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Travels through the Wild West: the Isle of Dread
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<blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 83118" data-attributes="member: 143"><p>Book III, Part 10</p><p></p><p>The village of Tanaroa was situated a short distance back from the great black wall, before a pair of heavy wooden gates—the only opening in the wall that the companions had seen thus far. As the group neared it they could see another coastline and the sea ahead of them, indicating that the wall warded a narrow isthmus just a few miles across. </p><p></p><p>The village itself was actually four separate communities, each made up of a ring of large huts around what looked to be a central graveyard. The space between the villages was taken up by large communal fields, in the center of which stood a mound of earth topped by a low pyramid fashioned from the same black stone as the great wall. Hundreds of villagers were visible in the fields or around the huts, and many of them came to gawk at the unusual strangers as they were escorted into Tanaroa by the Jakra and his warriors. </p><p></p><p>Another group of armed men approached them, led by a powerfully built man carrying a bronze longspear. The leader wore a headdress fashioned of colored bird feathers and a bronze medallion in the shape of a sun around his neck, and he regarded the outlanders with penetrating blue eyes that seemed to be able to see right through them. He addressed them and spoke briefly with their escort, but Dana’s spell had long since faded and they could not understand what was said. After a moment he gestured for them to accompany him, however, and so the group headed toward one of the village communities, escorted now by nearly two score warriors. </p><p></p><p>“If this turns bad, we could be in some trouble,” Benzan said. </p><p></p><p>“Shh, just keep alert,” Cal cautioned him. </p><p></p><p>Their escorts took them to a large hut that was partially raised atop thick wooden pylons, then parted giving them a clear route up the short flight of steps that led to the opening in the front of the structure. Only the warrior with the feathered headdress accompanied them into the building, eyeing them as if he expected them to do something dangerous at any moment. </p><p></p><p>The interior of the hut was one large room, dimly lit only by the light that filtered in through the front opening. As their eyes adjusted to the relative darkness they could see that the hut contained only one occupant, an old woman sitting on a pile of cushions in the rear of the place. </p><p></p><p>“Well, don’t just stand their gawking,” she said. “Come in, come in!”</p><p></p><p>They looked at each other in surprise and walked across the room toward her. She gestured toward several thickly woven rugs on the floor in front of her, and they seated themselves. The warrior remained standing behind them, his face a neutral mask. </p><p></p><p>The woman was gray-haired and wrinkled, although her body was anything but flabby and the sparkle of intelligence shone brightly in her dark eyes. She was dressed in a simple tunic of spun flax, and wore a medallion around her neck that was similar to the one worn by the warrior—except that hers looked to be made of solid gold!</p><p></p><p>“You speak our language,” Cal said with surprise. </p><p></p><p>“No, not really,” the woman said with a faint laugh. “I speak my own tongue, but you hear yours. A minor bit of magic,” she explained. </p><p></p><p>Cal nodded, but he knew that the spell she was describing was anything but minor. </p><p></p><p>“I am J’kal, matriarch of the village of Tanaroa, and the stern-faced man behind you is Bakora, our war leader.” The companions glanced over their shoulders at the man, but his expression remained flat, barely acknowledging them. “I believe that we owe you a debt of gratitude,” she went on. At their confused looks, she looked past them and cried out, “Komm herein, Pooka!” At her cry the sound of someone rushing up the stairs could be heard, and a small form—a native child—dashed across the room into the woman’s waiting arms.</p><p></p><p>“This is Pooka, my great-grandnephew,” the woman said. </p><p></p><p>“I recognize him,” Dana said. “He’s one of the children that we rescued from the slavers.”</p><p></p><p>“Yes,” she said, holding the child in her lap as he shyly looked at the companions with wide-eyed wonder. “Word of your deeds has preceded your coming, and the defeat of the vile slavers who have long threatened us is of great news to all of the villages.” </p><p></p><p>“I don’t understand,” Benzan said. “There have to be hundreds of you here, including the warriors, and this is just one village. How is it that such a few raiders were able to do so much damage?”</p><p></p><p>“We are not a warlike people,” J’kal responded, “for all that we are forced to remain vigilant against the dangers of the Isle. The gods left us the Great Wall, as a barrier against the dark things that live on the other side. All of the six villages of the <em>Inselvolk</em> contribute warriors for its common defense. While very existence here demands that we be on our guard, it is very difficult to maintain vigilance everywhere and at every time. We have neither the skill at sailing the seas that the raiders have, nor their iron weapons and armor-skins. For years now they have attacked us where our guard is weakest, stealing away like cowards once they have taken their captives.” </p><p></p><p>“Well, this time they got more than they bargained for,” Cal said. “We are glad that we were able to help.” </p><p></p><p>“You are a strange people,” she said, “And your ways are foreign to us, but the hospitality of the <em>Inselvolk</em> is yours to enjoy.” </p><p></p><p>“Thank you, matriarch,” Cal said. “We are strangers here, brought to this place by an accident of fate, and we have recently lost our vessel, stranding us on these shores.”</p><p></p><p>“We are seeking a way to return to our home, a place called Faerûn,” Ruath added. “Can you help us?”</p><p></p><p>“Perhaps the spirits of our sacred totems can provide the answers you seek,” she told them. “Please, rest yourselves, and enjoy what we can offer. Return to me with the setting of the sun on the morrow, and we will see what can be learned.”</p><p></p><p>* * * * * </p><p></p><p>J’kal was true to her word, and the companions spent the rest of that day and all of the next enjoying a much-needed rest. The Tanaroans were curious about the strangers, but polite, and the language barrier limited the amount of direct interaction that could take place between them. The food, mostly foreign but tasty fruits and an unidentified meal baked into small cakes, was welcome after a tenday on sea rations and the bland gruel created by Ruath’s spells, and the natives even offered a fermented drink with an effect similar to alcohol. Benzan, in particular, enjoyed the hospitality of the natives repeatedly in that respect. Lok and Cal took turns keeping an eye on the tiefling, so that he wouldn’t say or do anything to alienate the villagers. Luckily, the Tanaroans couldn’t understand what he said anyway. </p><p></p><p>The day of rest passed all too quickly, and as the sun began to fade beneath the western horizon the group gathered again at the hut of matriarch J’kal. The old woman was ready for them, and when they entered they could see that a low table had been placed on the floor in front of her, atop which a small bronze brazier rested. A thin thread of smoke rose from the brazier to hover in the room, filling the place with a sweet and exotic smell. </p><p></p><p>“Please, be seated,” J’kal said. “I have spent the day fasting and seeking guidance from the totems of our people. Spirits of the Elk, Hawk, Tiger, and Sea Turtle, I call on you on behalf of these strangers, lost travelers from a faraway land. They have aided your children, and we seek your help for them in trade.”</p><p></p><p>The companions were silent as the matriarch completed her mantra. Nothing happened for a long minute, then, as they watched, swirling shapes began to take form in the smoke rising from the brazier. </p><p></p><p>J’kal began chanting, a low, singsong string of syllables that seemed to flow together into a single cohesive strand. The spell of tongues could not convey the meaning in her words, for she was now speaking the language of magic, summoning a spell of divination to seek out the answers that the companions needed. The invocation continued on and on, one minute dragging into the next, but so absorbing was it that none of them marked the passage of time. Finally, J’kal raised her hands to the sky, seeking the power of her people’s spirits in a final call. The answer came swiftly, as J’kal cried out, </p><p></p><p>“Seek the black mountain! Your road home leads through the Well of Worlds!”</p><p></p><p>The aura of power that had suffused the interior of the hut during the casting of the spell vanished, leaving all those who had witnessed it feeling suddenly drained. J’kal slumped back against her cushions, tired by the effort, but otherwise hale. </p><p></p><p>“The black mountain?” Benzan asked. “Where is this place, and what is the ‘Well of Worlds’?”</p><p></p><p>“The black mountain lies in the center of the Isle,” J’kal explained, on a plateau nestled deep within the mountain range that bisects the island. None of my people go there—according to our legends, it is a place of great power, the home of our ancient gods. I know not of this ‘well’, but it is said that the gods had many items of power, and could travel through the web of worlds like fish swim through the sea.”</p><p></p><p>“It would seem that our path is now set,” Lok said. </p><p></p><p>“Yeah, but why do I get the feeling that these people stay away from the island’s center for a very good reason?” Benzan piped in. </p><p></p><p>No one had an answer for him.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazybones, post: 83118, member: 143"] Book III, Part 10 The village of Tanaroa was situated a short distance back from the great black wall, before a pair of heavy wooden gates—the only opening in the wall that the companions had seen thus far. As the group neared it they could see another coastline and the sea ahead of them, indicating that the wall warded a narrow isthmus just a few miles across. The village itself was actually four separate communities, each made up of a ring of large huts around what looked to be a central graveyard. The space between the villages was taken up by large communal fields, in the center of which stood a mound of earth topped by a low pyramid fashioned from the same black stone as the great wall. Hundreds of villagers were visible in the fields or around the huts, and many of them came to gawk at the unusual strangers as they were escorted into Tanaroa by the Jakra and his warriors. Another group of armed men approached them, led by a powerfully built man carrying a bronze longspear. The leader wore a headdress fashioned of colored bird feathers and a bronze medallion in the shape of a sun around his neck, and he regarded the outlanders with penetrating blue eyes that seemed to be able to see right through them. He addressed them and spoke briefly with their escort, but Dana’s spell had long since faded and they could not understand what was said. After a moment he gestured for them to accompany him, however, and so the group headed toward one of the village communities, escorted now by nearly two score warriors. “If this turns bad, we could be in some trouble,” Benzan said. “Shh, just keep alert,” Cal cautioned him. Their escorts took them to a large hut that was partially raised atop thick wooden pylons, then parted giving them a clear route up the short flight of steps that led to the opening in the front of the structure. Only the warrior with the feathered headdress accompanied them into the building, eyeing them as if he expected them to do something dangerous at any moment. The interior of the hut was one large room, dimly lit only by the light that filtered in through the front opening. As their eyes adjusted to the relative darkness they could see that the hut contained only one occupant, an old woman sitting on a pile of cushions in the rear of the place. “Well, don’t just stand their gawking,” she said. “Come in, come in!” They looked at each other in surprise and walked across the room toward her. She gestured toward several thickly woven rugs on the floor in front of her, and they seated themselves. The warrior remained standing behind them, his face a neutral mask. The woman was gray-haired and wrinkled, although her body was anything but flabby and the sparkle of intelligence shone brightly in her dark eyes. She was dressed in a simple tunic of spun flax, and wore a medallion around her neck that was similar to the one worn by the warrior—except that hers looked to be made of solid gold! “You speak our language,” Cal said with surprise. “No, not really,” the woman said with a faint laugh. “I speak my own tongue, but you hear yours. A minor bit of magic,” she explained. Cal nodded, but he knew that the spell she was describing was anything but minor. “I am J’kal, matriarch of the village of Tanaroa, and the stern-faced man behind you is Bakora, our war leader.” The companions glanced over their shoulders at the man, but his expression remained flat, barely acknowledging them. “I believe that we owe you a debt of gratitude,” she went on. At their confused looks, she looked past them and cried out, “Komm herein, Pooka!” At her cry the sound of someone rushing up the stairs could be heard, and a small form—a native child—dashed across the room into the woman’s waiting arms. “This is Pooka, my great-grandnephew,” the woman said. “I recognize him,” Dana said. “He’s one of the children that we rescued from the slavers.” “Yes,” she said, holding the child in her lap as he shyly looked at the companions with wide-eyed wonder. “Word of your deeds has preceded your coming, and the defeat of the vile slavers who have long threatened us is of great news to all of the villages.” “I don’t understand,” Benzan said. “There have to be hundreds of you here, including the warriors, and this is just one village. How is it that such a few raiders were able to do so much damage?” “We are not a warlike people,” J’kal responded, “for all that we are forced to remain vigilant against the dangers of the Isle. The gods left us the Great Wall, as a barrier against the dark things that live on the other side. All of the six villages of the [I]Inselvolk[/I] contribute warriors for its common defense. While very existence here demands that we be on our guard, it is very difficult to maintain vigilance everywhere and at every time. We have neither the skill at sailing the seas that the raiders have, nor their iron weapons and armor-skins. For years now they have attacked us where our guard is weakest, stealing away like cowards once they have taken their captives.” “Well, this time they got more than they bargained for,” Cal said. “We are glad that we were able to help.” “You are a strange people,” she said, “And your ways are foreign to us, but the hospitality of the [I]Inselvolk[/I] is yours to enjoy.” “Thank you, matriarch,” Cal said. “We are strangers here, brought to this place by an accident of fate, and we have recently lost our vessel, stranding us on these shores.” “We are seeking a way to return to our home, a place called Faerûn,” Ruath added. “Can you help us?” “Perhaps the spirits of our sacred totems can provide the answers you seek,” she told them. “Please, rest yourselves, and enjoy what we can offer. Return to me with the setting of the sun on the morrow, and we will see what can be learned.” * * * * * J’kal was true to her word, and the companions spent the rest of that day and all of the next enjoying a much-needed rest. The Tanaroans were curious about the strangers, but polite, and the language barrier limited the amount of direct interaction that could take place between them. The food, mostly foreign but tasty fruits and an unidentified meal baked into small cakes, was welcome after a tenday on sea rations and the bland gruel created by Ruath’s spells, and the natives even offered a fermented drink with an effect similar to alcohol. Benzan, in particular, enjoyed the hospitality of the natives repeatedly in that respect. Lok and Cal took turns keeping an eye on the tiefling, so that he wouldn’t say or do anything to alienate the villagers. Luckily, the Tanaroans couldn’t understand what he said anyway. The day of rest passed all too quickly, and as the sun began to fade beneath the western horizon the group gathered again at the hut of matriarch J’kal. The old woman was ready for them, and when they entered they could see that a low table had been placed on the floor in front of her, atop which a small bronze brazier rested. A thin thread of smoke rose from the brazier to hover in the room, filling the place with a sweet and exotic smell. “Please, be seated,” J’kal said. “I have spent the day fasting and seeking guidance from the totems of our people. Spirits of the Elk, Hawk, Tiger, and Sea Turtle, I call on you on behalf of these strangers, lost travelers from a faraway land. They have aided your children, and we seek your help for them in trade.” The companions were silent as the matriarch completed her mantra. Nothing happened for a long minute, then, as they watched, swirling shapes began to take form in the smoke rising from the brazier. J’kal began chanting, a low, singsong string of syllables that seemed to flow together into a single cohesive strand. The spell of tongues could not convey the meaning in her words, for she was now speaking the language of magic, summoning a spell of divination to seek out the answers that the companions needed. The invocation continued on and on, one minute dragging into the next, but so absorbing was it that none of them marked the passage of time. Finally, J’kal raised her hands to the sky, seeking the power of her people’s spirits in a final call. The answer came swiftly, as J’kal cried out, “Seek the black mountain! Your road home leads through the Well of Worlds!” The aura of power that had suffused the interior of the hut during the casting of the spell vanished, leaving all those who had witnessed it feeling suddenly drained. J’kal slumped back against her cushions, tired by the effort, but otherwise hale. “The black mountain?” Benzan asked. “Where is this place, and what is the ‘Well of Worlds’?” “The black mountain lies in the center of the Isle,” J’kal explained, on a plateau nestled deep within the mountain range that bisects the island. None of my people go there—according to our legends, it is a place of great power, the home of our ancient gods. I know not of this ‘well’, but it is said that the gods had many items of power, and could travel through the web of worlds like fish swim through the sea.” “It would seem that our path is now set,” Lok said. “Yeah, but why do I get the feeling that these people stay away from the island’s center for a very good reason?” Benzan piped in. No one had an answer for him. [/QUOTE]
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