[4e] The Wolfcrown, Chapter 1

[DistractingFlare]

Flintlok, seeing his pleas met with scorn, with tears in his dark eyes, stands, turns, and looks out over the sea. He stoops down and picks up his bloodied dagger half-buried in the sandy soil.

"I'll be going now. If you ever need me, sirs, you'll find me in the wastes. That's a heartless land, so that's where I deserve to live."

Flintlok stands and walks shamefully past you, and his sobs echo throughout the White Vale.

Momentarily, The Cloak's ships have all passed beyond the horizon, sailing into a stormy sea.

That night, many soldiers, friend and foe, are buried - given somberly back to the earth from which they were born. The cloudy, thunderous skies are met by the flickering flames of the elven funeral pyres.

The battle for The White Vale has ended and The Cloak has been shattered. A Queen has been saved and plots have been thwarted. Congratulations, Knights of The Vale! Gods and Heroes alike shine down upon you this night!

[sblock=Level Up!]The battle is over, friends. You may all level up to 5. Please post all character updates to the OOC thread. Then, post your activities for the night and give yourselves an extended rest.[/sblock]

[sblock=Hero Point]Congratulations to Shayuri / Thorn for earning a Hero Point! You showed incredible valor in combat, and one-shotted one of The Cloak's finest assassins! I'll update the 1st post in the OOC thread to reflect this.[/sblock]

[sblock=Homework Project!]Homework Project: Tell me a story. The subject matter can be of your choosing. Please make sure it's a considerable length. If you do this to my satisfaction, you'll receive a Hero Point at the deadline.

The deadline for the story is Sunday, May 2nd. Good luck! [/sblock]

 

[Rathan]

As the anger filled his senses and the red filled his vision something overtook Doren in an instant. Everything for him went black before him, and he lost his fix on Flintlok and reality itself.

"This is not his time my son... this is not your time to play my role." Boomed a voice within his head and then all was silent.

If it was possible for one to leave his body Doren was sure he'd just done it. He felt nothing and yet everything of a strange sort all at once. Blackness flashed to white and back only to loop slowly one color to the next of the rainbow and for the moment Doren was lost. However what those around him at the Pass could see was a sight truly meant for the Gods eyes only.

Before the living elves and his fellow Knights Dorens body went rigid. arms outstretched and tossed slightly back behind his as his eyes burst open and a shooting bright light pierced the looming storm clouds themselves it seemed. His body, a temple to Blackmoor itself rose slowly off the ground and below him a web of sparkling white beams of heavenly white lights wove in intricate design below him. To some it might appear Doren was being taken by the Gods themselves to the heavens.

The woven strands of light continued to pierce one another webbing a random seamless design below as Doren's body hovered above it. Before long the webbing outstretching fifteen feet in any direction below him. Below the mass of twinkling light the blood once staining the ground vanished leaving no trace of what the tribulations of war leaves on the earthen floor behind. Slowly his body moved in it's rigid position around the battlefield leaving only cleansed earth in it's place. Only the bodies of the fallen remain they were placed, each laid out, with hands crossed over their chests in neat honorable rows near where they had once laid in piles and bloody messes. For the moment it seemed Doren was in some control over this yet how was still left unknown.

In Doren's mind however the red soon replaced with calm. All was serene here and for once it felt like Doren had peace in his heart. He saw his brothers face flash before his eyes, a smile dancing across his lips as well as his brothers in a happy childhood memory remembered. Flashing quickly to his father before his madness of drinking had set in and Doren was on his knee as his read him and his brothers a bedtime story. His mother's face looking down into his crib was next most likely watching him sleep as a baby with a wide mothers smile playing on her lips. For the moment all Doren felt was pure and unbridled peace.

"I give you the power my child to cleanse thine enemy and bolster thine friends. Use it well my son, for your path from hereon in is drawn in the sands of time. You will know your place. Know peace my son and know that in pain comes sacrifice and with sacrifice comes happiness in one form or another." the voice boomed once more and as the voice tailed off the light from Dorens eyes in the real world faded leaving him to see the cleaned and consecrated battle ground below him.

As he took in the sight of what remained, he fell from the sky a short distance to his knees shattering the web to the four winds and with his head to the ground Doren wept outwardly. The feelings of happiness too much only to be stymied by the bitter reality of those lost now finally hitting home as he gazed upon them all in neat respectable rows.

It was all in one moment, more than any man... even Doren, could bare. And so he wept.

 

[industrygothica]

Baern looks down from his perch at the senseless loss of life scattered throughout the battlefield. And for what? he thinks.

Wishing he more fully understood Teach's and his vile god's designs, he makes his way back to his newly acquired above-ground home and rests.

 

[HolyMan]

Torath helped with the wounded and the dead after the battle. His armor a mess and tired from all the toil he makes his way back to the home that was a gift from the queen.

He strips of the strappings of his profession and cleanses himself in the basin by the hearth. The blood and dirt mixing in the water till it becomes as dark as the sea on a stormy day. Staring into the water Torath watches as the water stills and his reflection comes into view.

Staring at himself the reflection starts to change as Torath remembers that same face looking over the side of a ship into the waters of Herim Bay. The day he left the Isles...

[sblock=OOC] The above is not my homework assignment just posting to let you know will finish tonight. I hope [/sblock]

 

[HolyMan]

The Ocean Master sat low in the harbor, it's shallow draft allowing Torath to see himself in the dark water. The morning sun had just cleared the horizon and Torath yawned due to the early hour he had to be up and readied for this voyage.

Saliors hustled about on all kinds of errands and one spots the sleepy paladin. "Could use some 'elp if'n ye not overly busy," he says snidely. "Ye think ye'll just gets a free voyage ta the mainland and Blackmoor?"

Another stops in passing, putting down a large crate he was carrying. "Ye knows dim priests don't 'elp." He says pointing a finger at Torath. "Dae tinks they can gets everyting fiur free. Here piligrim whys don't ye earn ye spot on da Master."


Torath looks to both men definently sailors by their loose trousers, coarse woolen shirts, and lack of shoes. The biggest of the two had spoken first. His evil grin nearly invisible under his scraggly black beard and a kerchief tied over his head. The other man while nearly clean shaven and bald stood out by the two large brass hoops in his ears.

Before this day Torath had never been in any kind of real conflict. He had been taught by the priest of his order that every situation had it's own unique way of being resolved, and not all fights (just the majority) need to be solved by force of arms. There as also the art of diplomacy, stealth, and... Torath froze as he tried to remember that lesson.

Brother Teion was sitting under a tree a book in his lap. He asked Torath a question. What was it? Torath thought hard and thenm remembered. "If ever you were to find yourself in a conflict deprived of armor, shield, or sword. And your enemy stood before you and you knew they could not be dissuaded from their actions. What weapon young Torath is still left to you?"


Looking back at the two men he saw they each carried a dagger in their belt. So this was not a time to draw his sword and possibly be cut down from behind. He thought through the lessons, diplomacy? Adele willing he would try it, had he truly believed these two ruffians would give over from flowery speech and praises spoken to them. The art of stealth, impossible with his adversaries before him. The final lesson, if ever there was a time it was now.

Torath didn't know the answer then but he learned the lesson taught to him by Brother Teion. "What weapon young Torath is still left to you? Your brain my pupil and use it well." Torath looked around the deck and then at the two unruly sailors again.

Swallowing Torath prepared to use the art of wit to settle this conflict.

 

[industrygothica]

As the night wore on Baern grew restless. He tried to sleep, but bloody images of friend and foe stole all hope of a peaceful night’s rest. Soon those thoughts morphed into images from his past, memories he’d tried to put behind him, but still they crept in…and even more frequently, it seemed, as of late. And suddenly another memory found its way home, and Baern shot upright, snatching his coin purse from a nearby table and stealing out into the darkening night.

“Not used to seein’ those of your, uh…station, in an establishment like this, Sir,” the wiry shop owner said. “What can I offer you?”

The dwarf looked about cautiously and came a bit closer. “Meself and your own need be the only ones knowin’ about this, ye hear?” Baern’s eyes bore deep into the man, leaving only the obvious answer. “Right then,” he continued, and hefted his purse onto the countertop. “Whutcha got?”

Baern kept to the shadows on the way back to his house. His many pockets were each stuffed with individual packages of powder, and he balanced a heavy-looking barrel on his shoulder. He eyed his surroundings cautiously as he approached his house, and when he was sure no one else was about, quickly keyed the entrance.

Moments later Baern was unarmored and shirtless. And drunk. The hearth fire was settling, and the various powders were arranged on a low table in neat, divided rows.

“’At oughtta do it,” he said aloud to himself. He checked the curtain again in case a breeze had blown it open since the last time, and finally sat on his knees in front of the table.

His hands shook as he took up the first line, and he followed it with splash of mead. He repeated the process one by one until not a trace of the powder remained. He wiped away a tear and the sinus draining from his nose as the memories flooded him, taking him back through years long forgotten, stolen by violence and death.

Finally the barrel was empty, and Baern slept as the burning embers worked on through the night.

 

[Phaezen]

An empty beach, empty except for the detritus of the recent battle, battered bodies dragged into piles, the mass pyres still burning.

Near the shore a single figure stands, a living construct looking up at the storm breaking overhead, in its arms are three blades, nick and scratched from the damage they inflicted upon the warforged's body.

Deliberately the warforged plants the blades it is carried, hilt first into a triangle around it and stand, raising its arms to the sky, as if daring the storm to strike it down.

Many years ago.

Squeal stood, strapped to the workbench in the laboratory, several artificers working on rituals and strange magical devices. A figure, dressed in a block cowl stood watching the process.

The cowl figure moved towards Squeal, glancing at the preparations.

"Soldier you have performed adequately, but our enemies push us from all sides, and we need better from our elite. What we do is for our survival and victory for The One."

Moving away the hooded figure silently added to the artificers, "These things are tools nothing more, why they must be treated as living beings is beyond me, do what you must to get the new devices working, any damage is acceptable"

Squeal watched as it's chest-plate was unbolted and magically enhanced glass containers were placed inside, wires connected these containers to the warforged's arms and legs. The chest plate was welded back into place. Thick wires were roughly clamped to Squeal leading towards metal rods spaced around the mystical runes and circles that the artificers had drawn and etched around the slab that the warforged was tied to.

Three sorcerers entered the room and started chanting, bolts of lighting shot from their staves, earthing into the metal rods, the energies harnessed by the rituals shot through the wires slamming into the warforged over and over again causing it to scream out in pain, it's metallic voice rising in pitch till finally the construct slumped over , smoke billowing from it's mouth and joints.

The artificers approached the warforged and checked on it, making sure there was no permanent damage, then dragged the still smouldering construct to the testing arena outside. When Squeal was revived slaves were sent through with the promise of freedom if they destroyed the construct. After squeal had dispatched the first few easily, the cowled figure who was watching from a balcony nodded, "The modifications do not seem to have damaged its fighting abilities, not to test the modifications out."

An artificer standing next to the figure nodded and motioned for a large group of slaves to be sent out, as they surrounded the warforged, trying to overbear it by shear numbers the artificer pulled out a scroll and finished the ritual of activation..

There was a sharp flash of lightning in the arena, and when the smoke cleared the mob of slaves who had surrounded the warforged were lying scattered around the arena, most dead from the blast of lightning that had emanated from Squeal, others still feebly twitching or crying out in pain. Squeal itself also seem to have been transformed, moving across the arena hacking the survivors mercilessly, crying out in a sharp metallic screech of pain. When none of the slaves were left alive the warforged continued it's savage hacking, dismembering the corpses till they were unrecognisable as once have being humanoid till finally the warforged slowed its frantic movements and the screeching sound it was emanating.

The Cowled figure nodded, smiled grimly to itself and walked away from the balcony.

Now

A bolt of lightning slammed into the beach staggering Squeal and sending the blades flying. The warforged, scorched and burnt staggered from the beach back to town, glowing as it moved through the dark streets. It arrived at the house that was given to it and opened the door, moved into the main room and collapsed.

 

[Shayuri]

Thorn slipped free of the aftermath of the battle quickly and returned to the palace. She resumed the form of a human female that she'd worn on first arriving in the White Vale, the form the people here would recognize as Thorn.

She received respectful looks from those she passed. More than one grinned gratefully, or waved, or even cheered. Elves and eladrin, willowy and graceful and beautiful despite the weight of years. Thorn hurried past them, face set in a stoic mask as she fought down the turmoil of unexpected emotions. She wanted to be one of them right now...or rather, she wanted to have what they had. Not just magic or immortality or haunting beauty, but that gentleness of society they created. There were no slums here, no desperate outcasts preying on passerbys. Everyone, no matter how far they'd fallen, had someone to care about them.

Thorn jogged through the great hall and throne room of the palace with a light step and knocked on the door to the back chambers. After the eyeslit darkened for a moment, the door opened. Answering it was Her Highness the Queen herself. She blinked at Thorn, then burst into a welcoming smile and let the Knight in.

"Lady Thorn, this is a surprise! I haven't heard back from the scouts yet..." she trailed off at the look on Thorn's face, and the shortness of her breath. "What news of the battle?" the Queen asked quietly.

"The...oh, the battle." Thorn shook her head. "It's won. There were losses, but everyone fought bravely and gave an accounting for themselves. The other knights are helping account and tend to the dead."

"That's good news," the Queen replied, relieved. Then concerned, "Which makes me wonder why your mood seems so dark."

Thorn turned away, then said woodenly, "It's hard to explain."

The Queen closed the door and went to sit beside her bed, watching Thorn intently all the while. "I'm patient. Take all the time you need."

"No, you don't...it's not hard to explain because I don't know how to. It's hard to explain to you. It will change your opinion of me."

At that the Queen was silent for a moment, then said, "But you came here to tell me?"

"Yes," Thorn answered. "In part. I came here to confess. But another part of me wanted to come here for another reason entirely."

"What reason?"

Thorn hesitated, then slumped her shoulders. "To kill you and take your place. To become you, and stay you, for the rest of my life."

There was a moment of silence at that, one that felt strained and awkward to Thorn. She shifted uncomfortably, imagining the Queen moving behind her, taking up her staff and coming towards her, raising the exalted weapon over her head to deal the death blow. Her scalp tingled with anticipation. Would it hurt? What would come after? For someone like her, what else COULD come after?

But when the Queen finally answered, her voice hadn't moved...and her tone was not fearful or angry. It was hard to read, but didn't seem either of those two things.

"Why?"

The hard part was done now, the 'cork' no longer in the bottle, and Thorn found herself putting into words what had been circling in her head and heart as she'd made the journey back to the Palace.

"Because everyone in the White Vale loves you. They believe in you, and for just a little while...they loved and believed in me." Pain squeezed into her voice through the tonelessness she strove for. "It felt so...warm, and I'd forgotten what that feels like. The thought of going back...was harder than I thought it would be. And through it all was this...knowing that you trusted me, and I could abuse that trust to get what you had for myself."

She swallowed thickly. "And it was a terrible thought...but sometimes it's not easy for me to 'feel' what's terrible anymore. There's just the dark...and the cold."

"You know," the Queen said softly...her voice was closer now, coming up behind Thorn. "That warmth you felt...it's not free. It's not enough for the people to love you...you have to love them too."

"I know!" Thorn agreed. "That was what was so startling for me. I haven't felt so...I don't know...protective, or tender...towards anything or anyone since...since...for a long time. But when I saw them looking at me like that, trusting me to lead them through this, I felt...I almost felt whole again."

"And that's why you wanted to kill me."

Thorn nodded, and actually flinched when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Why didn't you?"

Now Thorn shook her head, and said quietly, "Because if I ever gave in to the darkness that much...then darkness would be all I'd have left. I'd never feel warm, or whole again, and the sun would be black in my eyes. I'll know when I've gone too far...when I no longer care that I've gone too far."

"Hmm. Turn around."

Eyes wet, but tears still unshed, Thorn did so. The Queen of the White Vale stood there, hand reached out to rest on her shoulder, and as ethereal and gorgeous as a dream of heaven itself.

"Thorn, you're going to find that being a hero is, in its own way, just as rewarding as what you felt during your brief tenure as a queen. I hope you'll someday tell me what happened to you, for I can feel the chill from inside you even now...but this is not the time for that."

The Queen leaned forward and kissed Thorn's right cheek. "That is for saving the White Vale and its people." Then she turned Thorn's stunned face slightly and kissed her left cheek. "That is for saving me." She scooped up Thorn's nerveless hand in her own and stepped away to lead her towards the door.

"This will be a time of celebration, where we tell tales of the deeds of bravery that kept our land free, and where we honor the courage of the fallen who gave all anyone can give for their families, neighbors and Queen. And we will honor the heroes of the Vale, the knight protectors."

She smiled, and Thorn realized that the Queen had somehow managed to lead her back out into the great hall. "Rejoin your fellow knights for now, Thorn. And don't be overly troubled by the sometimes dark temptations you feel. We are judged not by the trials we face, but by the actions we take in facing them. The path of sacrifice, and redemption, is a difficult one, and often bitter...but follow it to the end, and I think you will have no regrets."

"Now, I have to prepare for the festivities. We can speak more later if you like."

And just like that, the door closed and Thorn was alone in the dimly lit great hall again. But she didn't FEEL alone. Her pale cheeks were lit with little blossoms of pink, and she felt slightly dizzy, and...warm. Very very warm. After a moment she turned around and jogged back out towards the Palace gates, whistling a cheerful tune as she went.

(finis!)

 

[DistractingFlare]

In the morning, you are awakened by an authoritative rap on your door. You wake up - some groggy, some alert - to find a young eladrin messenger boy.

"Queen wants to see you in the temple."

And with that, he takes off, presumably to awaken the others.

When you reach the temple, you find Queen Springseer waiting patiently.

"Good morning, friends," she coos. "I hope you are well-rested. You deserve it. We have a bit of good news. Our scouts report that The Cloak's remaining ships have sunk. Bounder himself saw the flagship stricken by a bolt of lightning and cast into the sea. The Cloak has been obliterated. We have a message from Captain Scultone."

Springseer raises her hand, and a familiar voice raises from the summoning circle on the floor.

"Good morning. The Queen told me about your victory. Congratulations. The other squadron has arrived with Cap'n Teach. We're holding him in Castle Hood for now. I remember promising some of you that you could be there to see his...processing. Come back to Black Lake, friends. I have a surprise for you anyway."

Captain Scultone's voice dissipates, leaving you wondering what this surprise could be.

The Queen smiles at you all. "Well, my knights, it appears your time here at the Vale is spent, but know this: you will always be welcome among my people. Complete any business you need, and know that your homes and holdings will be kept safely here."

 

[industrygothica]

Baern's eyes shoot open as the messenger bangs on the door. He only barely comprehends the boy's words before he takes off again to Blackmoor knows where. He closes the door and staggers back into the room as he blinks away the sleep from his eyes. And then he remembers....

#​

"Wait!" Baern shouts before the queen takes her leave. "'Twas an honor to serve ye, m'lady. An' I'll be countin' the days to when I'll be returnin' to the Vale. But until then..."

Baern reaches into his pack and removes a small package wrapped in paper. He then removes four more packages and hands one to each of the others, pausing when he gets to the warforged. "Eh... sorry," he says, and hands him the package anyway.

"I got t'thinkin' about me mammy lately, and I remembered she'd make this when I was a little tyke." He unwrapped one of his own and showed it. "It's me Mammy's Mead Loaf," he says with a child's wide-eyed smile. "She'd make it when it was the closest of family all together in one place; a celebration. The secret's in the mead. Careful if ye eat a loaf all at once though, it packs a punch! Especially if you ain't a dwarf!"