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<blockquote data-quote="havenstone" data-source="post: 4740612" data-attributes="member: 61094"><p><strong>The Taken and the Dead</strong></p><p></p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">ATRIX AND KAY</span></strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"> have managed to leave Guardwatch before the news arrived from the south to spark panic. At dawn, after reviving Atrix, the weary <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4731762-post59.html" target="_blank">Dethasian high priest</a> sought an inspired word from Ain on their next course of action — and was told that all of them should flee, without looking back. They walked out the main gate of the castle wearing hooded clerical robes. Atrix and Kay, both totally drained from their ordeal, told the Dethasians to press on along the road while they tried to find and warn their friends in the camp.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The first person they find, in the mercenary grounds, is <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4701793-post45.html" target="_blank">Lucian di Tosca di Ferrau</a>. The furious, impulsive Caragond refused to fight alongside the Senalline army after hearing about Atrix’s death and the brutal d’Aramant response. He looks astounded to see Atrix alive, but also unfeignedly pleased.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“You missed our <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4712537-post52.html" target="_blank">sparring match</a>,” Atrix says casually, trying to look like he isn’t about to collapse.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“You didn’t wait for me to accompany you to the field,” Lucian retorts. “I could have had a seventh torc, you could have lived, and we both could have marched off to fight the Arawai.” Warily, he walks over to them and considers their Dethasian disguise. “So how in Ain’s name did you manage this trick? I didn’t realize that they’d bring you back from the dead if you agreed to join the priesthood.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Atrix almost manages a laugh. “No time now, di Ferrau. We have to find the others and run. The real priests are convinced that something terrible is coming.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">To their consternation they find the dwarrow all gone and Darren nowhere to be found, Carwyn and Lune’s gambling tent stripped, and Meeshak’s quarters empty. They debate heading back into Guardwatch to warn Atrix’s cousins, but as the first survivors of the southern calamity arrive and hysteria spreads, the castle gate is besieged by thousands of frantic camp followers seeking refuge. Atrix, Kay, and Lucian reluctantly start trudging along the crowded road to the north. To their relief, they are soon overtaken by Kyla; her albino baby T’harai wakes up and gives a reedy wail as the friends enthusiastically embrace each other.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">A half hour later, they hear a whip crack and a familiar grim voice warning, “Not too close to the cart, gentlemen.” Kyla looks around in delight to see Meeshak carrying a drover’s whip, standing atop a wagon piled high with wool sacks and bolsters. Carwyn and Lune are guiding the cart-horse, and Nina and Darren are perched among the sacks, casually brandishing daggers at anyone who casts a covetous glance at the cart or horse. Kyla waves them down, and for a moment all the horrors of the last few days are forgotten as the old friends discover each other alive. The group in the cart are dumbfounded to see Atrix walking and talking, but he shrugs off their whispered questions with a promise to explain later, as he helps lift an exhausted Kay into the wagon bed.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“On the north side of the camp, we met a merchant who was happy to part with this cart and goods for an unreasonable amount of our gold,” Carwyn explains. “We thought – hoped – that we might need it if we found injured friends along the way.”</span></p><p> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">ATRIX CLIMBS UP</span></strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"> into the wool sacks and sees the wretched Agerain trussed in the bottom of the wagon, hidden from view. “di Ferrau, I need your sword,” Atrix demands instantly. Agerain writhes and screams through his gag at the sight of the supposedly deceased d’Loriad. Nina only just manages to reach them in time. Atrix directs a dangerous stare at the fingers gripping his sword hand. “Let go of me.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“I can’t let you kill him.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Fury simmers up in Atrix’s eyes. “Nina, allow me to say something that’s been on my mind for months: <em>what the hell exactly do you think you’re doing?</em>”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Nina shakes his head, unable to explain his sense of obligation. “Atrix, look at him. He’s done all the harm he can do, and now he’s at our mercy. This isn’t the time to kill him.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“My brother was <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4731762-post59.html" target="_blank">tortured to death</a> because of him,” Atrix snarls. “Don’t talk to me about mercy.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“We might yet need a hostage, Atrix,” Meeshak murmurs from the front of the wagon. “Or someone who can admit the d’Aramants’ treachery. There are greater betrayals here than your brother’s murder. We’ll punish the d’Aramant when we’re sure he’s given us everything we need. And believe me, he’ll be punished appropriately for what he’s done.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">After a long silence, Atrix pulls away from Nina and hands Lucian back his saber, before checking that Kay is comfortably cradled between two rolled up bolsters. He sits at the rear of the cart, holding Kay’s hand, poised painfully between equally powerful impulses toward violence and tenderness. Nina glances down at Agerain, whose eyes are tearing up with fear and hatred but show no trace of gratitude. <em>Uncle</em>, Nina thinks bleakly, <em>you always said that there was more to the clan than the assassins’ code – that we were more than a pack of killers. I hope you’d understand me if you were here now.</em></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The wagon reaches the top of a rise overlooking a river ford. To their despair, the small group of refugees see a great horde of Arawai galloping toward the road, pursuing a small band of d’Aramant cavalry. “That’s Mercon,” Darren declares urgently, pointing to the leader of the knights. “And... and Calla.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Kyla whips out her bow and Carwyn her crossbow. Every other party member who has anything left to throw or shoot sends it in the direction of the treacherous d’Aramant General. The already wounded Mercon makes it across the ford, only to collapse as Kyla’s fifth arrow takes him between the shoulder blades. He slumps into Calla’s arms; Darren’s throat goes dry at the anguish in her face, and he shouts, “No – he’s dead, don’t hit the girl!” as Kyla prepares to shoot again. The d’Aramant knights ride in to prop up their General’s limp form, and flee out of sight.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Then the hundreds of Arawai thunder up to the ford, and wheel around to face the tide of hopeless refugees, bows and spears in hand. “Surrender, <em>kherasi</em>,” one of them calls. “Turn back to the castle, or be slain.”</span></p><p> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">HERDED BY THE</span></strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"> Arawai to the blood-soaked plains south of Guardwatch, the haggard Senallines find themselves surrounded by a seemingly endless multitude of armored strangers. The Arawai’s mysterious allies are thoroughly unfamiliar and unsettling – the curious designs engraved on their plate mail; the frightening, inhuman masks attached to their commanders’ broad helmets; the smell of unknown spices that surrounds them; the tightly disciplined silence with which they carry out their work, only rarely snapping out terse orders in their musical, incomprehensible tongue. The Northerners are thoroughly, brusquely searched by a hundred men with gold or brown skin, wearing gray tunics and loincloths. All the captives’ weapons and goods are stripped from them, and they are left wearing only their simplest clothes. Darren finally loses his needle shooter, but manages in a desperate feat of dexterity to retrieve his <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4357816-post18.html" target="_blank">dwarrow amulet</a> unnoticed from the man who takes it from him.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">After the search, the thousands of prisoners are forced into single file and moved along by silent soldiers with long spears. The line stretches on almost interminably to a man clad in shining gold-colored robes, who takes a single instant to touch his hand to the forehead of each captive and point them into either one thorn-walled corral or the other. As the friends approach the end of the line, they realize uneasily that this is a division by nobility; the minority who possess high blood are shackled and separated from those without. Atrix notes that a few questionable Senalline aristocrats who successfully claimed descent from a Family bloodline are sorted into the non-noble camp, despite having been accepted as noble in practice. In fact, the friends from Rim Square are all placed without hesitation into the non-noble category – even Atrix himself, to his surprise and mild annoyance. He considers protesting, but is pushed on before he can figure out how to communicate the mistake. The golden-robed man pauses for an additional second on both Agerain and baby T’harai, but waves them through into the non-noble enclosure.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">By late evening, close to a thousand prisoners from the flanking force are also marched into camp. Ontaya and Ash are reunited with the party – Ontaya’s adoption into the d’Orbis clearly renders her non-noble – while the grim-faced General Sarquin and most of the knights are ushered into the other corral. On the noble side of the divide, Atrix spots his best friend <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4410575-post25.html" target="_blank">Jaron</a> d’Syrnon, his dashing cousin <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4419701-post26.html" target="_blank">Alan</a> d’Loriad, and Ontaya’s cousin <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4483157-post37.html" target="_blank">Ellikard</a>, all captured on the battlefield. With her pulse hammering in her throat, Kyla also sees a badly wounded Gareth, who must have left Guardwatch to find her at some point, apparently without Adgar. The corrals are too far apart for voices to carry over the groans of the injured, but the friends try to communicate as best they can with waves and gestures.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The gray and red moons are high in the sky by the time the sorting is complete. Then several hundred armored spearmen surround each corral. A dozen figures entirely swathed in black cloth approach the noble enclosure, wearing silver skull pendants that glint in the moonlight and bearing long, curved swords. The strange soldiers drag a cluster of noble captives out by their shackles and force them to kneel before the black-clad men. </span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Kyla screams harshly and Darren feels the bile rise in his throat as the executioners’ swords rise and fall, parting heads from bodies without apparent effort. Ontaya roars, barely suppressing her berserker rage, and Atrix tears at the thick thorn fence in denial as the soldiers approach his uncle Sarquin. The d’Loriad General stills his captors with an intense glare, rises to his feet and walks to his doom past the host of sobbing, horrified nobles. The little group of friends from Rim Square sink to the ground and avert their eyes in anguish as it becomes clear that the beheadings will spare no one.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">By morning, not a single Northern noble remains alive.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Silhouetted on the southern horizon stand scores of massive, wheeled cages.</span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p><em><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><strong>This marks the end of “The Arawai Campaign” – Part One of The Talismans of Aerdrim.</strong></span></em></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="havenstone, post: 4740612, member: 61094"] [b]The Taken and the Dead[/b] [B][FONT=Verdana]ATRIX AND KAY[/FONT][/B][FONT=Verdana] have managed to leave Guardwatch before the news arrived from the south to spark panic. At dawn, after reviving Atrix, the weary [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4731762-post59.html"]Dethasian high priest[/URL] sought an inspired word from Ain on their next course of action — and was told that all of them should flee, without looking back. They walked out the main gate of the castle wearing hooded clerical robes. Atrix and Kay, both totally drained from their ordeal, told the Dethasians to press on along the road while they tried to find and warn their friends in the camp.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The first person they find, in the mercenary grounds, is [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4701793-post45.html"]Lucian di Tosca di Ferrau[/URL]. The furious, impulsive Caragond refused to fight alongside the Senalline army after hearing about Atrix’s death and the brutal d’Aramant response. He looks astounded to see Atrix alive, but also unfeignedly pleased.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“You missed our [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4712537-post52.html"]sparring match[/URL],” Atrix says casually, trying to look like he isn’t about to collapse.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“You didn’t wait for me to accompany you to the field,” Lucian retorts. “I could have had a seventh torc, you could have lived, and we both could have marched off to fight the Arawai.” Warily, he walks over to them and considers their Dethasian disguise. “So how in Ain’s name did you manage this trick? I didn’t realize that they’d bring you back from the dead if you agreed to join the priesthood.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Atrix almost manages a laugh. “No time now, di Ferrau. We have to find the others and run. The real priests are convinced that something terrible is coming.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]To their consternation they find the dwarrow all gone and Darren nowhere to be found, Carwyn and Lune’s gambling tent stripped, and Meeshak’s quarters empty. They debate heading back into Guardwatch to warn Atrix’s cousins, but as the first survivors of the southern calamity arrive and hysteria spreads, the castle gate is besieged by thousands of frantic camp followers seeking refuge. Atrix, Kay, and Lucian reluctantly start trudging along the crowded road to the north. To their relief, they are soon overtaken by Kyla; her albino baby T’harai wakes up and gives a reedy wail as the friends enthusiastically embrace each other.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]A half hour later, they hear a whip crack and a familiar grim voice warning, “Not too close to the cart, gentlemen.” Kyla looks around in delight to see Meeshak carrying a drover’s whip, standing atop a wagon piled high with wool sacks and bolsters. Carwyn and Lune are guiding the cart-horse, and Nina and Darren are perched among the sacks, casually brandishing daggers at anyone who casts a covetous glance at the cart or horse. Kyla waves them down, and for a moment all the horrors of the last few days are forgotten as the old friends discover each other alive. The group in the cart are dumbfounded to see Atrix walking and talking, but he shrugs off their whispered questions with a promise to explain later, as he helps lift an exhausted Kay into the wagon bed.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“On the north side of the camp, we met a merchant who was happy to part with this cart and goods for an unreasonable amount of our gold,” Carwyn explains. “We thought – hoped – that we might need it if we found injured friends along the way.”[/FONT] [B][FONT=Verdana]ATRIX CLIMBS UP[/FONT][/B][FONT=Verdana] into the wool sacks and sees the wretched Agerain trussed in the bottom of the wagon, hidden from view. “di Ferrau, I need your sword,” Atrix demands instantly. Agerain writhes and screams through his gag at the sight of the supposedly deceased d’Loriad. Nina only just manages to reach them in time. Atrix directs a dangerous stare at the fingers gripping his sword hand. “Let go of me.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“I can’t let you kill him.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Fury simmers up in Atrix’s eyes. “Nina, allow me to say something that’s been on my mind for months: [I]what the hell exactly do you think you’re doing?[/I]”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Nina shakes his head, unable to explain his sense of obligation. “Atrix, look at him. He’s done all the harm he can do, and now he’s at our mercy. This isn’t the time to kill him.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“My brother was [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4731762-post59.html"]tortured to death[/URL] because of him,” Atrix snarls. “Don’t talk to me about mercy.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“We might yet need a hostage, Atrix,” Meeshak murmurs from the front of the wagon. “Or someone who can admit the d’Aramants’ treachery. There are greater betrayals here than your brother’s murder. We’ll punish the d’Aramant when we’re sure he’s given us everything we need. And believe me, he’ll be punished appropriately for what he’s done.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]After a long silence, Atrix pulls away from Nina and hands Lucian back his saber, before checking that Kay is comfortably cradled between two rolled up bolsters. He sits at the rear of the cart, holding Kay’s hand, poised painfully between equally powerful impulses toward violence and tenderness. Nina glances down at Agerain, whose eyes are tearing up with fear and hatred but show no trace of gratitude. [I]Uncle[/I], Nina thinks bleakly, [I]you always said that there was more to the clan than the assassins’ code – that we were more than a pack of killers. I hope you’d understand me if you were here now.[/I][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The wagon reaches the top of a rise overlooking a river ford. To their despair, the small group of refugees see a great horde of Arawai galloping toward the road, pursuing a small band of d’Aramant cavalry. “That’s Mercon,” Darren declares urgently, pointing to the leader of the knights. “And... and Calla.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Kyla whips out her bow and Carwyn her crossbow. Every other party member who has anything left to throw or shoot sends it in the direction of the treacherous d’Aramant General. The already wounded Mercon makes it across the ford, only to collapse as Kyla’s fifth arrow takes him between the shoulder blades. He slumps into Calla’s arms; Darren’s throat goes dry at the anguish in her face, and he shouts, “No – he’s dead, don’t hit the girl!” as Kyla prepares to shoot again. The d’Aramant knights ride in to prop up their General’s limp form, and flee out of sight.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Then the hundreds of Arawai thunder up to the ford, and wheel around to face the tide of hopeless refugees, bows and spears in hand. “Surrender, [I]kherasi[/I],” one of them calls. “Turn back to the castle, or be slain.”[/FONT] [B][FONT=Verdana]HERDED BY THE[/FONT][/B][FONT=Verdana] Arawai to the blood-soaked plains south of Guardwatch, the haggard Senallines find themselves surrounded by a seemingly endless multitude of armored strangers. The Arawai’s mysterious allies are thoroughly unfamiliar and unsettling – the curious designs engraved on their plate mail; the frightening, inhuman masks attached to their commanders’ broad helmets; the smell of unknown spices that surrounds them; the tightly disciplined silence with which they carry out their work, only rarely snapping out terse orders in their musical, incomprehensible tongue. The Northerners are thoroughly, brusquely searched by a hundred men with gold or brown skin, wearing gray tunics and loincloths. All the captives’ weapons and goods are stripped from them, and they are left wearing only their simplest clothes. Darren finally loses his needle shooter, but manages in a desperate feat of dexterity to retrieve his [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4357816-post18.html"]dwarrow amulet[/URL] unnoticed from the man who takes it from him.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]After the search, the thousands of prisoners are forced into single file and moved along by silent soldiers with long spears. The line stretches on almost interminably to a man clad in shining gold-colored robes, who takes a single instant to touch his hand to the forehead of each captive and point them into either one thorn-walled corral or the other. As the friends approach the end of the line, they realize uneasily that this is a division by nobility; the minority who possess high blood are shackled and separated from those without. Atrix notes that a few questionable Senalline aristocrats who successfully claimed descent from a Family bloodline are sorted into the non-noble camp, despite having been accepted as noble in practice. In fact, the friends from Rim Square are all placed without hesitation into the non-noble category – even Atrix himself, to his surprise and mild annoyance. He considers protesting, but is pushed on before he can figure out how to communicate the mistake. The golden-robed man pauses for an additional second on both Agerain and baby T’harai, but waves them through into the non-noble enclosure.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]By late evening, close to a thousand prisoners from the flanking force are also marched into camp. Ontaya and Ash are reunited with the party – Ontaya’s adoption into the d’Orbis clearly renders her non-noble – while the grim-faced General Sarquin and most of the knights are ushered into the other corral. On the noble side of the divide, Atrix spots his best friend [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4410575-post25.html"]Jaron[/URL] d’Syrnon, his dashing cousin [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4419701-post26.html"]Alan[/URL] d’Loriad, and Ontaya’s cousin [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4483157-post37.html"]Ellikard[/URL], all captured on the battlefield. With her pulse hammering in her throat, Kyla also sees a badly wounded Gareth, who must have left Guardwatch to find her at some point, apparently without Adgar. The corrals are too far apart for voices to carry over the groans of the injured, but the friends try to communicate as best they can with waves and gestures.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The gray and red moons are high in the sky by the time the sorting is complete. Then several hundred armored spearmen surround each corral. A dozen figures entirely swathed in black cloth approach the noble enclosure, wearing silver skull pendants that glint in the moonlight and bearing long, curved swords. The strange soldiers drag a cluster of noble captives out by their shackles and force them to kneel before the black-clad men. [/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Kyla screams harshly and Darren feels the bile rise in his throat as the executioners’ swords rise and fall, parting heads from bodies without apparent effort. Ontaya roars, barely suppressing her berserker rage, and Atrix tears at the thick thorn fence in denial as the soldiers approach his uncle Sarquin. The d’Loriad General stills his captors with an intense glare, rises to his feet and walks to his doom past the host of sobbing, horrified nobles. The little group of friends from Rim Square sink to the ground and avert their eyes in anguish as it becomes clear that the beheadings will spare no one.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]By morning, not a single Northern noble remains alive.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Silhouetted on the southern horizon stand scores of massive, wheeled cages.[/FONT] [I][FONT=Verdana][B]This marks the end of “The Arawai Campaign” – Part One of The Talismans of Aerdrim.[/B][/FONT][/I] [/QUOTE]
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