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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Torscha" data-source="post: 3717303" data-attributes="member: 52748">update, in which agendas are hinted atWell, I've finally gotten my beloved MacBook back from the shop, and it's working better than ever, so here's the next update on the story. There should be another one by the weekend; this here's mostly the backlog I've actually had stored on my hard-drive but never posted.ΞIt took the two girls a little while to find their way to the temple of the Host, having had to stop and ask for directions a number of times. Petra had decided to minimise the amount of shape-shifting she did around her new companion, and truth be told it was almost pleasant to amble alongside her unusual mount, talking idly with the halfling. The elf had been surprised to discover that beneath Lydia’s usually-prickly exterior was a seemingly-endless font of mirth and good humour; their brief acquaintance also revealed similar attitudes towards the city, and a mutual dislike of the ‘softness’ of civilisation. “Although it does make for better pickings,” the halfling confided in a low whisper, which the druid had nodded to.By the time they reached the gates of the temple, a large, but not particularly ornate building of gray stone, which Petra noticed incorporated motifs from the worship of not just Olladra, but Dol Arrah and Dol Dorn as well, the sun had set, although the angry glow at the horizon betrayed the presence of the still-smouldering remnants of that day’s fire. The gates were open, as they customarily were, but halberd-bearing guards in mail shirts with longswords at their sides stood at ease on either side of the gates, the torches at their posts throwing light in a circle of radiance. They looked up as the unlikely duo approached, and one of them stepped forward and halted them with an upraised hand. “What business do you have at this place, sacred to the Sovereign Host?” he asked, not impolitely.Petra cleared her throat, hoping her companion would allow her to speak. While scarcely a fervent believer in the Host, she knew that it was, at least, tolerant, and its Vassals should be fairly amenable to appeals for aids, provided they were made respectfully.Tact from the little halfling was, of course, a little too much to be expected.The diminutive rogue immediately cut in, “Here for a soft bed, a warm bath, and decent stables! All, er, in the name of hospitality to travellers?”The guardsman did not seem particularly impressed; Petra seemed to notice his expression become a tad more frosty. “There are many establishments in the district which extend such hospitality for honest coin; if you do not number among the faithful, kindly seek accommodation elsewhere.” His eyes flicked from the threehorns to Petra’s own companion, a capybara, which snuffled at the hem of her robe. “You and your… menagerie are not acceptable to the Host!”“One would have thought that decision would be left up to the prelates,” came a soft voice from behind them. Petra managed to prevent herself from jumping, but did twitch slightly in surprise. The halfling spun, with a hand halfway to her javelin-holder. The interloper held up both hands in a conciliatory gesture; the firelight outlined him as a young man in a wide-brimmed hat, dressed in dust robes. A battered staff rested in the crook of one arm. The guard had reddened somewhat. “Are you together with them, stranger?”“We share a certain kinship,” the newcomer agreed. He winked at Lydia and Petra in their turn; the elf did not find the gesture particularly comforting, but was willing to see if he could improve their situation. It was hard to believe that he could worsen it much further. “Insofar as we all walk the same road. Hospitality has been asked of the Host; I do not find it in me to believe that they would withhold it.”“Are you a prelate, to lecture me so?” the guard growled. Both hands tightened around the halberd, and the other guard took a step back. One of his hands came up with a crossbow, the other something small and metal that glinted in the firelight. A whistle, Petra supposed.“Indeed I am,” the newcomer replied, and from beneath his robes drew forth what Petra recognised as the sacred emblem of the Sovereign Host’s faith, the Octagram, simply crafted of painted, whittled wood. He also produced a packet of papers, which he held out to the guardsman. “These are my credentials from the Archimandrite of Korth.”The guardsman’s eyes bulged as they scanned the papers quickly. He wiped his fingers on his trouser-leg before folding the papers back into their leather packet and returning them. To the astonishment of the two ladies, he then saluted smartly, bringing the halberd to his side and striking his chest with his fist. “What would you have of us, Godspeaker?” he shouted, voice quavering a little.The Sovereign Host priest, for that was what the newcomer had to be, patted him on his shoulder in a companionable way. “Your zeal is commendable, brother,” he said cheerfully. “It is unfortunate, but there are some being borne here who have been injured in a most tragic incident. I want you to go down this street and encounter the party of watchmen bearing them here, and direct them as best you can, while your friend over there––” the crossbow-bearing guardsman almost dropped his weapon in his alacrity to snap to attention “––should go back into the temple and rouse the Vassals of the Host. There is much work to be done tonight. I would also appreciate it if someone conducted the ladies and their companions to quarters for the night.”Petra cleared her throat for the second time that evening, and this time the halfling, having assumed a less hostile stance during the negotiations, did not see fit to butt in. “Thank you for your intervention,” she said, as politely as she could manage. She still had no great affection for representatives of the Host, whose philosophy made nature subservient to civilisation, instead of the other way around, but he seemed pleasant enough. He shrugged. “It was nothing of consequence. I would however ask of you a small favour, in return for your lodgings this night.”Petra sighed. Inevitably. “What is it?”He said, “The two of you seem to be possessed of no paltry resources. If I could appeal to you to employ some of your efforts towards assisting in the movement of the injured and their subsequent treatment, I am quite sure I could appeal to the resident priests to waive whatever they would normally request in donations for putting up those who do not profess our faith.”Lydia tsked. “Putting us to sing for our supper, eh?”“I don’t doubt that you would sing most pleasantly, but I’d much rather you employed the strength of your friend there to help ease the burden of those on their way here,” he said with a smile.Lydia and her threehorns exchanged glances.ΞAll in all, it took a couple of hours to accommodate all the wounded. The more seriously-injured had been carried to the temple infirmary, where some priests would maintain a vigil throughout the night. The others had been laid out on makeshift beds in the nave, before the altars of whichever of the Host they preferred. Many of them chose to avoid the severity of Dol Arrah’s shrine, while Dol Dorn, he of battle and bloodshed, had his share of devotees, the others chosing to supplicate Olladra, Lady of Luck, for good fortune in recovery.  The superstitiousness of even these hardened adventurers surprised Karsen a little, and he’d had to suppress his lip curling into an expression of disdain as he administered what aid he could give. The watch had promised him a fair reward for his ‘civic-mindedness’, which the necromancer felt assuaged the slight to his pride somewhat. While he did not enjoy stooping to working for money, he did understand that the resources required for fulfilling his quest might exceed what his modest private income would be able to provide. To his immense annoyance, the meddlesome priest from earlier had taken it into his head that Karsen was looking for a friend, and had decided to work by his side. Before heading off to rest in whatever quarters the resident priests had reserved for a visiting member of their own clergy, the fool had even chosen to expend his reserves of energy on those sods in the infirmary. Thankfully, at least the sheer volume of work required to turn the temple into a makeshift hospital was enough to have kept Tim busy: the warforged had been tasked with helping with the logistical nightmare, shifting enormous brass basins of steaming hot water and carrying bales of bandages. At least Karsen had been spared the thing’s puerile musings on death and life. He had been offered a bed in some quarters which, while thoroughly inadequate for someone of his station, were at least clean and in good order. Due to the obvious shortage of space, however, he’d had to share it with no less than half a dozen snoring militiamen. He would return for his repose when he felt exhausted enough to sleep through the ruckus they made. In the mean time, he determined to take a walk in the temple gardens. At least they would be free of the oppressively sanctimonious atmosphere that clung to the temple interiors. The sacred energies expended in the day’s healing had made him singularly uncomfortable: he knew that enough of his being was steeped in the necromantic power he so discreetly wielded that what proved beneficial to other beings would be agonising to him. That very knowledge had made being around so many priests invoking the aid of their infantile gods unnerving, to say the least.The necromancer sat on the temple steps and looked out over the slumbering district. Here and there, the light from the everburning torches used to illuminate the streets still flickered, but Cliffside was poor, and most of the areas which could not afford to employ such magical means of illumination were unlit. He was, of course, unfamiliar with such unsavoury precincts, and was almost grateful to the Host priest, Torscha, for inviting him to the temple. Here he could spend at least one night away from his usual domicile without fear of being mugged or murdered––or, more likely, of having to expend his considerable arcane powers reducing some poor drunkard to a pile of grave-dust. Or wash blood off his clothes after Tim’s enthusiastic sword-swings left them a gory mess. Again. Karsen determined to have his cohort procure a less… sloppy weapon at the earliest opportunity. The night air was bracing, almost frigid despite the season, and, having left his coat in his quarters, Karsen resigned himself to returning to his bed and attempting to sleep. A slight scuffle he heard upon entering the temple, however, made him duck behind one of the many columns rising to support the vaulted ceiling.After a moment of waiting, he felt profoundly grateful for his deeply-ingrained paranoia when a slight figure slipped from the shadows and stealthily made its way across the nave and vestibule. A halfling? Might that be the tramp we ran into earlier? Karsen had encountered the unkempt midget when she had shown up riding a threehorns and gruffly offered to help some of the burdened watchmen with their load. He himself had been forced to remain with Tim, in case the dim dolt betrayed their mission with some untoward comment, while Torscha had said something about ‘making arrangements’ and trotted ahead with uncanny speed. He did not think that there were many other halflings seeking shelter at the temple this night. It had to be her.The halfling skulked her way through the gloom with an ease that Karsen immediately envied. She vanished into the shadows near the entrance to the infirmary, and reappeared long minutes later, returning to the corridor leading to the visitors’ quarters. What could she possibly have wanted in there? Looking for someone? he wondered. Perhaps a little bit of snooping will make it easier to get to sleep. While not particularly stealthy by nature, Karsen was naturally dexterous and light of step, and the injured men in the nave slept the sleep of the drugged anyway. He reached the door of the infirmary without incident, and a quick peek within revealed the ‘on duty’ priests to have succumbed to fatigue: they sat propped up against each other on a bench, snoring.Well, if she made it in there without waking them, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t be able to, he decided.He slipped in, and looked about. Nothing seemed to be amiss. Nothing even missing: the gilded symbols of the deities venerated in this temple were in their traditional configurations at the cardinal directions. Perhaps he had misjudged her: at first glance he had taken her to be some two-bit burglar.It was only then that he impulsively triggered his deeper sight, more on a whim to see how many of the terminal cases had slipped beyond death’s veil while the priests set to watch over them slumbered. He found only one, teetering on the boundary. Upon closer inspection, he recognised the shifter that Tim had carried to the temple, the one who had sustained a grievous axe wound to the head. Strangely, despite the fact that his life force flickered only dimly within his frail flesh, the wound did not show any sign of being re-opened.Karsen moved nearer. A quick check revealed that his injury had not worsened, and that he had not developed a fever. In fact, the wound looked partially healed: the splintered bone, at first visible, had been covered by a patch of flesh, though mangled. It looked like the lingering remnants of a much less serious blow delivered some time ago, not a life-threatening one received that very day. Torscha’s healing must have had some potency to it after all.His professional interest in the causes of death prompted him to do a more thorough examination, although he was careful not to make enough noise to rouse the slumbering priests. A brisk search revealed, hidden in the thick tufts of hair that covered the shifter’s brawny arms, a long scratch, freshly made, that still oozed a trickle of blood. By morning it would not be noticeably fresher than any of the other wounds the shifter had sustained, but right now it was obviously just inflicted. Probably by that halfling. Still, a scratch could not possibly have so threatened the life of the shifter, unless…A finger, poised to dab at the blood, halted. Karsen withdrew it hastily. Poison? I wouldn’t put it past her. In fact, now that his memory was jostled he remembered the look upon the halfling’s face as she had pulled up near them. It had been a mixture of surprise, disgust, and horror. At first he had assumed that expression was merely her reaction to the number of wounded being brought in and the extent of their injuries; now that he considered it, it could just as easily have been at the sight of the shifter cradled in Tim’s arms. Perhaps she knew him? Whatever their acquaintance, it can’t have been good if she saw fit to poison him in a place of healing. It was also far too good an opportunity to pass up. Making doubly-sure the priests would not wake, Karsen whispered under his breath and traced a glyph in the air which glimmered faintly, a rune of terrible, thirsting potency. It flared sullenly for a moment before dissipating. The necromancer reached down to lay his hand on the shifter’s chest. The injured man stiffened for a splitsecond as his muscles attempted to fight the dire magic, but to no avail: he relaxed back into the bed, and into death.* Karsen shuddered at the almost orgasmic rush as strength and clarity flooded him, the remnant’s of the man’s soul passing through him. It would fade, and there was no real need at hand he could direct the newfound strength to, but it felt good, and he knew it would leave a lingering euphoria.He returned quickly to his quarters, making sure everything was as it had been before being disturbed. As an added precaution, he instructed Tim to stand watch outside his door, and make sure nobody disturbed him unannounced. The last thing he wanted was for the little halfling to go sleep-killing again and find himself at the mercy of her knife.Ah, but for the chance to surpass this limited, mortal life, he thought to himself, before falling asleep. * Death knell again. Karsen's player has developed an unhealthy obsession of casting it as often as possible, even if there is no immediate application of his temporary HP or enhanced strength. He says it's because it's part of his philosophy as a priest of Vol. I say it's because he's creepy.As has earlier been suggested, I've cut down on the sheer volume of my posts, in order to make updating a somewhat more regular occurrence. What really surprised me when they were playing this was Lydia's dogged determination to kill the shifter. I'd ruled him to have been rescued in order to provide further information on the nature of the package Lydia'd stolen, but her player was obviously feeling threatened by his miraculous survival and had decided a healthy dose of poison would fix the problem. The idea of allowing Karsen to oversee the event was to foster a sense of complicity between two of the less-principled characters in the game. I didn't rule Lydia's attempted poisoning an actually EVIL act so much as a chaotic one, because she was acting in her perceived interests, and not out of a malicious urge.</blockquote>

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