Cleaves Heads of King Obould’s Enemies from their shoulders and puts them Upon Stakes for all to See. Who are you, beastrider?" The beast’s slobber rubs color from the bark as it rips a branch off of the tree and begins to digest it. Its smell is otherworldly. Your body has no idea how to process such scents and so it reverts to revulsion and nausea. The wolves are growling, bristling with anger, teeth bared, hair on their backs standing on end. The rider responds, “I am Reltav, an apprentice of Xerez. I am prepared to pay you in hard gold or slave vouchers, He Who Cleaves. What do you have of the Whitewyrm Clan?” “I take Heads for the Orc King and as my station demands, I want to sit down with Xerez at the very least and Manshoon if Zhentil Keep wishes to honor its relationship with the Keep of Many Arrows and make that relationship stronger. I am not a gnoll murder-priest, nor am I a mercenary with an outlaw’s brand on my cheek. “Surely you know Hal Stephaln,” the Head-Taker says, taking his sword out, “famous bounty hunter…” “I don’t. Should I?” she asks from atop her Foulwing that is currently defecating on a Cormanthor tree, its otherworldly secretions stripping the bark of all color. When you were in slavery, Xerez never had an apprentice. [/QUOTE]
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