Sugarmouse
First Post
So, our group has returned like wayward children to the world of Earthdawn.
We are coming up to our fourth session this weekend, and I have decided to share with you the Journal that I am keeping for my character, in the hope that it will provide you with some entertainment.
This is the entry dealing with the first adventure. After some more editing I will add the current chapters, and then update as sessions and entries are completed. Feel free to comment (In fact, please do! My writing has become rusty in recent years, and I look forward to improving upon it, once again.)
10TH DAY OF RUA, 1506TH,
Outside the walls of Kaer Kaylin,
North of the Serpent River
I think I should feel numb. And now I feel curiously odd for starting out this journal with three such disparate sentences.
I am the daughter of Roidan, of the do’Shaen who are the People of the Wooded Mountain, and my name is Natalya. I am an Elementalist born in the 1483rd year of the Throalic Calendar within the sealed halls of Kaer Kaylin.
I sit now outside what has been our home, and has become the tomb of our people. In my company, the three other survivors of what once was a thriving Kaer on the cusp of achieving what we four are doing right now.
I find that I now savour the sweet air, and my skin delights in the winds’ caress, all the more so for what we experienced, and because no one else of our people ever will.
I will relate now the events of three weeks past:
It was the day of the Opening - the day we were supposed to leave Kaer Kaylin.
The entire Kaer had gathered around the First Doors to watch the Chosen Four enter the Walk that would lead to the Last Doors, and the surface of Barsaive.
An hour had passed when one of the Chosen Four returned.
Trumayne was a Human Warrior, and he was covered in blood. Weaponless, he attacked a nearby citizen, killing him instantly. It was then that we could see Trumayne’s eyes. Just as he was covered in blood, so were his eyes filled with it.
People started to panic in the face of the crazed bloodlust, and in the end it took seven others to finally stop the Warrior.
The Council ordered the First Doors shut again, hoping that that would secure the Kaer against the imminent threat of the Horror sure to be now lurking in the Walk.
Their hope… was shattered.
It sprang up as a Plague, radiating out from the Council Quarter. I assume that it started with those seven that brought down Trumayne, and those in closer proximity. From them, it spread with a voracious malevolence.
Those unlucky ones not slain outright, became infected. Initial infection seems to be via the exchange of vital fluids, as I later had the opportunity to closely observe the workings of the Blood Plague, when the T’Skrang Weaponsmith in our company was… wounded in a fight with what turned out to be the Horror Marked and Corrupted First Councilor.
Gestation of the Plague is about one hour, during which time the Plague seemingly tears into the innards of the victim – causing the victim to cough up blood. Hour by hour, the potency of the Plague increases, leading to paroxysm and increased oral expulsion of blood.
Children reached final stages of the Plague within the first hour – obviously, more resilient Patterns took longer, and I suppose that Adapts would have been able to hold the Plague at bay the longest.
Of course, my Master, Varden Flamecaster, had a more novel way to escape the effects of the Plague. I took some of his ashes with me when I left his home for the final time.
Upon reaching the mortal threshold, the Plague has effectively spread to the brain, and the eyes take on their bloody aspect. At this point, the Plague revitalizes the victim with a semblance of health, and drives him towards the Blood Frenzy.
Astral assensing by Sheva Valerierie showed severe Pattern Corruption, which dissipates upon death – thusly allowing the application of Last Chance Salves. The Weaponsmith was quite lucky that we had managed to obtain one.
Unfortunately, this discovery comes much too late for those of our people now trapped in the tomb that was Kaer Kaylin. I pray that Garlen, at least, will give them some measure of peace once the end arrives for them.
As it stood, apart from my digression, those were the events of the day of Opening.
In the subsequent three weeks I hid. I watched my parents get torn apart, and assume that my two best friends also died – none of the Blood Plagued I saw had their characteristics. I am somewhat gladdened by this – we had celebrated Gwynned and Toram’s betrothal only a few weeks beforehand, and I do not think I could have bourn the knowledge that they had been turned into ravening beasts.
I will not dwell here on the horror that those three weeks held. Watching the marauding infected, and seeing some of the children…
I was hiding in a house, half starving, and with the stench of the resident families rotting corpses filling my nose, when I heard a persistent ruckus.
I had earlier loosened some roof tiles to allow me easy egress should I be discovered by the Plagued. As I climbed onto the roof, I was able to clearly hear the ravening bark of hounds. The incessant and raw aggression in those barks led me to believe that they too were infected. And that they had found living prey.
By means of the Earthblend spell, I was able to hide my presence from a pair of Plagued. They too, were drawn to the ruckus, and as it seemed to be a prolonged affair, I thought that the other survivor or survivors were safe from the hounds, for now. But perhaps not from the more cunning and articulated humanoid Plagued.
I allowed them to get fifty yards ahead of me, and then began firing off Thorn Spike spells. I managed to fell one, but the other was charging at my position in a frenzy. That one had almost gained the roof before I managed a killing strike. I did not try to identify whom I had just slain – it would have driven me insane to know a neighbour or friend had just tried to tear me limb from limb.
It was also easier to form the killing spells, thinking of them only as the Plagued. And even with the knowledge later gained that they could have been saved, I doubt I would have done different – as I did not have the Salves or other resources in order to save them.
Tears have sprung into my eyes now. I wiped them away angrily – my mourning was done during the three weeks of hopelessness, and no amount of tears shed now will make a difference, but my thoughts still bid Garlen to shelter the souls of all those I have lost.
As I stood on the edge of the roof, sick with adrenaline coursing through my veins and cold sweat plastering my clothing to my fair skin, I noticed movement. There was someone on the Kaer’s bell tower!
What I had noticed was arrows being sent with deadly effect at a cluster of Plagued coming up behind me, which I had not even noticed. Without intervention by Mathias, the Archer, I would likely have been their next victim.
I waved, and he gesticulated back. Interpreting the gestures as a beckoning, I began to run towards the tower. Of course, the meaning of his obscure hand waving was made clearer when he greeted me from the first landing with the words “Did you bring the arrows?”
I was momentarily nonplussed. Turns out that this Mathias was quite practical. He had kicked away all the ladders leading up the tower, creating quite a safe haven for himself.
After some haranguing, he finally let me up. He too, had heard the barking, and had been observing the struggle near the warehouses containing the Kaer’s foodstuffs. Alas, the distance was too far for him to aid them as he had aided me, which seemed unfortunate.
He intimated that he did not think it would be a good idea to let the T’Skrang up once we gained their attention – as during the course of the battle, the Weaponsmith had been injured and possibly infected. I agreed with him, of course, and also started that we should likely put him out of his misery, as well.
We lit one of his arrows, and sent it into the air to draw their attention whilst I frantically waved my scarf as a signal.
When they finally made their way over to us, thankfully without catching the attention of any further Plagued, we saw that both of them were in quite a sorry state. The T’Skrang looked distinctly unwell, and Sheva’s equipment looked quite the worse for wear due to the wounds she herself had received.
She, however, was not infected – merely poisoned.
They had brought with them two backpacks full of food, and utilizing my Talents as an Elementalist once more, I increased the recuperative effects of the salvaged sustenance for their focused recovery.
Although he was succumbing, the T’Skrang managed to hold the infection at bay somewhat, and Sheva manage to purge the poison and regain some vitality.
During our food-laden interlude, we started to plan. With no offense meant to the Weaponsmith, Mathias and I stated that we should either leave him behind, or put him out of his misery, to which the T’Skrang did not exactly disagree.
It was Sheva, however, who spoke up. Not exactly to defend him, or to keep him alive, but to use his skills for as long as we could in order to combat the Horror that had done this to our Kaer.
I admit that I myself had not thought that far ahead. I was much too glad not to be alone anymore and to have found other survivors – so I suppose I can be forgiven for that. But it also showed Sheva’s devotion to her own Discipline. She was a Horror Stalker, and naturally, her calling would be to fight and defeat the Horror that had overwhelmed this Kaer.
Now it seemed to me that the Horror might not actually have been in the Kaer. The destruction was not total, and seemed far too random to me. However, Sheva revealed that the final fight that they had had in the stores area had been against a Marked and Corrupted First Councilor. She said that she was able to track from where he had come, and would naturally lead us to the Horror.
The conclusion was cogent, and I agreed with her, although somewhat reluctantly, as did we all. It turned out that the trail led back to the Council Quarter, and the Council Hall, specifically.
By applying our intellect we managed to find a way to navigate the Kaer by means of the walls – however, luck was not with us, and we were tracked by a group of Plagued. We successfully fought them off, but were soon approached by a larger pack.
Considering our state, we were being slowly whittled down. The Weaponsmith was getting worse and Sheva’s equipment was in dire need of repair. We ran – and hid ourselves again, as best as we could. Which in my case was another judiciously applied Earthblend spell.
This time, luck and the Passions were with us. We escaped their notice, and managed to investigate the Council Hall. No Horror was present, but we did find the Kaer’s Registry, as well as the Riddle that would allow us to leave the Kaer. It now did seem clear to us all that the Horror must still either be in the Walk, or Outside.
The Riddle:
The First Key can be found in a Library.
The Second Key can be found in the hands of Garlen.
The Third Key is the tie that binds us all.
Of course, we were now in a bind. One way to save the T’Skrang would be to slay the Horror that was causing the Corruption. But in my opinion, we were also somewhat poorly equipped to fight our way across the Kaer to either the Kaer Library, or the Temple of Garlen, not to mention possibly fighting tooth and nail against a Horror.
I put forth the suggestion that we should re-arm ourselves at the nearby Barracks. During our discussion, the T’Skrang’s condition worsened. The others thought we should move quickly in order to preserve as much of the Weaponsmith’s energy and vitality as possible.
I reluctantly conceded the point, seeing that we would be able to swing by the Barracks on our way back from the Library. Perhaps I should have raised greater objections, and made us re-supply first, as we are sitting on the hillside attired and equipped only with what we have on our backs. At least there seems to be a settlement nearby, located on the Serpent River.
Sheva and I quickly investigated the First Door to provide us with a better idea to what the answer to the riddle was. Seeing that the lock appeared to be inscribed with the Throalic alphabet, we surmised that it required a codeword.
With that, we set off for the Shrine of Garlen first, intending to travel in a loop around the Kaer – there also seemed to be the possibility of obtaining something that would aid either in sustaining the T’Skrang or alleviating the Plague, entirely. However, I would have thought that had the Shrine such measures, they would have been used within the first days, thus I did not hold out much hope for that.
We easily managed to navigate the city walls and rooftops once more on our way to the Shrine. We even managed to retrieve a few of the Archer’s arrows from the corpulent corpse of one the Plagued he had slain much earlier.
I should note, here, that the area around the Shrine was clear, as well as clean. It seemed that the Shrine had not been in any way overrun, or assaulted, as the rest of the Kaer had been by the ravening packs of the Plagued. And it turned out that Mathias had been hiding within the Shrine, himself, for the last three weeks – which provided him with a secure bastion from the outside depredations.
I closely examined the hands of the voluptuous statue of Garlen, but the only oddity I could find was the one which had been there since long before I was born – and according to the Shrine records – since the founding of the Kaer, itself. Garlen’s left hand was missing two fingers. Shrugging it off, we continued searching the Shrine. I was relatively sure that the Second Key would be a healing potion, seeing that Garlen was the Passion of Hearth and Healing.
Eventually, we found a hidden compartment in the base of the statue, which contained three potions of Healing. Seeing as we only needed one, both Sheva and the T’Skrang consumed a potion each – allowing the T’Skrang to regain some more of his continually draining vitality, and Sheva to finally close the wound, on her well formed chest, that had poisoned her.
As the Shrine was close to my Master’s home, I convinced the group that a quick detour would not be amiss. For one, I had hopes of retrieving Varden’s Grimoire, and for another, there might be some further items of use in our quest to avenge ourselves and the Kaer.
Alas, what we found was a burnt out shell. In the central chamber, I found what I assumed to be the remains of Varden. The stout old Dwarf had at least managed to take a honourable way out.
After that, we made our way onward, and towards the Library. We were not as lucky this time around, and were discovered by another pack of Plagued.
The fight was vicious, and short. We had all suffered further wounding, but at least the Library was now accessible.
Everything seemed to be in relative order, until we made our way inside. Although some of us were quite clumsy, and caused a slight racket, my sensitive ears managed to catch the sounds of a quill scribbling on parchment. Looking at my companions, I saw that Sheva had also noticed it, and said that she heard something.
I elucidated further, telling them that there was someone writing, within.
We advanced cautiously, and saw that it was the hunched figure of the Head Librarian, scribbling away in a great tome. We were puzzled, and I was slightly hopeful that we had found another unlikely survivor.
We spoke, but he did not react. I inched forward to get a better glimpse of what he was writing, but then recoiled in horror. What ever he was writing, he was doing so with blood.
Pale of face, I shook my head at my companions. Sheva had also apparently assensed him, and my companions were already moving forward to destroy the poor old man. That is when he was roused. Although he whirled about fearsomely, he was easily dispatched by a single blow.
We examined what he had written, and that one line, repeated over, and over, and over, shook me to my core. Some glimmer had remained alive within him. The Plagued weren’t just mindlessly slaughtering… it appeared that they were at least in part aware of what was happening. I was sickened.
We spent some time searching, but did not find anything further, even though I delved into the histories of the Kaer. Our supposition was then that it was a metaphorical riddle. We short-listed several possible words that could be the key. We would try them in order, once we were back at the doors.
During this time, the Weaponsmith had a relapse. It seemed that the Healing potion only gave him temporary respite. Again, against my better judgement, we decided to bypass the barracks and armoury, and head straight for the Doors, as the T’Skrang was in a truly critical condition now.
We arrived back at the First Door without further incident, and set about analyzing the alphabet inscribed on the lock. Sheva noticed almost at once that one letter was repeated twice on the inscription! A quick search of my memory confirmed that the First Councilor had touched the lock between seven and nine times. Sheva keyed in the word “Knowledge,” and the doors began to swing open…
… and we heard a collective, ethereal sigh, as if hundreds of lungs had expelled breath in all the same moment.
Fear seized me. The Door was open… and the Plagued knew it, too. The doors were too heavy for us to move ourselves, as we had seen the Kaer militia struggle to carry out the order of the Council on the day of Opening.
We had to hurry on; we had to defeat the Horror.
We moved inside, and stepped upon the Walk. It was dark, and the Walk had a strange solemnity to it we our steps echoed along the cavernous walls.
As we approached the Second Door, we came upon a grizzly sight.
The dead carapace body of a massive, segmented creature lay in the middle of the Walk, peppered liberally by dozens of arrows. And leaning slumped against the wall, the corpse of Bowen Longshaft, the Archer of the Chosen Four. Mathias took his bow, bracers and empty quiver.
I silently asked for Garlen’s blessing on him. It seemed that he had died a heroes death, and slain the Horror, for Sheva identified it as such, even though it appeared as a lesser kind, to her.
It was then that we heard the stampede from behind us. The Plagued were coming, and coming fast. I felt fear once again clutch my bowels, and clammy sweat broke out on my forehead.
We quickly examined the Second Door, and I saw that my supposition had been incorrect. The Lock did not require a potion of Healing. Instead, the Lock was a matter of weights, and balances. Each side of the door had a number of short columns, reminiscent of fingers. And, had they been the hands of the statute of Garlen, the left side had two weighted rings upon where her missing fingers were.
The echo of footsteps were getting louder. The Plagued were coming too fast. And this was our only barricade… only able to be opened from the inside… if we closed this Door… we would not be able to reenter Kaer Kaylin, at least not easily.
But we did not come this far to be torn apart by a horde of Plagued, either. We lifted the rings from the columns, and stepped inside as the Second Door closed behind us with a sonorous echo.
Now, stairs led upwards. We followed them, and barely a few yards on, we began to hear the faint sounds fists pounding on solid stone. A shudder ran through me.
My heart felt heavy, and about to burst, as we continued on. How strange, this feeling.
It was half way up the stairs that we came across the second body. Quick examination revealed it to be Tor’al, the Thief of the Chosen Four. It appeared as if something heavy had landed on his back, borne him down, and then snapped his neck.
Despite my gloomy mood, my mind began to piece together the happenings of the day of Opening, although the full picture would not spring to my mind until we reached the antechamber to the Third Door.
There was something pathetic about the way that the hacked up body of Kull Barrowmor lay in a crumpled heap. Nearby lay the blood encrusted Troll sword that had been bourne by Trumayne. Sheva took up that blade, herself.
It seemed that nothing of the Troll Nethermancer’s belongings had survived the furious onslaught.
The Third Door was only few yards away. Along the door were carved hand-sized indentations, suitable for hands of all the Namegiver races within the Kaer. Two of them, one human, the other Troll, had dried blood on them.
And that was when the events unfolded in my head.
The Chosen Four had easily made it to this point, of course. Trumayne and Kull would have stepped forward to open the Third Door with the tie that binds us all – blood.
That is when it must have happened – as the door opened, the Horror forced itself in. I could not gather if Trumayne managed to put up a fight when the Horror infected him with the Blood Plague, and thundered down the Walk, leaving the maddened Warrior to brutally lay into the Nethermancer. I surmised that the Thief hid in the face of this assault, and then tried to follow after Bowen, who would have been storming after the Horror, hoping to prevent it from reaching the Kaer.
But Trumayne finished the Troll quickly, and in his rage, dropped his Blade, and bounded after Tor’al. Undoubtedly, the Warrior bore down upon Tor’al with all his might, easily able to pierce the fleeing Thief’s cloak of stealth.
Then the Warrior would have ravened on, bypassing his Master as it fought with Bowen, sure that the Horror would defeat this puny foe, and stormed down the Walk, and towards the waiting throng of the kaerfolk.
I was right about this. But I was also wrong.
At that point, we thought that there was nothing further to be done. The Horror was slain – the Kaer had become a tomb, lashed with the final flailing blow the Horror could inflict – the Blood Plague carried by Trumayne.
However, we were wary. There was a chance that this Horror, having been a lesser kind, had had a greater master, still waiting on the other side of the door. Something… tickled my mind then. Something… odd. I shrugged off the sensation, and considered the task ahead of us.
My spells would be of little use, initially, but I could strengthen the arms of my companions for the possible time ahead. Although time was pressing, and the fourth hour of infection approaching for the T’Skrang, I meditated and re-attuned the matrices for a Flameweapon spell.
At a third of a turn of an hour, I cast the spell for Sheva, and immediately began to cast again for Mathias. In the meantime, Sheva and Mathias cut their hands, and unlocked the door.
I cast the spell upon Mathias’ bow just as the door opened enough to step through. We girt ourselves as necessary… and waited for something to happen.
Nothing did.
Cautiously, we stepped outside, expecting to be assaulted at any moment.
We weren’t.
Fresh air greeted us like sweet nectar, and the sky of Barsaive beckoned us forth. Nothing was waiting for us, except the approach of the fourth hour.
We deliberated, and with the T’Skrang a willing participant, we tied him securely to a tree. We hoped that he would withstand the Plague, for we did not want to carry it with us, out into Barsaive, via a settlement that we had detected some ways south of us, on the Serpent River.
Alas, the Weaponsmith succumbed to the Plague. Resolved as Mathias and I were to kill the T’Skrang, and thus not only spare him, but also the world the agony of the Blood Plague, Sheva’s tried to actively interfere in trying to stop Mathias from killing the T’Skrang with a well placed arrow.
She quickly explained that we could use the Last Chance Salve we had found on Bowen’s body to revive the T’Skrang if the corruption cleared upon his death.
We agreed. Thankfully, Sheva’s hope had been correct, and we managed to just revive the T’Skrang.
In this small moment of triumph, horror struck us.
All of a sudden, a memory surfaced within my mind. A memory of standing within the last antechamber, and the figure of a tall, skeletal creature staring at the four of us. A creature with a skull covered and riddled with worms. The door opened for us, and it stepped out, and headed away.
It was like a physical blow. The monstrosity of it all assailed my every nerve. And I saw that it affected my companions in a likewise manner.
Horrors are cunning. Rather than be buried in a Kaer for eternity, it had herded us, had allowed us to SET IT FREE.
So, I was wrong, you see.
There wasn’t just a single Horror that forced its way in after all. It had been a pair of them. And the greater Horror was free upon Barsaive again.
Sheva can track it. But we have to get ready for it first. We have to hunt it down.
As I sit here, on the hillside, I am not alone. I have my three companions, of course, but also with us are the souls of 1500 Namegivers. Each slain with malice by the acts of a Horror.
Our families and friends as well, and through us all our ancestors, all sitting on the hill side.
Tomorrow, we will go to the settlement. And from there, on to Throal - where we will start our preparations. Run, Wormskull. We will find you, and then we will avenge the murder of our Kaer.
This is the beginning of the journal of Natalya I’Roidan do’Shaen.
We are coming up to our fourth session this weekend, and I have decided to share with you the Journal that I am keeping for my character, in the hope that it will provide you with some entertainment.
This is the entry dealing with the first adventure. After some more editing I will add the current chapters, and then update as sessions and entries are completed. Feel free to comment (In fact, please do! My writing has become rusty in recent years, and I look forward to improving upon it, once again.)
10TH DAY OF RUA, 1506TH,
Outside the walls of Kaer Kaylin,
North of the Serpent River
The end was the beginning.
The beginning was our end.
The beginning was our end.
I think I should feel numb. And now I feel curiously odd for starting out this journal with three such disparate sentences.
I am the daughter of Roidan, of the do’Shaen who are the People of the Wooded Mountain, and my name is Natalya. I am an Elementalist born in the 1483rd year of the Throalic Calendar within the sealed halls of Kaer Kaylin.
I sit now outside what has been our home, and has become the tomb of our people. In my company, the three other survivors of what once was a thriving Kaer on the cusp of achieving what we four are doing right now.
I find that I now savour the sweet air, and my skin delights in the winds’ caress, all the more so for what we experienced, and because no one else of our people ever will.
I will relate now the events of three weeks past:
It was the day of the Opening - the day we were supposed to leave Kaer Kaylin.
The entire Kaer had gathered around the First Doors to watch the Chosen Four enter the Walk that would lead to the Last Doors, and the surface of Barsaive.
An hour had passed when one of the Chosen Four returned.
Trumayne was a Human Warrior, and he was covered in blood. Weaponless, he attacked a nearby citizen, killing him instantly. It was then that we could see Trumayne’s eyes. Just as he was covered in blood, so were his eyes filled with it.
People started to panic in the face of the crazed bloodlust, and in the end it took seven others to finally stop the Warrior.
The Council ordered the First Doors shut again, hoping that that would secure the Kaer against the imminent threat of the Horror sure to be now lurking in the Walk.
Their hope… was shattered.
It sprang up as a Plague, radiating out from the Council Quarter. I assume that it started with those seven that brought down Trumayne, and those in closer proximity. From them, it spread with a voracious malevolence.
Those unlucky ones not slain outright, became infected. Initial infection seems to be via the exchange of vital fluids, as I later had the opportunity to closely observe the workings of the Blood Plague, when the T’Skrang Weaponsmith in our company was… wounded in a fight with what turned out to be the Horror Marked and Corrupted First Councilor.
Gestation of the Plague is about one hour, during which time the Plague seemingly tears into the innards of the victim – causing the victim to cough up blood. Hour by hour, the potency of the Plague increases, leading to paroxysm and increased oral expulsion of blood.
Children reached final stages of the Plague within the first hour – obviously, more resilient Patterns took longer, and I suppose that Adapts would have been able to hold the Plague at bay the longest.
Of course, my Master, Varden Flamecaster, had a more novel way to escape the effects of the Plague. I took some of his ashes with me when I left his home for the final time.
Upon reaching the mortal threshold, the Plague has effectively spread to the brain, and the eyes take on their bloody aspect. At this point, the Plague revitalizes the victim with a semblance of health, and drives him towards the Blood Frenzy.
Astral assensing by Sheva Valerierie showed severe Pattern Corruption, which dissipates upon death – thusly allowing the application of Last Chance Salves. The Weaponsmith was quite lucky that we had managed to obtain one.
Unfortunately, this discovery comes much too late for those of our people now trapped in the tomb that was Kaer Kaylin. I pray that Garlen, at least, will give them some measure of peace once the end arrives for them.
As it stood, apart from my digression, those were the events of the day of Opening.
In the subsequent three weeks I hid. I watched my parents get torn apart, and assume that my two best friends also died – none of the Blood Plagued I saw had their characteristics. I am somewhat gladdened by this – we had celebrated Gwynned and Toram’s betrothal only a few weeks beforehand, and I do not think I could have bourn the knowledge that they had been turned into ravening beasts.
I will not dwell here on the horror that those three weeks held. Watching the marauding infected, and seeing some of the children…
I was hiding in a house, half starving, and with the stench of the resident families rotting corpses filling my nose, when I heard a persistent ruckus.
I had earlier loosened some roof tiles to allow me easy egress should I be discovered by the Plagued. As I climbed onto the roof, I was able to clearly hear the ravening bark of hounds. The incessant and raw aggression in those barks led me to believe that they too were infected. And that they had found living prey.
By means of the Earthblend spell, I was able to hide my presence from a pair of Plagued. They too, were drawn to the ruckus, and as it seemed to be a prolonged affair, I thought that the other survivor or survivors were safe from the hounds, for now. But perhaps not from the more cunning and articulated humanoid Plagued.
I allowed them to get fifty yards ahead of me, and then began firing off Thorn Spike spells. I managed to fell one, but the other was charging at my position in a frenzy. That one had almost gained the roof before I managed a killing strike. I did not try to identify whom I had just slain – it would have driven me insane to know a neighbour or friend had just tried to tear me limb from limb.
It was also easier to form the killing spells, thinking of them only as the Plagued. And even with the knowledge later gained that they could have been saved, I doubt I would have done different – as I did not have the Salves or other resources in order to save them.
Tears have sprung into my eyes now. I wiped them away angrily – my mourning was done during the three weeks of hopelessness, and no amount of tears shed now will make a difference, but my thoughts still bid Garlen to shelter the souls of all those I have lost.
As I stood on the edge of the roof, sick with adrenaline coursing through my veins and cold sweat plastering my clothing to my fair skin, I noticed movement. There was someone on the Kaer’s bell tower!
What I had noticed was arrows being sent with deadly effect at a cluster of Plagued coming up behind me, which I had not even noticed. Without intervention by Mathias, the Archer, I would likely have been their next victim.
I waved, and he gesticulated back. Interpreting the gestures as a beckoning, I began to run towards the tower. Of course, the meaning of his obscure hand waving was made clearer when he greeted me from the first landing with the words “Did you bring the arrows?”
I was momentarily nonplussed. Turns out that this Mathias was quite practical. He had kicked away all the ladders leading up the tower, creating quite a safe haven for himself.
After some haranguing, he finally let me up. He too, had heard the barking, and had been observing the struggle near the warehouses containing the Kaer’s foodstuffs. Alas, the distance was too far for him to aid them as he had aided me, which seemed unfortunate.
He intimated that he did not think it would be a good idea to let the T’Skrang up once we gained their attention – as during the course of the battle, the Weaponsmith had been injured and possibly infected. I agreed with him, of course, and also started that we should likely put him out of his misery, as well.
We lit one of his arrows, and sent it into the air to draw their attention whilst I frantically waved my scarf as a signal.
When they finally made their way over to us, thankfully without catching the attention of any further Plagued, we saw that both of them were in quite a sorry state. The T’Skrang looked distinctly unwell, and Sheva’s equipment looked quite the worse for wear due to the wounds she herself had received.
She, however, was not infected – merely poisoned.
They had brought with them two backpacks full of food, and utilizing my Talents as an Elementalist once more, I increased the recuperative effects of the salvaged sustenance for their focused recovery.
Although he was succumbing, the T’Skrang managed to hold the infection at bay somewhat, and Sheva manage to purge the poison and regain some vitality.
During our food-laden interlude, we started to plan. With no offense meant to the Weaponsmith, Mathias and I stated that we should either leave him behind, or put him out of his misery, to which the T’Skrang did not exactly disagree.
It was Sheva, however, who spoke up. Not exactly to defend him, or to keep him alive, but to use his skills for as long as we could in order to combat the Horror that had done this to our Kaer.
I admit that I myself had not thought that far ahead. I was much too glad not to be alone anymore and to have found other survivors – so I suppose I can be forgiven for that. But it also showed Sheva’s devotion to her own Discipline. She was a Horror Stalker, and naturally, her calling would be to fight and defeat the Horror that had overwhelmed this Kaer.
Now it seemed to me that the Horror might not actually have been in the Kaer. The destruction was not total, and seemed far too random to me. However, Sheva revealed that the final fight that they had had in the stores area had been against a Marked and Corrupted First Councilor. She said that she was able to track from where he had come, and would naturally lead us to the Horror.
The conclusion was cogent, and I agreed with her, although somewhat reluctantly, as did we all. It turned out that the trail led back to the Council Quarter, and the Council Hall, specifically.
By applying our intellect we managed to find a way to navigate the Kaer by means of the walls – however, luck was not with us, and we were tracked by a group of Plagued. We successfully fought them off, but were soon approached by a larger pack.
Considering our state, we were being slowly whittled down. The Weaponsmith was getting worse and Sheva’s equipment was in dire need of repair. We ran – and hid ourselves again, as best as we could. Which in my case was another judiciously applied Earthblend spell.
This time, luck and the Passions were with us. We escaped their notice, and managed to investigate the Council Hall. No Horror was present, but we did find the Kaer’s Registry, as well as the Riddle that would allow us to leave the Kaer. It now did seem clear to us all that the Horror must still either be in the Walk, or Outside.
The Riddle:
The First Key can be found in a Library.
The Second Key can be found in the hands of Garlen.
The Third Key is the tie that binds us all.
Of course, we were now in a bind. One way to save the T’Skrang would be to slay the Horror that was causing the Corruption. But in my opinion, we were also somewhat poorly equipped to fight our way across the Kaer to either the Kaer Library, or the Temple of Garlen, not to mention possibly fighting tooth and nail against a Horror.
I put forth the suggestion that we should re-arm ourselves at the nearby Barracks. During our discussion, the T’Skrang’s condition worsened. The others thought we should move quickly in order to preserve as much of the Weaponsmith’s energy and vitality as possible.
I reluctantly conceded the point, seeing that we would be able to swing by the Barracks on our way back from the Library. Perhaps I should have raised greater objections, and made us re-supply first, as we are sitting on the hillside attired and equipped only with what we have on our backs. At least there seems to be a settlement nearby, located on the Serpent River.
Sheva and I quickly investigated the First Door to provide us with a better idea to what the answer to the riddle was. Seeing that the lock appeared to be inscribed with the Throalic alphabet, we surmised that it required a codeword.
With that, we set off for the Shrine of Garlen first, intending to travel in a loop around the Kaer – there also seemed to be the possibility of obtaining something that would aid either in sustaining the T’Skrang or alleviating the Plague, entirely. However, I would have thought that had the Shrine such measures, they would have been used within the first days, thus I did not hold out much hope for that.
We easily managed to navigate the city walls and rooftops once more on our way to the Shrine. We even managed to retrieve a few of the Archer’s arrows from the corpulent corpse of one the Plagued he had slain much earlier.
I should note, here, that the area around the Shrine was clear, as well as clean. It seemed that the Shrine had not been in any way overrun, or assaulted, as the rest of the Kaer had been by the ravening packs of the Plagued. And it turned out that Mathias had been hiding within the Shrine, himself, for the last three weeks – which provided him with a secure bastion from the outside depredations.
I closely examined the hands of the voluptuous statue of Garlen, but the only oddity I could find was the one which had been there since long before I was born – and according to the Shrine records – since the founding of the Kaer, itself. Garlen’s left hand was missing two fingers. Shrugging it off, we continued searching the Shrine. I was relatively sure that the Second Key would be a healing potion, seeing that Garlen was the Passion of Hearth and Healing.
Eventually, we found a hidden compartment in the base of the statue, which contained three potions of Healing. Seeing as we only needed one, both Sheva and the T’Skrang consumed a potion each – allowing the T’Skrang to regain some more of his continually draining vitality, and Sheva to finally close the wound, on her well formed chest, that had poisoned her.
As the Shrine was close to my Master’s home, I convinced the group that a quick detour would not be amiss. For one, I had hopes of retrieving Varden’s Grimoire, and for another, there might be some further items of use in our quest to avenge ourselves and the Kaer.
Alas, what we found was a burnt out shell. In the central chamber, I found what I assumed to be the remains of Varden. The stout old Dwarf had at least managed to take a honourable way out.
After that, we made our way onward, and towards the Library. We were not as lucky this time around, and were discovered by another pack of Plagued.
The fight was vicious, and short. We had all suffered further wounding, but at least the Library was now accessible.
Everything seemed to be in relative order, until we made our way inside. Although some of us were quite clumsy, and caused a slight racket, my sensitive ears managed to catch the sounds of a quill scribbling on parchment. Looking at my companions, I saw that Sheva had also noticed it, and said that she heard something.
I elucidated further, telling them that there was someone writing, within.
We advanced cautiously, and saw that it was the hunched figure of the Head Librarian, scribbling away in a great tome. We were puzzled, and I was slightly hopeful that we had found another unlikely survivor.
We spoke, but he did not react. I inched forward to get a better glimpse of what he was writing, but then recoiled in horror. What ever he was writing, he was doing so with blood.
Pale of face, I shook my head at my companions. Sheva had also apparently assensed him, and my companions were already moving forward to destroy the poor old man. That is when he was roused. Although he whirled about fearsomely, he was easily dispatched by a single blow.
We examined what he had written, and that one line, repeated over, and over, and over, shook me to my core. Some glimmer had remained alive within him. The Plagued weren’t just mindlessly slaughtering… it appeared that they were at least in part aware of what was happening. I was sickened.
We spent some time searching, but did not find anything further, even though I delved into the histories of the Kaer. Our supposition was then that it was a metaphorical riddle. We short-listed several possible words that could be the key. We would try them in order, once we were back at the doors.
During this time, the Weaponsmith had a relapse. It seemed that the Healing potion only gave him temporary respite. Again, against my better judgement, we decided to bypass the barracks and armoury, and head straight for the Doors, as the T’Skrang was in a truly critical condition now.
We arrived back at the First Door without further incident, and set about analyzing the alphabet inscribed on the lock. Sheva noticed almost at once that one letter was repeated twice on the inscription! A quick search of my memory confirmed that the First Councilor had touched the lock between seven and nine times. Sheva keyed in the word “Knowledge,” and the doors began to swing open…
… and we heard a collective, ethereal sigh, as if hundreds of lungs had expelled breath in all the same moment.
Fear seized me. The Door was open… and the Plagued knew it, too. The doors were too heavy for us to move ourselves, as we had seen the Kaer militia struggle to carry out the order of the Council on the day of Opening.
We had to hurry on; we had to defeat the Horror.
We moved inside, and stepped upon the Walk. It was dark, and the Walk had a strange solemnity to it we our steps echoed along the cavernous walls.
As we approached the Second Door, we came upon a grizzly sight.
The dead carapace body of a massive, segmented creature lay in the middle of the Walk, peppered liberally by dozens of arrows. And leaning slumped against the wall, the corpse of Bowen Longshaft, the Archer of the Chosen Four. Mathias took his bow, bracers and empty quiver.
I silently asked for Garlen’s blessing on him. It seemed that he had died a heroes death, and slain the Horror, for Sheva identified it as such, even though it appeared as a lesser kind, to her.
It was then that we heard the stampede from behind us. The Plagued were coming, and coming fast. I felt fear once again clutch my bowels, and clammy sweat broke out on my forehead.
We quickly examined the Second Door, and I saw that my supposition had been incorrect. The Lock did not require a potion of Healing. Instead, the Lock was a matter of weights, and balances. Each side of the door had a number of short columns, reminiscent of fingers. And, had they been the hands of the statute of Garlen, the left side had two weighted rings upon where her missing fingers were.
The echo of footsteps were getting louder. The Plagued were coming too fast. And this was our only barricade… only able to be opened from the inside… if we closed this Door… we would not be able to reenter Kaer Kaylin, at least not easily.
But we did not come this far to be torn apart by a horde of Plagued, either. We lifted the rings from the columns, and stepped inside as the Second Door closed behind us with a sonorous echo.
Now, stairs led upwards. We followed them, and barely a few yards on, we began to hear the faint sounds fists pounding on solid stone. A shudder ran through me.
My heart felt heavy, and about to burst, as we continued on. How strange, this feeling.
It was half way up the stairs that we came across the second body. Quick examination revealed it to be Tor’al, the Thief of the Chosen Four. It appeared as if something heavy had landed on his back, borne him down, and then snapped his neck.
Despite my gloomy mood, my mind began to piece together the happenings of the day of Opening, although the full picture would not spring to my mind until we reached the antechamber to the Third Door.
There was something pathetic about the way that the hacked up body of Kull Barrowmor lay in a crumpled heap. Nearby lay the blood encrusted Troll sword that had been bourne by Trumayne. Sheva took up that blade, herself.
It seemed that nothing of the Troll Nethermancer’s belongings had survived the furious onslaught.
The Third Door was only few yards away. Along the door were carved hand-sized indentations, suitable for hands of all the Namegiver races within the Kaer. Two of them, one human, the other Troll, had dried blood on them.
And that was when the events unfolded in my head.
The Chosen Four had easily made it to this point, of course. Trumayne and Kull would have stepped forward to open the Third Door with the tie that binds us all – blood.
That is when it must have happened – as the door opened, the Horror forced itself in. I could not gather if Trumayne managed to put up a fight when the Horror infected him with the Blood Plague, and thundered down the Walk, leaving the maddened Warrior to brutally lay into the Nethermancer. I surmised that the Thief hid in the face of this assault, and then tried to follow after Bowen, who would have been storming after the Horror, hoping to prevent it from reaching the Kaer.
But Trumayne finished the Troll quickly, and in his rage, dropped his Blade, and bounded after Tor’al. Undoubtedly, the Warrior bore down upon Tor’al with all his might, easily able to pierce the fleeing Thief’s cloak of stealth.
Then the Warrior would have ravened on, bypassing his Master as it fought with Bowen, sure that the Horror would defeat this puny foe, and stormed down the Walk, and towards the waiting throng of the kaerfolk.
I was right about this. But I was also wrong.
At that point, we thought that there was nothing further to be done. The Horror was slain – the Kaer had become a tomb, lashed with the final flailing blow the Horror could inflict – the Blood Plague carried by Trumayne.
However, we were wary. There was a chance that this Horror, having been a lesser kind, had had a greater master, still waiting on the other side of the door. Something… tickled my mind then. Something… odd. I shrugged off the sensation, and considered the task ahead of us.
My spells would be of little use, initially, but I could strengthen the arms of my companions for the possible time ahead. Although time was pressing, and the fourth hour of infection approaching for the T’Skrang, I meditated and re-attuned the matrices for a Flameweapon spell.
At a third of a turn of an hour, I cast the spell for Sheva, and immediately began to cast again for Mathias. In the meantime, Sheva and Mathias cut their hands, and unlocked the door.
I cast the spell upon Mathias’ bow just as the door opened enough to step through. We girt ourselves as necessary… and waited for something to happen.
Nothing did.
Cautiously, we stepped outside, expecting to be assaulted at any moment.
We weren’t.
Fresh air greeted us like sweet nectar, and the sky of Barsaive beckoned us forth. Nothing was waiting for us, except the approach of the fourth hour.
We deliberated, and with the T’Skrang a willing participant, we tied him securely to a tree. We hoped that he would withstand the Plague, for we did not want to carry it with us, out into Barsaive, via a settlement that we had detected some ways south of us, on the Serpent River.
Alas, the Weaponsmith succumbed to the Plague. Resolved as Mathias and I were to kill the T’Skrang, and thus not only spare him, but also the world the agony of the Blood Plague, Sheva’s tried to actively interfere in trying to stop Mathias from killing the T’Skrang with a well placed arrow.
She quickly explained that we could use the Last Chance Salve we had found on Bowen’s body to revive the T’Skrang if the corruption cleared upon his death.
We agreed. Thankfully, Sheva’s hope had been correct, and we managed to just revive the T’Skrang.
In this small moment of triumph, horror struck us.
All of a sudden, a memory surfaced within my mind. A memory of standing within the last antechamber, and the figure of a tall, skeletal creature staring at the four of us. A creature with a skull covered and riddled with worms. The door opened for us, and it stepped out, and headed away.
It was like a physical blow. The monstrosity of it all assailed my every nerve. And I saw that it affected my companions in a likewise manner.
Horrors are cunning. Rather than be buried in a Kaer for eternity, it had herded us, had allowed us to SET IT FREE.
So, I was wrong, you see.
There wasn’t just a single Horror that forced its way in after all. It had been a pair of them. And the greater Horror was free upon Barsaive again.
Sheva can track it. But we have to get ready for it first. We have to hunt it down.
As I sit here, on the hillside, I am not alone. I have my three companions, of course, but also with us are the souls of 1500 Namegivers. Each slain with malice by the acts of a Horror.
Our families and friends as well, and through us all our ancestors, all sitting on the hill side.
Tomorrow, we will go to the settlement. And from there, on to Throal - where we will start our preparations. Run, Wormskull. We will find you, and then we will avenge the murder of our Kaer.
This is the beginning of the journal of Natalya I’Roidan do’Shaen.
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