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The Scourge of the Ratmen [Scarred Lands] - Updated 1/26
- Thread starter Amaroq
- Start date
Elder-Basilisk
First Post
So, why did Stone and Chuck go to House Asuras anyway? Isn't House Asuras the one you had the run-in with in the early adventures?
Fergus
First Post
Elder-Basilisk said:
You are correct about the past encounters. House Asuras has a number of legitimate businesses, so it's not like any affiliation with them is a criminal one. I wouldn't be at all surprised if the people working in the money exchange had no idea at all that House Asuras did anything illicit.
I'd be highly doubtful that anyone from the earlier encounter would be able to give an accurate description of the party so that they'd be recognized, and even if they could I doubt that the party would be fully recognizable. When they met the party the first time the players weren't nearly as hardened as they are now, and I would wager that crawling through swamps for weeks changes one's bearing. They might look the same on one level, but in many others they probably seem like different people.
Stone had actually considered that point, explicitly - when he punched Chuck on the shoulder, I think his thought was 'hey, if we do business there, maybe we'll learn something.'
House Asuras is also a large, legitimate business house, and if you wanted to place money 'on deposit', for withdrawl from any other location, they'd be the right place to do it; for moneychanging, I think any of the places would have been 'right' for us.
House Asuras is also a large, legitimate business house, and if you wanted to place money 'on deposit', for withdrawl from any other location, they'd be the right place to do it; for moneychanging, I think any of the places would have been 'right' for us.
Issue #17: Interludes and Intermissions - Episode 9 of 13
Miriel leads Paks and Telryn to Noon’s Hospice, the temple of Madriel.
As they walk through the city, she tells her companions about the points of interest which they are passing. Near the center of the city is the grand park, Tanil’s Court, full of bushes pruned and shaped into animals, shady trees and grassy expanses, and a duck pond which reminds the heroes of Chuck. At the center of the park is a great bronze statue of Tanil leaning on her bow, with her fox at her feet. Beyond the park, they pass the grand Hall of Command, the capitol building of Vesh, a palatial building protected by a functional set of walls, fully guarded.
Still near the city center, Miriel leads the other two to a giant amphitheater, sunken into the ground, with weathered stone benches set into the bowl of it, surrounding an area which could be a large stage or a small sporting arena. “This dates from the old Ledean days,” she tells them, “Before the Titan’s War. And here is the cathedral.”
Just beyond the bowl of the amphitheater, at the top of one bank of benches, and facing south over it, is a large stone cathedral. It stands several stories tall, with a single stone bell tower rising above that. Stained glass windows adorn the facing, and the roof is flat with a crenellated parapet. The great wooden double doors stand open above the sunken stadium, and people come and go busily.
As Miriel reaches the doors, she is greeted warmly by two of the priestesses, who exclaim her name and exchange warm hugs, with ceremonial kisses of the cheek. “We’d heard that you were returning!” says the older of the two says. “Helea is waiting for you in her study.”
Miriel thanks her, and quickly moves through the cathedral to the high priestess’ chambers. Telryn and Paks follow along, stringing out behind her as they are torn between desire to keep up and an awestruck desire to see every bit of the mammoth cathedral: the sunlight streaming through the stained glass and into the main chapel is inspiring to both, while Telryn’s eye is caught by a number of bookshelves and imagines great libraries elsewhere in the building.
Helea is a diminutive figure, with white hair and wrinkled face. She might be as much as 90 years old, though she is clearly in great health, as she rises steadily from her uncushioned wooden chair to greet the threesome that appear at her door. Though the priestess looks so light that Paks suspects she could lift the old woman with a single hand, she also radiates a quiet power. Her eyes are unclouded.
“Miriel,” she says, in a voice raspy but true, “You have come a long way.”
The young cleric bows her head before her high priestess. “I apologize for being away so long.”
“Your destiny was obviously elsewhere,” Helea concedes, waving away her apology. “It may be that you were never meant to be an administrator or a local healer. Madriel works in mysterious ways, and it would appear that she has made a junior clerk into a great healer and warrior.
“Yes, Verenia has sent word of your deeds. She also described her vision. I give her words great creed: she is the most skilled diviner in Vesh.”
There seems little for Miriel to say in response, and she remains silent. Helea turns her attention to Paks, whom she gives a long, considering look. She holds Paks’ eyes with a gaze which seems to see to the bottom of Paks’ soul, before she gives Paks a slight nod, as though of approval, or perhaps respect.
“You may be worthy of the title,” she says. “I hadn’t thought to live to see another Swan Knight: Madriel has not chosen one since Arniel disappeared these twenty years ago. Paks, you will need to stay here, and learn the Lesser Mysteries of Madriel. We can give you that introduction, at least.”
The elderly priestess turns back to Miriel. “Miriel, we think it is time for your initiation to the Greater Mysteries.”
Miriel appears to blanch, as though in fear. Mastering herself, she bows her head, and replies, “I am much honored.”
“Even though you are still very young for this, we think that time is of the essence,” Helea says. “There is something about the two of you that is very special. Verenia’s vision carries serious implications, and if you depart on this quest, we cannot know when you will next rest within the safety of these walls. We must make sure you two are prepared for anything the future may hold.”
“Then I will return,” Miriel says, “But I must visit my parents, and let them see that I am well. I will return tonight, and stay at the temple. Paks, you might wish to stay here as well.”
“Cells will be made ready for both of you.”
The two young women nod. After a momentary pause, Miriel motions Telryn forward. “May I present Telryn?” she asks. “He is a wizard, and a follower of Madriel, who has been most instrumental in our journeys so far.”
“I am honored,” says Telryn. “May I request the privilege of studying in your library?”
Helea gives him a similar long look, a deep consideration which seems to reach into the depths of the soul. When she finally speaks, she says “Telryn, you have not been brought here by mere chance. There may be things for you to learn here, and I suspect there will be aught for our loremasters to learn from you, as well, ere you are done. You are quite welcome to study in our library. Your friends will need to be here for about a week, with their initiations; during that time, you may come and go as you please.”
“Thank you, milady,” Telryn says, and his eyes gleam. His companions can tell that he is very pleased.
“How much have you heard of our journey?” Paks inquires. When Helea doesn’t respond to her question, she continues, “On the way from Kratys Freehold back to Southport, we found a group of titanspawn torturing a Hope in a shrine to the Nameless One.”
“So I had heard,” Helea says. “Go on.”
“The shrine itself seemed to reflect its pain back on it, and we think they were trying to use that pain to summon the Nameless One or one of his minions. With Madriel’s Tear, and Her blessing, we were able to stop them. Madriel’s Tear destroyed the shrine, but the Hope was lost, as was the Tear.”
Helea nods, but remains mute. Paks continues, “After everyone left, the Hope spoke to me. It told me that every generation, Madriel picks a Swan Knight, and implied that I was chosen. But, it also told me that the ‘Serpent Amphora’ had been found, and charged me with a quest: that I must protect the Serpent Amphora. But I know not what this is, or how to carry out my quest. Can you help us?”
Helea shakes her head. “I have not heard of the Amphora. This must be what Verenia meant: she sent me a cryptic message for you, Miriel. ‘Tell Miriel that my arcane research for her was fruitless. I could not locate what she is looking for.’ Perhaps Telryn can help the loremasters here try to find more information about it.”
“Thank you,” Paks says. “I have another question. What can you tell me about the Mysteries? I am not currently dedicated to any of the gods.”
Helea smiles at this last, as though Paks has made a joke. “Madriel has picked you,” she says.
“Would it be appropriate for me to dedicate myself to Madriel at this time?” asks Paks.
“Of course,” she is told. “But you do not need to. That, you have already done for yourself.” Seeing the confused look upon the young warrior’s face, she adds, “Your initiation to the Lesser Mysteries may explain more. Any night which you wish, we can prepare you for the ritual. The ritual itself is short, only a few hours, but you must bathe in holy water and fast overnight, to prepare yourself. In addition, you can come in at any time, and one of my priestesses will give you instruction in the lesser lore of Madriel, and teach you the rituals.”
“Will I learn more about the Knight of the Swan?”
“They will tell you all the legends they know. The brief story is this: during the Titans’ War, Madriel selected a champion from among the mortal warriors. Each generation, she chooses another. The Swan Knight is always female, and there is only ever one at any one time.
“Now, I must go. Miriel, remember that the big harvest festival on Belsaday is coming up, and you’ll need to be at the temple then. Paks, that would be an auspicious day for your dedication ritual, as well.”
As they stand up to leave, Telryn asks, “Is there laboratory space I might use, in the cathedral?”
“Certainly. You may have free reign within one laboratory during your stay, but you must pay for any materials you use.”
As Paks, Telryn, and Miriel walk back through town, Paks asks Miriel, “Tell me about the initiations.”
Miriel smiles. “Yours, the first level, are fairly easy. You will be coached in all of the answers, and there is no real danger. But the Greater Mysteries! I’m scared. I’m incredibly young to be initiated, and it’s very dangerous. I’ve seen sisters who have failed, who Madriel does not choose. They are blinded beyond all powers of healing.”
“Surely that wouldn’t happen to you!” Paks exclaims.
Miriel raises an eyebrow and remains mute.
The threesome stop by the moneychanger on the way back to the inn. As Stone and Chuck did earlier, they also select the House Asuras. Miriel and Paks exchange their gold for platinum.
Telryn asks the moneychanger, “May I have a letter of credit?”
The moneychanger smiles. “Certainly. If you would rather place coin on deposit with the House than carry it around everywhere. We charge 5%. It is only good with the House of Asuras, but we are just about everywhere.”
“What about visiting shops in town?” asks Telryn.
The moneychanger shakes his head. “Most merchants won’t accept it,” he says.
“I’ll just take platinum,” Telryn says.
As they leave, Paks says, “You two head on back, I’ll meet you at the Inn. I want to see about getting some armor made.”
She stops into a few smithies in town, looking for a master smith, but is unable to find one. Finally, she settles on a human smith, a likeable, barrel-chested man with a hint of grey in his beard. She has a good feeling about him.
She inquires about having a suit of full plate mail made to fit her. The smith tells her that it will take about a week, and she commissions it. Her existing suit of chain is sorely worn, scarred by acid from the red algae in the swamp, and rent in several places by mighty blows which it has stopped, but she is able to offer it in trade, along with a thousand gold, for the work to be done.
Miriel leads Paks and Telryn to Noon’s Hospice, the temple of Madriel.
As they walk through the city, she tells her companions about the points of interest which they are passing. Near the center of the city is the grand park, Tanil’s Court, full of bushes pruned and shaped into animals, shady trees and grassy expanses, and a duck pond which reminds the heroes of Chuck. At the center of the park is a great bronze statue of Tanil leaning on her bow, with her fox at her feet. Beyond the park, they pass the grand Hall of Command, the capitol building of Vesh, a palatial building protected by a functional set of walls, fully guarded.
Still near the city center, Miriel leads the other two to a giant amphitheater, sunken into the ground, with weathered stone benches set into the bowl of it, surrounding an area which could be a large stage or a small sporting arena. “This dates from the old Ledean days,” she tells them, “Before the Titan’s War. And here is the cathedral.”
Just beyond the bowl of the amphitheater, at the top of one bank of benches, and facing south over it, is a large stone cathedral. It stands several stories tall, with a single stone bell tower rising above that. Stained glass windows adorn the facing, and the roof is flat with a crenellated parapet. The great wooden double doors stand open above the sunken stadium, and people come and go busily.
As Miriel reaches the doors, she is greeted warmly by two of the priestesses, who exclaim her name and exchange warm hugs, with ceremonial kisses of the cheek. “We’d heard that you were returning!” says the older of the two says. “Helea is waiting for you in her study.”
Miriel thanks her, and quickly moves through the cathedral to the high priestess’ chambers. Telryn and Paks follow along, stringing out behind her as they are torn between desire to keep up and an awestruck desire to see every bit of the mammoth cathedral: the sunlight streaming through the stained glass and into the main chapel is inspiring to both, while Telryn’s eye is caught by a number of bookshelves and imagines great libraries elsewhere in the building.
Helea is a diminutive figure, with white hair and wrinkled face. She might be as much as 90 years old, though she is clearly in great health, as she rises steadily from her uncushioned wooden chair to greet the threesome that appear at her door. Though the priestess looks so light that Paks suspects she could lift the old woman with a single hand, she also radiates a quiet power. Her eyes are unclouded.
“Miriel,” she says, in a voice raspy but true, “You have come a long way.”
The young cleric bows her head before her high priestess. “I apologize for being away so long.”
“Your destiny was obviously elsewhere,” Helea concedes, waving away her apology. “It may be that you were never meant to be an administrator or a local healer. Madriel works in mysterious ways, and it would appear that she has made a junior clerk into a great healer and warrior.
“Yes, Verenia has sent word of your deeds. She also described her vision. I give her words great creed: she is the most skilled diviner in Vesh.”
There seems little for Miriel to say in response, and she remains silent. Helea turns her attention to Paks, whom she gives a long, considering look. She holds Paks’ eyes with a gaze which seems to see to the bottom of Paks’ soul, before she gives Paks a slight nod, as though of approval, or perhaps respect.
“You may be worthy of the title,” she says. “I hadn’t thought to live to see another Swan Knight: Madriel has not chosen one since Arniel disappeared these twenty years ago. Paks, you will need to stay here, and learn the Lesser Mysteries of Madriel. We can give you that introduction, at least.”
The elderly priestess turns back to Miriel. “Miriel, we think it is time for your initiation to the Greater Mysteries.”
Miriel appears to blanch, as though in fear. Mastering herself, she bows her head, and replies, “I am much honored.”
“Even though you are still very young for this, we think that time is of the essence,” Helea says. “There is something about the two of you that is very special. Verenia’s vision carries serious implications, and if you depart on this quest, we cannot know when you will next rest within the safety of these walls. We must make sure you two are prepared for anything the future may hold.”
“Then I will return,” Miriel says, “But I must visit my parents, and let them see that I am well. I will return tonight, and stay at the temple. Paks, you might wish to stay here as well.”
“Cells will be made ready for both of you.”
The two young women nod. After a momentary pause, Miriel motions Telryn forward. “May I present Telryn?” she asks. “He is a wizard, and a follower of Madriel, who has been most instrumental in our journeys so far.”
“I am honored,” says Telryn. “May I request the privilege of studying in your library?”
Helea gives him a similar long look, a deep consideration which seems to reach into the depths of the soul. When she finally speaks, she says “Telryn, you have not been brought here by mere chance. There may be things for you to learn here, and I suspect there will be aught for our loremasters to learn from you, as well, ere you are done. You are quite welcome to study in our library. Your friends will need to be here for about a week, with their initiations; during that time, you may come and go as you please.”
“Thank you, milady,” Telryn says, and his eyes gleam. His companions can tell that he is very pleased.
“How much have you heard of our journey?” Paks inquires. When Helea doesn’t respond to her question, she continues, “On the way from Kratys Freehold back to Southport, we found a group of titanspawn torturing a Hope in a shrine to the Nameless One.”
“So I had heard,” Helea says. “Go on.”
“The shrine itself seemed to reflect its pain back on it, and we think they were trying to use that pain to summon the Nameless One or one of his minions. With Madriel’s Tear, and Her blessing, we were able to stop them. Madriel’s Tear destroyed the shrine, but the Hope was lost, as was the Tear.”
Helea nods, but remains mute. Paks continues, “After everyone left, the Hope spoke to me. It told me that every generation, Madriel picks a Swan Knight, and implied that I was chosen. But, it also told me that the ‘Serpent Amphora’ had been found, and charged me with a quest: that I must protect the Serpent Amphora. But I know not what this is, or how to carry out my quest. Can you help us?”
Helea shakes her head. “I have not heard of the Amphora. This must be what Verenia meant: she sent me a cryptic message for you, Miriel. ‘Tell Miriel that my arcane research for her was fruitless. I could not locate what she is looking for.’ Perhaps Telryn can help the loremasters here try to find more information about it.”
“Thank you,” Paks says. “I have another question. What can you tell me about the Mysteries? I am not currently dedicated to any of the gods.”
Helea smiles at this last, as though Paks has made a joke. “Madriel has picked you,” she says.
“Would it be appropriate for me to dedicate myself to Madriel at this time?” asks Paks.
“Of course,” she is told. “But you do not need to. That, you have already done for yourself.” Seeing the confused look upon the young warrior’s face, she adds, “Your initiation to the Lesser Mysteries may explain more. Any night which you wish, we can prepare you for the ritual. The ritual itself is short, only a few hours, but you must bathe in holy water and fast overnight, to prepare yourself. In addition, you can come in at any time, and one of my priestesses will give you instruction in the lesser lore of Madriel, and teach you the rituals.”
“Will I learn more about the Knight of the Swan?”
“They will tell you all the legends they know. The brief story is this: during the Titans’ War, Madriel selected a champion from among the mortal warriors. Each generation, she chooses another. The Swan Knight is always female, and there is only ever one at any one time.
“Now, I must go. Miriel, remember that the big harvest festival on Belsaday is coming up, and you’ll need to be at the temple then. Paks, that would be an auspicious day for your dedication ritual, as well.”
As they stand up to leave, Telryn asks, “Is there laboratory space I might use, in the cathedral?”
“Certainly. You may have free reign within one laboratory during your stay, but you must pay for any materials you use.”
As Paks, Telryn, and Miriel walk back through town, Paks asks Miriel, “Tell me about the initiations.”
Miriel smiles. “Yours, the first level, are fairly easy. You will be coached in all of the answers, and there is no real danger. But the Greater Mysteries! I’m scared. I’m incredibly young to be initiated, and it’s very dangerous. I’ve seen sisters who have failed, who Madriel does not choose. They are blinded beyond all powers of healing.”
“Surely that wouldn’t happen to you!” Paks exclaims.
Miriel raises an eyebrow and remains mute.
The threesome stop by the moneychanger on the way back to the inn. As Stone and Chuck did earlier, they also select the House Asuras. Miriel and Paks exchange their gold for platinum.
Telryn asks the moneychanger, “May I have a letter of credit?”
The moneychanger smiles. “Certainly. If you would rather place coin on deposit with the House than carry it around everywhere. We charge 5%. It is only good with the House of Asuras, but we are just about everywhere.”
“What about visiting shops in town?” asks Telryn.
The moneychanger shakes his head. “Most merchants won’t accept it,” he says.
“I’ll just take platinum,” Telryn says.
As they leave, Paks says, “You two head on back, I’ll meet you at the Inn. I want to see about getting some armor made.”
She stops into a few smithies in town, looking for a master smith, but is unable to find one. Finally, she settles on a human smith, a likeable, barrel-chested man with a hint of grey in his beard. She has a good feeling about him.
She inquires about having a suit of full plate mail made to fit her. The smith tells her that it will take about a week, and she commissions it. Her existing suit of chain is sorely worn, scarred by acid from the red algae in the swamp, and rent in several places by mighty blows which it has stopped, but she is able to offer it in trade, along with a thousand gold, for the work to be done.
Fulcan
First Post
Fergus said:Mmmm.... Letters of credit. I hadn't thought of that one.
Yeah, I thought the idea of weak little Telryn wandering around with a large sack of gold or platinum wasn't a good idea. But 5%, that's was too much. That would have taken away the construction of a couple of scrolls *grin*.
Issue #17: Interludes and Intermissions - Episode 10 of 13
We all arrive back at the inn at differing times, mostly in the late afternoon. Goldpetal is all too happy to foist Brunhilde off on the other adventurers when they arrive. Chuck is back first, and seems happy to see her. Stone shows up with a sack of “exotic” cheese, which he complements with a bottle of wine; even the half-orc’s company seems better to the elf than the loud Albadian redhead.
Telryn and Miriel arrive together, and Miriel is swarmed by her parents and six siblings. The hugs and greetings bring all other traffic at the inn to a halt, and everyone wants to hear all about her adventures.
Telryn joins the rest of us at the table, and as soon as we are able to get attention from any of the serving staff, we order dinner. Brunhilde tells us, “I’m sorry that I left you and missed your great adventures. But, tomorrow, I leave for my home in Albadia. If you’re ever up in the northern wastes, you should visit! We could hunt snow wolf and yetis!”
Fledermaus, the bat on her shoulder, squeaks and flitters when Brunhilde mentions yetis. Brunhilde laughs loudly. “There are no yeti here in the warm southlands, silly bat! Hahahaha!”
The rest of us look at each other flatly. “I don’t see what’s so funny,” Telryn whispers to Chuck.
“Must be an Albadian joke,” Chuck whispers back.
Brunhilde continues. “You can ask for me in Thurfa, the Albadian capital. My family has a mansion there.”
Paks arrives last, coming in just before the food arrives. We have an excellent dinner – Stone particularly loves the ale. The specialty of the house is pasta with a tomato-garlic sauce with capers and olives, which prompts Stone to wander into the back of the kitchen to learn how to cook it.
“That was fantastic!” Chuck exclaims, as we’ve all finished.
“The Sleeping Dragon is known for its pasta as much as its ale,” Miriel says, slipping into the chair next to the Vigilant. She has finally detached herself from her family and her storytelling to join us.
“Has anyone seen Novalia?” asks Paks
Everyone shakes their heads. Goldpetal answers, “She has not stopped here.”
“She should have been here by now,” Paks replies, with a look of concern etched on her face.
There is a brief silence, and a grim set takes over Paks’ face as she notices that neither Miriel nor Telryn seems to share her concern. Miriel breaks the silence, pushing back from the table and standing. “I’ll be going back to the temple for the night,” she says.
“I must see the Vigilants tonight,” says Stone. “And what about Novalia?”
“I have to spend time at the temple,” Miriel brushes him off brusquely.
“Let’s go to the Vigilants now,” suggests Paks, “Its only just getting dark.”
“Okay,” Chuck says. “Finding Novalia will probably go along with seeing the Vigilants.”
Telryn acquiesces with a shrug. Seeing the rest of the party arrayed against her, Miriel grudgingly agrees.
The Vigilant fortress is not located within the city itself, but on a hill a ways outside of town. We arrive at the fortress about an hour after dark. It is a large, stone-walled compound, with only a single gate, at which there are plenty of guards. The gates are closed. “Who goes there?” demands the watch. “What do you want?”
Chuck steps forward, and gives a secret challenge. The watchman replies with a code word, and Chuck gives the correct reply.
“They’re all right,” the guard captain says. “Raise the portcullis and open the gate.”
The portcullis creeps slowly up, and Chuck starts to walk through the gates. Behind him, Paks and Stone notice that there are red gems set on the sides of the gate. One of them lights up as Chuck, in the lead, steps through. The guardsmen draw their swords. Faced with six blades, Chuck stops abruptly.
“Wait,” Stone says, “We have papers.”
The guard captain, stepping down a stairway from the wall, looks him over. He seems unimpressed with the half-orc, and gruffly commands, “Let me see.”
Stone kneels at the gateway, shuffling through his backpack to retrieve Grilliam’s letter. The captain takes it from him, and studies it. He takes another slow measure of the group, and then relents a bit. “Okay. Come with me.”
He leads us across a narrow courtyard, and into the main building, where he takes us to an audience hall. It has a large fireplace, and many chairs and couches, upholstered in a rich dark red, which matches the dark wood of the interior walls to create an elegant atmosphere at odds with our outfits and appearance, still soiled from weeks in the wilderness. “Wait here,” he commands.
Paks motions him aside. His men move as though to stop her approach, but the captain gives a quick shake of his head; they let her pass.
She puts her head near his, and speaks, quietly enough that the rest of the group cannot hear her. “We think he’s under a curse. We found a large golden duck in this ruined Ledean tower, and he picked it up. Ever since then, he’s been convinced he can fly.”
The captain’s grim face breaks into a broad grin, and he gives a deep chuckle. “Oh, Chuck,” he says. “He doesn’t have one of those Daltese ducks, does he? Oh, damn.” He gives Paks a reassuring nod, then steps out. Two of his guardsmen remain posted at the interior of the doorway, and we suspect that more await, outside.
"What did you say to him?” Stone asks Paks.
“Yeah,” Telryn adds, “He looked set to run us all through, and you had him laughing in a moment.”
She shakes her head, and a secret smile plays around the corner of her lips. “I’ll tell you later.”
After a few minutes, the door opens: all of our heads turn, expectant, but it is merely a servant balancing a tray of wine glasses. He says, “You may be waiting a few minutes. While you wait, the Captain bid me to serve wine and cheese.”
Only Miriel and Paks feel comfortable enough here to drink the wine; Stone helps himself to the cheese, marveling at the many different flavors his new-found favorite food comes in. Chuck paces the room impatiently, while the others wait with an apparent studied relaxation.
Finally, a priest of Tanil enters, followed by a large, muscular man carrying a great set of iron tongs, and four armed guards. The priest gesticulates briefly, casting a spell before anyone can react; as hands reach for weapons and Stone eyes the guards, the spell is complete.
The priest shakes his head gravely. “Yes, it seems he is under a curse,” he says, staring at Chuck. Behind him, the large man rolls his eyes. “I can cast a spell to remove it,” the priest continues, “This will take only a moment.”
The priest casts a second spell on Chuck, break enchantment, which removes the powerful curse. “That should do it,” he says, “But beware – the duck can still curse any who touch it. Where is it?” he asks.
“In my bag,” Chuck answers, tossing his head to gesture over his shoulder.
“Open the bag and set it on the floor,” the priest orders. Chuck complies, stepping away from the bag. “Master smith?” the priest asks.
The barrel-chested man steps forward with the great tongs. He uses them to fish through Chuck’s pack until he can bring out the golden duck. “Ahhhh, yes,” he says, “A Daltese duck. This is the second one this year.” He begins walking towards the door.
Paks calls out, “Wait! There’s something else you should both see.” She brings out her pack, and opens it, gingerly bringing out a long package wrapped in blankets. “We took this from the body of a great ratman warrior,” she says. She sets the object upon the low table in front of the couch, and unwraps the blankets to reveal the evil-wrought scimitar.
The smith’s eyebrows rise. “Oh!” he exclaims. “I'll be back for that! Leave that on the table and don’t let anyone touch it.”
Paks shakes her head. “It causes disease,” she warns. “The last smith to work with it took every precaution, and still came ill. I seem to be immune.”
“Why don't you come with me, lass,” he says. He heads off down the hall, with Paks following behind him.
Chuck sits, head bowed in his hands. “I feel so stupid,” he says. Telryn surreptitiously casts prestidigitation, and creates the illusion of a half-dozen tiny ducks flying around in the air, circling Chuck’s head. Stone can’t stifle his laughter, and everybody else cracks big smiles. A brief wave of the mage’s hand, and the illusion disappears.
The priest, looking straight at Chuck with ice in his voice, says:
“Never…
“Touch a duck…
“In a dungeon!”
He looks around to the rest of us. “Maybe you guys are just young. Here is the story of the ducks. In the land where the Mourning Marsh is now, there used to be the kingdom of Dalta. Its symbol was a golden duck, and a duck was forged of pure gold, then imbued with many magical powers by the greatest wizards of the age. It was a powerful artifact, and everyone wanted it; some for good, and some for evil.” As the priest speaks, a tall thin man enters the room. He wears Vigilant garb, leather armor and a dark cloak, but he is very old, perhaps in his seventies. He walks without a cane, but slowly. A half-elf assistant stands a pace behind him.
“The kings of Dalta saw the artifact stolen and recovered four times,” the priest continues. “Then some trickster wizard had the idea of manufacturing a bunch of them out of lead, and cursing them all. The king ordered it done. If ever anyone found the real one, it would be worth a fortune – but chances are it’s not real, or even gold.
“You should have remembered, Chuck. Didn’t Steve teach you anything?”
At the mention of his dead mentor, Chuck breaks down, sobbing into his hands. The priest respectfully bows his head, and steps out the door. The old man gives Chuck a moment to get himself together, then walks slowly to the center of the room. Though he is aged and thin, he seems to fill the room, and when he speaks, his voice is firm and strong.
“I am Thorn,” he states. “You have messages for me? Tell me what this is all about.”
By the time he has finished, Chuck has dried his eyes, and begins to report. He succinctly describes the attack on Kratys Freehold, our counterattack, and describes how we came to capture papers from the ratman warren, and what Myrs Kratys interpreted them to say when she read them. He brings out the papers, and Grilliam’s letter, while describing our theory that the city of Lave is in danger of attack via its water supply.
“Very good work, all of you,” Thorn says. “We will analyze these papers tonight; if the ratmen have reached lave, we will root them out immediately.”
“There’s more, sir,” Chuck says; he goes on to tell him about the House Asuras and their slaves-for-drugs trade with the ratmen.
“Yes,” Thorn says. “I’ve gotten reports. Jim sent notes, as well. Good work.” He turns to the rest of us. “If you want to join us in our raids on the ratmen, you’re welcome to join us.”
“I want to,” Stone says. “I’m worried about Novalia. She might have done something…”
He trails off, as though searching for a word, and Telryn suggests “Stupid?”
“Imbecilic?” calls out Miriel.
“Moronic,” Telryn offers.
“Idiotic?” counters the priestess
“No!” Stone cuts them off with a sharp gesture of his hand. “Impetuous!”
Chuck tells Thorn how Novalia had left earlier to take a more direct route, but doesn’t appear to have arrived yet.
“We will look for her as well,” Thorn says. “In the meantime, you are welcome to stay here, to train with us. Also, our weaponsmiths are the best in Lave.”
Miriel draws out the amulet we recovered from the Twilight Warden. “Take a look at this,” she says, handing it to Thorn. While the old man examines it, she says, “We captured it from a Twilight Warden in the swamp.”
Thorn nods. “We’ve heard reports about these Twilight Wardens, but we’ve never seen them,” he says.
“Jim was killed by a Twilight Warden,” Chuck says. “They seem to have a mockery of our organization.”
Miriel, says, “Keep the amulet, for study.” Thorn smiles, and looks very pleased.
“Here, Deleon, take at look at this,” Thorn says, handing the amulet to his assistant, the half-elf.
Deleon looks at it, and says, with wonder in his voice, “Look at the workmanship on this! We never knew that the rat men create such expert work. Their stuff in the past was crude, and they seem to have jumped by an order of magnitude in their abilities.”
“That’s not all they have,” Telryn says. He begins to describe the shaman’s room, with the laboratory, the preserved bodies, and the books. As Deleon takes notes, Thorn takes Chuck aside.
Meanwhile, in the basement, the smith is similarly impressed with the work on the sword. “We didna’ know that the rat men could make something like this,” he tells Paks. “Let me call in some magic users to look at it.”
Three mages arrive to examine it. The eldest looks very grim, but the youngest exclaims excitedly, “Wow, it's powerful. Tanil’s arrow, this is going to be trouble!”
“Can you take care of it?” asks Paks.
The eldest mage nods solemnly. “We know how to take care of it.”
The youngest looks almost possessive. “But we’re going to study it first,” he says, sounding very much like Telryn to the warrior’s ears.
“I would see it destroyed,” Paks says. “I cannot surrender it unless you vow to destroy it.”
Though the youngest looks outraged, the eldest offers his solemn vow. “On behalf of the Vigil, I so swear.”
“It will take a powerful mage and an expert smith, working together,” the smith says, “And ’twill be very difficult.”
“And dangerous,” Paks cautions. She again tells, for the benefit of the three wizards, the tale of how Brand became ill working on the sword. “Be careful,” she concludes.
When Paks finishes the story, she is returned to the audience chamber, where the rest of the group wait for her and Chuck to return. Stone explains that the Vigil are going to hunt down the rat men in the morning, and that he, Chuck, and Goldpetal are going with them. Miriel is going back to the temple to prepare for her initiation, while Telryn is going back to the temple for study and research. To some degree, it seems that Miriel has washed her hands of Novalia since the archer attempted to injure the Hope.
Paks decides to join the other warriors in search of the rat men. Miriel says she wants to go back to the inn to see her parents, then sleep at the temple for the night. Everyone else plans to stay at the Sleeping Dragon Inn.
Meanwhile, Thorn takes Chuck aside, to a private chamber just off of the audience chamber. It looks like an office, with a desk, and two chairs. “We have heard about Steve and Jim,” Thorn says, “But we have also heard about your other work. You can be initiated into our order.”
Chuck gasps. “Is that still possible?” he asks.
Thorn gives a single, slow nod. “Yes, if you are determined.”
Chuck lowers his head in a bow. “I would very much like to,” he answers. “I must redeem myself.”
We all arrive back at the inn at differing times, mostly in the late afternoon. Goldpetal is all too happy to foist Brunhilde off on the other adventurers when they arrive. Chuck is back first, and seems happy to see her. Stone shows up with a sack of “exotic” cheese, which he complements with a bottle of wine; even the half-orc’s company seems better to the elf than the loud Albadian redhead.
Telryn and Miriel arrive together, and Miriel is swarmed by her parents and six siblings. The hugs and greetings bring all other traffic at the inn to a halt, and everyone wants to hear all about her adventures.
Telryn joins the rest of us at the table, and as soon as we are able to get attention from any of the serving staff, we order dinner. Brunhilde tells us, “I’m sorry that I left you and missed your great adventures. But, tomorrow, I leave for my home in Albadia. If you’re ever up in the northern wastes, you should visit! We could hunt snow wolf and yetis!”
Fledermaus, the bat on her shoulder, squeaks and flitters when Brunhilde mentions yetis. Brunhilde laughs loudly. “There are no yeti here in the warm southlands, silly bat! Hahahaha!”
The rest of us look at each other flatly. “I don’t see what’s so funny,” Telryn whispers to Chuck.
“Must be an Albadian joke,” Chuck whispers back.
Brunhilde continues. “You can ask for me in Thurfa, the Albadian capital. My family has a mansion there.”
Paks arrives last, coming in just before the food arrives. We have an excellent dinner – Stone particularly loves the ale. The specialty of the house is pasta with a tomato-garlic sauce with capers and olives, which prompts Stone to wander into the back of the kitchen to learn how to cook it.
“That was fantastic!” Chuck exclaims, as we’ve all finished.
“The Sleeping Dragon is known for its pasta as much as its ale,” Miriel says, slipping into the chair next to the Vigilant. She has finally detached herself from her family and her storytelling to join us.
“Has anyone seen Novalia?” asks Paks
Everyone shakes their heads. Goldpetal answers, “She has not stopped here.”
“She should have been here by now,” Paks replies, with a look of concern etched on her face.
There is a brief silence, and a grim set takes over Paks’ face as she notices that neither Miriel nor Telryn seems to share her concern. Miriel breaks the silence, pushing back from the table and standing. “I’ll be going back to the temple for the night,” she says.
“I must see the Vigilants tonight,” says Stone. “And what about Novalia?”
“I have to spend time at the temple,” Miriel brushes him off brusquely.
“Let’s go to the Vigilants now,” suggests Paks, “Its only just getting dark.”
“Okay,” Chuck says. “Finding Novalia will probably go along with seeing the Vigilants.”
Telryn acquiesces with a shrug. Seeing the rest of the party arrayed against her, Miriel grudgingly agrees.
The Vigilant fortress is not located within the city itself, but on a hill a ways outside of town. We arrive at the fortress about an hour after dark. It is a large, stone-walled compound, with only a single gate, at which there are plenty of guards. The gates are closed. “Who goes there?” demands the watch. “What do you want?”
Chuck steps forward, and gives a secret challenge. The watchman replies with a code word, and Chuck gives the correct reply.
“They’re all right,” the guard captain says. “Raise the portcullis and open the gate.”
The portcullis creeps slowly up, and Chuck starts to walk through the gates. Behind him, Paks and Stone notice that there are red gems set on the sides of the gate. One of them lights up as Chuck, in the lead, steps through. The guardsmen draw their swords. Faced with six blades, Chuck stops abruptly.
“Wait,” Stone says, “We have papers.”
The guard captain, stepping down a stairway from the wall, looks him over. He seems unimpressed with the half-orc, and gruffly commands, “Let me see.”
Stone kneels at the gateway, shuffling through his backpack to retrieve Grilliam’s letter. The captain takes it from him, and studies it. He takes another slow measure of the group, and then relents a bit. “Okay. Come with me.”
He leads us across a narrow courtyard, and into the main building, where he takes us to an audience hall. It has a large fireplace, and many chairs and couches, upholstered in a rich dark red, which matches the dark wood of the interior walls to create an elegant atmosphere at odds with our outfits and appearance, still soiled from weeks in the wilderness. “Wait here,” he commands.
Paks motions him aside. His men move as though to stop her approach, but the captain gives a quick shake of his head; they let her pass.
She puts her head near his, and speaks, quietly enough that the rest of the group cannot hear her. “We think he’s under a curse. We found a large golden duck in this ruined Ledean tower, and he picked it up. Ever since then, he’s been convinced he can fly.”
The captain’s grim face breaks into a broad grin, and he gives a deep chuckle. “Oh, Chuck,” he says. “He doesn’t have one of those Daltese ducks, does he? Oh, damn.” He gives Paks a reassuring nod, then steps out. Two of his guardsmen remain posted at the interior of the doorway, and we suspect that more await, outside.
"What did you say to him?” Stone asks Paks.
“Yeah,” Telryn adds, “He looked set to run us all through, and you had him laughing in a moment.”
She shakes her head, and a secret smile plays around the corner of her lips. “I’ll tell you later.”
After a few minutes, the door opens: all of our heads turn, expectant, but it is merely a servant balancing a tray of wine glasses. He says, “You may be waiting a few minutes. While you wait, the Captain bid me to serve wine and cheese.”
Only Miriel and Paks feel comfortable enough here to drink the wine; Stone helps himself to the cheese, marveling at the many different flavors his new-found favorite food comes in. Chuck paces the room impatiently, while the others wait with an apparent studied relaxation.
Finally, a priest of Tanil enters, followed by a large, muscular man carrying a great set of iron tongs, and four armed guards. The priest gesticulates briefly, casting a spell before anyone can react; as hands reach for weapons and Stone eyes the guards, the spell is complete.
The priest shakes his head gravely. “Yes, it seems he is under a curse,” he says, staring at Chuck. Behind him, the large man rolls his eyes. “I can cast a spell to remove it,” the priest continues, “This will take only a moment.”
The priest casts a second spell on Chuck, break enchantment, which removes the powerful curse. “That should do it,” he says, “But beware – the duck can still curse any who touch it. Where is it?” he asks.
“In my bag,” Chuck answers, tossing his head to gesture over his shoulder.
“Open the bag and set it on the floor,” the priest orders. Chuck complies, stepping away from the bag. “Master smith?” the priest asks.
The barrel-chested man steps forward with the great tongs. He uses them to fish through Chuck’s pack until he can bring out the golden duck. “Ahhhh, yes,” he says, “A Daltese duck. This is the second one this year.” He begins walking towards the door.
Paks calls out, “Wait! There’s something else you should both see.” She brings out her pack, and opens it, gingerly bringing out a long package wrapped in blankets. “We took this from the body of a great ratman warrior,” she says. She sets the object upon the low table in front of the couch, and unwraps the blankets to reveal the evil-wrought scimitar.
The smith’s eyebrows rise. “Oh!” he exclaims. “I'll be back for that! Leave that on the table and don’t let anyone touch it.”
Paks shakes her head. “It causes disease,” she warns. “The last smith to work with it took every precaution, and still came ill. I seem to be immune.”
“Why don't you come with me, lass,” he says. He heads off down the hall, with Paks following behind him.
Chuck sits, head bowed in his hands. “I feel so stupid,” he says. Telryn surreptitiously casts prestidigitation, and creates the illusion of a half-dozen tiny ducks flying around in the air, circling Chuck’s head. Stone can’t stifle his laughter, and everybody else cracks big smiles. A brief wave of the mage’s hand, and the illusion disappears.
The priest, looking straight at Chuck with ice in his voice, says:
“Never…
“Touch a duck…
“In a dungeon!”
He looks around to the rest of us. “Maybe you guys are just young. Here is the story of the ducks. In the land where the Mourning Marsh is now, there used to be the kingdom of Dalta. Its symbol was a golden duck, and a duck was forged of pure gold, then imbued with many magical powers by the greatest wizards of the age. It was a powerful artifact, and everyone wanted it; some for good, and some for evil.” As the priest speaks, a tall thin man enters the room. He wears Vigilant garb, leather armor and a dark cloak, but he is very old, perhaps in his seventies. He walks without a cane, but slowly. A half-elf assistant stands a pace behind him.
“The kings of Dalta saw the artifact stolen and recovered four times,” the priest continues. “Then some trickster wizard had the idea of manufacturing a bunch of them out of lead, and cursing them all. The king ordered it done. If ever anyone found the real one, it would be worth a fortune – but chances are it’s not real, or even gold.
“You should have remembered, Chuck. Didn’t Steve teach you anything?”
At the mention of his dead mentor, Chuck breaks down, sobbing into his hands. The priest respectfully bows his head, and steps out the door. The old man gives Chuck a moment to get himself together, then walks slowly to the center of the room. Though he is aged and thin, he seems to fill the room, and when he speaks, his voice is firm and strong.
“I am Thorn,” he states. “You have messages for me? Tell me what this is all about.”
By the time he has finished, Chuck has dried his eyes, and begins to report. He succinctly describes the attack on Kratys Freehold, our counterattack, and describes how we came to capture papers from the ratman warren, and what Myrs Kratys interpreted them to say when she read them. He brings out the papers, and Grilliam’s letter, while describing our theory that the city of Lave is in danger of attack via its water supply.
“Very good work, all of you,” Thorn says. “We will analyze these papers tonight; if the ratmen have reached lave, we will root them out immediately.”
“There’s more, sir,” Chuck says; he goes on to tell him about the House Asuras and their slaves-for-drugs trade with the ratmen.
“Yes,” Thorn says. “I’ve gotten reports. Jim sent notes, as well. Good work.” He turns to the rest of us. “If you want to join us in our raids on the ratmen, you’re welcome to join us.”
“I want to,” Stone says. “I’m worried about Novalia. She might have done something…”
He trails off, as though searching for a word, and Telryn suggests “Stupid?”
“Imbecilic?” calls out Miriel.
“Moronic,” Telryn offers.
“Idiotic?” counters the priestess
“No!” Stone cuts them off with a sharp gesture of his hand. “Impetuous!”
Chuck tells Thorn how Novalia had left earlier to take a more direct route, but doesn’t appear to have arrived yet.
“We will look for her as well,” Thorn says. “In the meantime, you are welcome to stay here, to train with us. Also, our weaponsmiths are the best in Lave.”
Miriel draws out the amulet we recovered from the Twilight Warden. “Take a look at this,” she says, handing it to Thorn. While the old man examines it, she says, “We captured it from a Twilight Warden in the swamp.”
Thorn nods. “We’ve heard reports about these Twilight Wardens, but we’ve never seen them,” he says.
“Jim was killed by a Twilight Warden,” Chuck says. “They seem to have a mockery of our organization.”
Miriel, says, “Keep the amulet, for study.” Thorn smiles, and looks very pleased.
“Here, Deleon, take at look at this,” Thorn says, handing the amulet to his assistant, the half-elf.
Deleon looks at it, and says, with wonder in his voice, “Look at the workmanship on this! We never knew that the rat men create such expert work. Their stuff in the past was crude, and they seem to have jumped by an order of magnitude in their abilities.”
“That’s not all they have,” Telryn says. He begins to describe the shaman’s room, with the laboratory, the preserved bodies, and the books. As Deleon takes notes, Thorn takes Chuck aside.
Meanwhile, in the basement, the smith is similarly impressed with the work on the sword. “We didna’ know that the rat men could make something like this,” he tells Paks. “Let me call in some magic users to look at it.”
Three mages arrive to examine it. The eldest looks very grim, but the youngest exclaims excitedly, “Wow, it's powerful. Tanil’s arrow, this is going to be trouble!”
“Can you take care of it?” asks Paks.
The eldest mage nods solemnly. “We know how to take care of it.”
The youngest looks almost possessive. “But we’re going to study it first,” he says, sounding very much like Telryn to the warrior’s ears.
“I would see it destroyed,” Paks says. “I cannot surrender it unless you vow to destroy it.”
Though the youngest looks outraged, the eldest offers his solemn vow. “On behalf of the Vigil, I so swear.”
“It will take a powerful mage and an expert smith, working together,” the smith says, “And ’twill be very difficult.”
“And dangerous,” Paks cautions. She again tells, for the benefit of the three wizards, the tale of how Brand became ill working on the sword. “Be careful,” she concludes.
When Paks finishes the story, she is returned to the audience chamber, where the rest of the group wait for her and Chuck to return. Stone explains that the Vigil are going to hunt down the rat men in the morning, and that he, Chuck, and Goldpetal are going with them. Miriel is going back to the temple to prepare for her initiation, while Telryn is going back to the temple for study and research. To some degree, it seems that Miriel has washed her hands of Novalia since the archer attempted to injure the Hope.
Paks decides to join the other warriors in search of the rat men. Miriel says she wants to go back to the inn to see her parents, then sleep at the temple for the night. Everyone else plans to stay at the Sleeping Dragon Inn.
Meanwhile, Thorn takes Chuck aside, to a private chamber just off of the audience chamber. It looks like an office, with a desk, and two chairs. “We have heard about Steve and Jim,” Thorn says, “But we have also heard about your other work. You can be initiated into our order.”
Chuck gasps. “Is that still possible?” he asks.
Thorn gives a single, slow nod. “Yes, if you are determined.”
Chuck lowers his head in a bow. “I would very much like to,” he answers. “I must redeem myself.”
Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
Great Thank you. A chance for redemption, some clearing up of loose ends, to make room for new ones.
GW
GW
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