The Scars Run Deep (Updated - 3/29/2004)

[Ruined]

4th of Chardot, yr. 150 A.V., continued

A crocodile lashed out at Gerad with powerful jaws, but missed as he took a step backwards. Snowmelt was not so lucky as one of the beasts ripped into her flank. Surielle saw this and slid down the embankment without concern for her safety. Tréan was quick to follow.

Gerad stabbed at the crocodile before him, but felt its scaly hide protect it from the spear point. The beast regarded him with its malevolent red gaze before lashing at him again.

Once Surielle gained her footing, she called upon her connection to Denev and invoked animal defiance to frighten the unnatural crocodiles. Her supernaturally enhanced countenance worked, and two of the creatures turned to slither back into the river.

The remaining crocodile desired a meal before it retreated. It leapt forward with frightening speed, turning its head sideways. The jaws clamped down on Gerad’s legs, and before he could resist, the crocodile was dragging him back into the water.

Tréan was quick to move up, stabbing at the beast with her spear in an attempt to free Gerad. Even though her strike was true, the crocodile would not let go. Blood stained the waters as it thrashed with Gerad locked in its jaws.

Contented that Snowmelt would survive the wounds, Surielle chanted a prayer to Denev and cast hold animal on the remaining crocodile.

Tréan and Gerad both realized the dangerous change as the tainted crocodile stopped thrashing and began to sink below the surface of the water. Tréan tried to help Gerad free himself, but her strength was nowhere near what he needed. Taking a different tactic, she laid her hand on his shoulder and imbued him with bull’s strength. Newfound strength flowed into Gerad’s arms, and he easily wrenched the crocodile’s jaws loose from his bloody legs.

Tréan helped Gerad limp to the shore and began to examine his wounds. Surielle interrupted with a quick piece of wisdom.

“We should move from here. Those that I scared away may return at any time.”

They agreed upon this and moved north upstream from the site of the battle. Tréan used magic and her skills as a healer to alleviate Gerad’s wounds. Surielle worked on her wolf companion, using spells to knit together the tears on her haunch.

Before they continued north, Gerad mentioned out the fang carved into the rock. It was unfamiliar to Tréan, but Surielle recognized it with chilling certainty.

“It’s the symbol of Gaurak the Glutton. His worshippers were the ones who nearly destroyed the grove we left a few days behind.”

“Was this before or after they damaged your grove?” Tréan asked.

“I believe we destroyed them all at the grove, so I would guess this was before. But there’s no way to be truly certain. The symbol could be what caused the crocodiles to attack.”

“And to have those red eyes. We should destroy the symbol.”

The work was done swiftly. Gerad and Surielle moved back downstream to the rock face. Gerad hacked away with his short sword until the symbol was unrecognizable. The crocodiles started to skulk back, but Surielle was quick to send them back into the sea as she had before. Once the carving was dealt with, they regrouped and continued north to Zamon.

 

[Ruined]

5th of Chardot, yr. 150 A.V.

The journey upstream continued for the duration of another day without sight of Zamon, a city that lay farther north. Tréan wondered how many miles they had covered so far, and how many more lay ahead of them. Gerad had pushed them at a continual pace. He seemed very accustomed to long marches, mentioning that he had been forced to move on for days on end before being allowed to sleep. Gerad's demonstrated ease on this journey irritated Tréan, who had traveled to Quelsk mostly on horseback.

It was nearing dusk and soon they would stop and set up another cold camp. There was no proof that soldiers were searching for them along the river, but there was no reason to chance it. At least they had not encountered any more hazards like the tainted crocodiles. Tréan hoped that Surielle was correct and that was the last of the servants of Gaurak they would face during their journey.

As their path opened up to the river once more, Tréan’s keen eyesight noted a mystery along the horizon. At first she thought it to be a lingering trick of the sun, as she was facing the western shore. There was a violet radiance that could be seen above the hills. After getting a better look, she stopped her companions and pointed it out.

“What is it?” Surielle said, with obvious concern.

“I don’t know,” Tréan answered, “but it doesn’t look pleasant.”

They were not able to get a better vantage point from the land they traversed. After a few minutes, they carried on, each trying to push thoughts of the odd light out of their mind.

Once they had settled for camp, Gerad recanted a few memories. “When I was younger and in training, my instructors mentioned a place like that. A tower to the west with ghostly light; they called it the Last Watchtower. It may seem like a tale of boogey-men, but they didn’t present it that way. It was more of a fact – one of the reasons why the Calastian Hegemony never expanded further west. They say the place is rife with undead.”

Tréan felt her insides grow cold at the mention of her Order’s enemies.

“It’s at the site of some great battle from times past, perhaps the Divine War. Forces who try to travel through are met by soldiers raised from these battles. What makes it worse is that when a living soldier is slain, he rises again to fight for the tower. How can you stop that?”

“Between that, the Festering Fields and the Sweltering Plains, the land is uninhabitable. I had the feeling that they had accepted the tower as a necessary evil. Calastia controls everything to its east, and apparently that’s good enough for them.”

It may not have been a tale intended to scare, as Gerad had said, but it still made Tréan feel uneasy. The Order of the Morning Sky was dedicated to destroying such undead. How could they allow such a bastion of evil to stand tall? Her order must know of it, yet still it remained.

If the details Gerad had were true, could such a place even be destroyed?

 

[Ruined]

6th of Chardot, yr. 150 A.V.

Zamon, the ‘jewel of Zathiske’, rose from the shores of the Broadreach like a lotus in bloom. Tall spires marked the heart of the city, while numerous smaller buildings curled out to form the city’s outer border. A heavily populated collection of docks stretched out onto the river, handling traffic from Quelsk and the Blossoming Sea. Regardless of its splendors, Surielle felt more comfortable waiting on the outside with Tréan and Snowmelt.

Gerad returned to the group after a few hours of chasing rumors within Zamon. “I was careful asking around, but none have heard of our mysterious Kelkarrin. I checked with a few scholars in the library, and traders who worked in the lands to the North.”

“What should we do?” Surielle asked. No one seemed to have a sure answer.

“I have paid a scribe to check through some tomes and see if there is any information to be had. I can check back with him later this afternoon, if you would like to accompany me.”

Surielle had no desire to enter Zamon, with the memories of her last city adventure still fresh in her mind. Tréan spared her from the task.

“I’ll go with you Gerad,” the priestess said. “We can check a few more places, and then if we find nothing, we can continue north.

***

“I’m sorry, sir. The Academy Library has closed for the day. I’m sure you can speak with Monsieur Tabereau on the morrow.”

Tréan could see the cords of Gerad’s neck stand out as he clenched his jaws. He may have been a military man, but he displayed little patience for bureaucracy. Tréan laid a hand upon his arm and stepped forward.

“We thank you for your kindness, sir. We shall call upon him in the morning.”

The keeper of the library nodded and quietly closed the door before them. They had asked to look through the library on their own, but that was met with quick denial. Unfortunately, Tréan suspected it had colored the keeper’s opinion of them. The best she could do was keep Gerad from causing a scene that would be remembered once they were gone.

“Well, we can’t use the library,” Gerad said, glancing down the streets around them. “We could try the taverns.”

“Sorry, love. I don’t drink,” Tréan said.

Gerad grinned. “I wasn’t looking to lose myself in a mug of ale. Patrons and barkeeps know a lot of people. Someone may have heard of Kelkarrin.”

“More importantly, someone may have seen Silas. That’s more of his element.”

She wasn’t thrilled to ask just anyone about Kelkarrin, but Gerad did have a point regarding their shady friend from Quelsk. If he had reached Zamon first, he might have inquired about them. Tréan nodded her assent, and the pair moved further into Zamon.

The Blazoned Arms satisfied whatever criteria Gerad kept. The place was decidedly busy with many patrons coming in for food and ale after a day of work. Gerad guided Tréan to the sole empty table in a darkened corner. There was only one chair remaining at the table, which Gerad let her have. She watched as he walked over to another table where two men sat. She tensed as a few words were exchanged between him and the two dockhands. Tréan could make out that they weren’t eager to give him their extra chair, but Gerad took it anyway, doubting that they would stop him. Neither moved to save the chair, but both fixed their eyes on her and Gerad.

“We can order a drink from the barmaid, and then once we’re settled, I’ll ask the barkeep about our friends.”

Tréan nodded, then gasped when one of the men from the other table slid up with his own chair. He pushed his grimy face in front of hers, completely ignoring Gerad.

“Hello there, lady. You’re far too beautiful to be stuck here in this corner –”

“Leave.” Gerad said flatly. It wasn’t a request.

“I’ve got this boat,” he continued. “And you’d look wonderful laying there with nothing but my –”

“I said leave!” Gerad grasped the man’s shoulder and shoved him away from the table, sending him and the chair crashing to the floor. Tréan leapt from her chair, and noticed the smaller of the two dockhands slinking up behind Gerad. She called out to warn Gerad, but he was focused on the larger man who was standing up from the wreckage of his chair. Gerad winced in pain from the other man’s blow, which Tréan thought to be a punch. As she moved to confront this man, she noted the blood-soaked dagger in his hands.

Tréan lashed out at the dockhand with the blunt end of her spear, but missed. He smiled at her, casually tossing the dagger between his hands. She could see Gerad wailing on the other man from the corner of her eye. She needed to handle this man on her own. He feinted forward with one hand, and then slashed out with the other, drawing a bloody gash along her hip.

“A shame to kill such a pretty young woman,” he said, ogling her body one last time. He lunged forward with the blade, aiming straight for her heart. A muscular arm halted his progress and slammed him to the floor. At first Tréan thought it was Gerad, but instead it belonged an unfamiliar rough-faced man

Tréan’s unexpected savior towered over the man. “You shouldn’t hurt ladies…”

The dockhand skittered a few steps backwards, then rose to his feet with dagger still in hand. His eyes weighed his chances against the man Tréan now believed to be a half-orc. He was completely unaware of Gerad, who quickly wrapped his arms around the man’s neck.

“And you should never have stabbed me!” Gerad’s muscles bulged as he snapped the man’s neck. Tréan stared in horror as the man fell lifeless to the floor. So much bloodshed went directly against her ways. Gerad’s face was bloodied from the fistfight, but the other man was motionless on the floor. Had Gerad killed him as well?

She rushed forward to Gerad, who was now frowning and holding the wound on his back. One quick glance and Tréan knew he had been stabbed in the kidneys. Without her help, he would die within a night.

“We must leave now!” she said, clenching her teeth. Gerad nodded to her, and then to the half-orc behind them. Grasping his arm, Tréan led her wounded friend out of the Blazoned Arms. “… We need to have a talk about your way with others.”

 

[Ruined]

A Recap

No apologies. I'm continuing the story because I truly enjoy it, and I want it chronicled. The game has moved forward considerably. The last post was somewhere around session five (not counting the pre-sessions for each character). The game is currently at session twenty-seven. So yeah, there's a lot of work ahead of me. But I've got a number of posts written in advance, which is at least a start.

Here's a recap, for those interested in starting anew, or the few, the faithful, who need reminders of what has happened.

Four characters are drawn together into a deadly conspiracy in the city of Quelsk:

• Gerad, former jannisary slave-warrior to the Calastian Empire. Turned against his masters, and was believed to be killed. Later he is found working among rebels in Quelsk who wish to throw off the yoke of their Calastian governors.
• Surielle, druid of Denev, the earth mother. She walks her own path in search of a mother she never knew. Surielle fought alongside other druids to reclaim a grove outside of Quelsk. Now Surielle has been drawn into the schemes of others.
• Trean, priestess of Madriel, the healing angel. After accompanying an heir to a distant throne to priests in the city of Sussephra, Trean journeyed to Quelsk for the Divinities Day festival. Hers is the face the guards saw when the Satrap was assassinated, but Trean was nowhere near the event.
• Silas, elven bounty hunter. Driven by vengeance to stop assassins of the Cult of the Ancients, Silas has taken to hunting bounties in the city of Quelsk. A mark for Gerad draws his attention, but the local guild wants him protected. When Silas spots Gerad in the market, he too is drawn into the web.

The characters meet in a conflict as local guardsmen slay Marus, leader of the resistance group Gerad belongs to. The guards also threaten Surielle, who tried to heal Marus after wandering upon the scene. After dispatching most of the guards, the group follows Silas to hide from guards. Surielle explains how Marus begged a dying favor of her, to seek a mage named Kelkarrin to the North.

After much discussion, the group decides to leave on the northern roads as soon as possible. While Silas goes to attain supplies, the remaining trio decides to leave him behind. He is too shady for their liking, and trust is one thing they must have in one another. They leave by the northern gates, returning to Brianna, Surielle's fellow druid and Snowmelt, Surielle's wolf companion.

Soon they travel north along the Broadreach River. They encounter altered crocodiles in what appears to be a trap left by druids of Gaurak. Surielle explains how she and her allies had fought them before in the grove they just left. The path continues north to Zamon, the 'jewel of Zathiske'. Gerad seeks information inside about Kelkarrin, but finds nothing of interest. Trean accompanies him next, and they are lucky to escape from a brutal bar fight. Meanwhile, Surielle awaits in the woods outside of Zamon…

 

[Ruined]

6th of Chardot, yr. 150 A.V.

Surielle held the red and gold amulet in her hands as she concentrated. Her eyes opened slowly, allowing her to focus on the woven pattern of magic. Thin threads of aether wrapped across the amulet, bound together at the center by a solid knot. She was no wizard, but she understood enough of the craft to ascertain the nature of the enchantment – it was a message, held until Surielle found the right person. Kelkarrin.

A low growl startled Surielle from her study. She was seated off from the main campsite in a place where she could meditate properly. Snowmelt had not strayed far, always keeping within the periphery of her senses. Surielle could see nothing out of the ordinary, but her ears picked up sounds of movement from the direction of the campsite. It was too early for Trean and Gerad to have returned…

“Go!” she whispered to Snowmelt. The wolf turned and regarded her with a slight whimper. “Run!” The urgency of her tone drove Snowmelt from the campsite. Within moments, Surielle could hear the sound of other dogs barking, following the sound or scent of Snowmelt. She surveyed the woods around her until she found what she needed. Taking a few strides forward, she moved into a dense thicket overgrown with thorns and brambles. The wicked barbs retreated at her approach, allowing her to move without interference.

Surielle stood and stretched her arms, invoking a spell she had not used in ages. She felt herself become one with the land as her tree shape took form. With the creaks and groans of trees swaying in the wind, her arms elongated into thin branches, as her flesh and clothing transformed into wood. Within moments, she had become part of the thicket.

Moments later, a large figure warily entered the clearing where she was rooted. She could see a large man with braided blonde hair reaching down his back. He wore animal furs and held an axe that looked large enough to fell her tree form in one blow. Two of the hounds she had heard baying padded beside him, taking time to sniff through the items in their campsite. The man turned his head in her direction, seeming to sense something in the thicket. He took a few tentative steps in her direction, but turned back when more barking erupted from the clearing.

Surielle recognized one of the calls. Snowmelt was barking from an unseen location, and the other hounds answered and gave pursuit. The hunter, anticipating the chase, followed after his hounds. Surielle feared for Snowmelt, but there was little she could do at the moment. She stood and waited in hopes that her friends would return soon.

 

[Carnifex]

Didn't realise you had a SH kicking around on here, theRuinedOne! I'll have to free up time to read it now, damn you

 

[Ruined]

Yeah. It's taken some resuscitation, as this thing has been dead for soooo long. But I've got copious notes and two tech editors at my beck and call, so I should have a good amount posted soon.

[and I'll be commenting on your SH soon. I just haven't appeared in the SH yet, so I've been waiting... =)]

 

[Carnifex]

Yeah. It's taken some resuscitation, as this thing has been dead for soooo long. But I've got copious notes and two tech editors at my beck and call, so I should have a good amount posted soon.

[and I'll be commenting on your SH soon. I just haven't appeared in the SH yet, so I've been waiting... =)]

Soon now, soon! But I know all about resuscitating dead SH's, I've had to do it a few times myself

 

[Ruined]

6th of Chardot, yr. 150 A.V., continued

When Gerad and Tréan returned, they found Surielle picking through the remains of their campsite in an attempt to clean up. Gerad could see the concern in her eyes.

“What happened here?” He approached the druid, relieved to see that she was unwounded.

“A bounty hunter found the campsite. I hid and Snowmelt led them away.”

“Them?” Tréan asked.

“He had a pack of hounds with him. Probably tracking our scent.”

“We should strike camp, then,” Gerad said, looking at the tent and supplies that had been torn through by the hounds. “Any idea where he is now?”

Surielle shook her head. Dusk was approaching. They could return to Zamon, but given the conditions he and Tréan had left under, it did not seem a wise choice. Also, the city was a reasonable step for the bounty hunter to pursue. The group still wanted to seek passage along the river, but staying inside Zamon was out of the question.

They packed the remnants of their camp and struck north. Gerad could see that Surielle was fearful for her wolf companion. He too had grown to care for the wolf in the days since they left Quelsk. It seemed odd moving without her.

As night fell, the trio made their way towards the city. They took a path that led down to the river’s edge, where the docks of the city strutted out to meet it. Various vessels were berthed there, ranging from small fishers to heftier galleys that seemed out of place on the quiet river.

Eventually they settled on a secluded spot underneath one of the higher piers. As they prepared for a cold camp, Snowmelt returned to the group, brightening everyone’s mood considerably. In the morning, Gerad and Tréan would return to the city and arrange for passage on one of the ships traveling further inland. Then they would be free of Zathiske and closer to their destination.


7th of Chardot, yr. 150 A.V.

The next excursion into Zamon lacked any threat of violence, and for that Tréan was pleased. She and Gerad walked along the docks while Surielle stayed out by the river’s edge. Tréan hoped that the druidess would one day move beyond her discomfort within city walls.

They inspected many craft along the wharf, from tiny fishing boats to flat-bottomed trade ships. To their dismay, most of the vessels only kept to the route south on the Broadreach River. Those who would trade farther north mostly did so by land routes from here. The Broadreach did continue north, but many of the captains they spoke with considered it difficult to navigate, or less profitable, more the case. Gerad and Tréan spoke in hushed tones about offering coin to a reputable vessel for travel farther upstream, but they lacked both coins and sailors who inspired trust.

As they neared the end of the wharf and their options, Gerad pointed out a distinctly different vessel to Tréan. She knew it to be of elven origin. It was a sleek vessel, with masts that curved back to the rear of the craft instead of the standard ones that reached for the skies. It was small compared to the neighboring vessels, but its elaborate construction hinted at a bold strength.

“It does stand out a bit, don’t you think dear?” she asked as she scanned the vessel for crew. Gerad had a hand up shading his eyes to aid his inspection of the craft.

“True. But who would suspect one this obvious?”

“Well, I don’t suppose it would hurt to ask,” Tréan responded.

The pair walked up to the ship, searching for a gangplank that did not exist. After a few moments of fruitless search, a voice called out to them from the deck.

“Ahoy! How can I be of service?”

Tréan looked up and found the speaker. She had not seen him working the deck because he was up among the rigging. A slender elven male scaled down the ropes to get a better view of the pair. Tréan spoke first, finding herself curious about the crew. Where would an elven ship such as this hail from?

“We’d like to talk to the captain of this vessel.”

“Sorry. Valanduros is about the city.” He leapt from the rigging, landing on the deck without nary a sound. “You can talk to me, however. I’m Mikkal, first mate of the Whispering Dragon.”

“We seek passage North up the Broadreach. Do you think you could accommodate us?”

Forward, direct, and without any sense of guile. That was Gerad’s way, as Tréan had come to learn. It was preferable to the silken tongue of Silas, but sometimes she wished he would learn to hold some secrets close.

Mikkal leaned forward, looking at both in turn. Tréan felt herself blush at the scrutiny, something she rarely did. “The course of the Dragon is known only to her captain. But if you speak with him, he may find common purpose with you.”

They answered a few brief questions about destination and cargo, and were advised to come back at noon with the remainder of their party. Either the captain would offer them passage, or he would not, but Mikkal suggested they be ready to leave if his answer was yes. Excited with the possibility of travel, Tréan and Gerad returned to meet with Surielle.

***

When the group returned hours later, another elf leapt from the side of the Whispering Dragon to meet them. Tréan could see subtle signs in his face that made him appear older than Mikkal, something she did not expect in truth. Her own elven heritage made her appear ageless compared to the humans around her. She imagined that most other elves would look eternal, and yet she could discern the tests of time on Valdanduros’ face.

He was affable, greeting them all with ease and charm. He even knelt to slide his fingers through the fur on Snowmelt’s back, quickly putting her (and Surielle) at ease.

“Mikkal tells me you seek passage north up the Broadreach.” He left the statement as an open question. Tréan answered quickly before Gerad could speak.

“Yes. We wish to go north, perhaps as far as Three Moons.” They had agreed upon this. None of the trio knew exactly where they were to head, save for north. Three Moons was a smaller river city within the Heteronomy of Virduk, which would take them out of Zathiske completely. “Unfortunately, we have little in the way of coin to offer you…”

Valanduros’ gaze swept across them all, forming judgements known only to him.

“Answer me this.” He pulled close to all of them. “Should I or my ship fear what it is you run from?”

Tréan looked at Surielle with wide eyes. Was it that obvious that they were in flight from some evil? As if in answer, Surielle turned her eyes to Gerad. Tréan looked as well, and nodded to him. Valanduros would know the truth.

“We run from the Calastians, friend. We have done no wrong, and yet they would see us dead. The faster we travel north and out of their lands, the better for us all.”

“I have not been to Three Moons in years,” Valanduros responded after a few moments. “I would be honored if you would travel with Mikkal and I, and share stories to ease the nights.” He called up to Mikkal to lower a gangplank for the group. “I do hope our days won’t be consumed teaching you all how to work aboard a ship.”

 

[Ruined]

8th of Chardot, yr. 150 A.V.

The Whispering Dragon was a marvelous vessel. It held multiple sails that curled out, one each for port and starboard sides, while a larger sail rose along the middle like a fin. Tréan found it difficult to believe that only two elves could pilot the ship, but seeing them in action made her a believer. Having the extra passengers on board seemed to help more than it hindered.

Mikkal had taken time to show her the workings of the Dragon. Much of it made perfect sense to her, not due to any ingrained heritage, but from time she had spent with the Order in Vesh. She had traveled by sea before, and could remember the titles and duties of the various crewmembers. Those who survived, that is…

“We’ll be dropping anchor shortly, Tréan. Be ready.” It was Volanduros who spoke, rousing her from her grim reverie. He had briefly stepped away from the wheel and rudder where he spent most of his time.

“Aye, sir,” she said, embracing the nautical terms he and Mikkal preferred.

Volanduros had been extremely quiet on the first day of their travels. They had set sail from Zamon early in the afternoon and then sailed on until nightfall. The first night had been talk of sailing and duties. No further questions were asked of the group’s predicament; Tréan believed they would be addressed tonight.

Volanduros had also asked for no coin for the voyage, which weighed heavily on Tréan. Her faith pushed her to perform good deeds for her fellow man. But what pushed these two enigmatic elves. Was it something he or Mikkal had seen or felt in their first meetings? It was a refreshing surprise to experience the generosity of strangers, even if it put her ill at ease.

She could see Gerad over by the starboard railing, coiling a long hempen rope. He had lost himself in as many chores as he could find, using it to avoid uncomfortable periods of talk. She wondered briefly where his path would take him, once they had escaped the Calastian Empire. Tréan and Surielle had somewhere to return to, but all he had was a land, his former home, to flee. It saddened her, but she never noticed such worries cross his face.

A series of splashes from the river below her drew her attention, quickly followed by a great pain in her right thigh. She cried out, staring down at a chained spear, actually a harpoon, that had pierced through her leg. Blood was quickly running down to the deck, her own blood, which she was unused to seeing.

Gritting her teeth, she started to react, but was dragged over the railing as the chain went taught. She tumbled forward, catching a glimpse of the horrors she hoped never to see again.

Pisceans.