Anger Now Be Your Song (updated 7/25/04)

[Tormenet]

Grymirri

The group wound their way north through gorge, pass, and peak. The goat-trails were so treacherous that at times the companions were forced to rope themselves together. The Sind Killer Mountains did not prohibit passage, but the range certainly funneled travelers along a limited number of routes.

Volgar Dost easily located the small hovel that the goatherd Afsheen Hazar called home.

The elderly tribesman sat them on a dingy blanket outside his home, served water, and slaughtered a goat. Duranni hospitality demanded no less; regardless, the companions were moved by the man’s gift. The meat was welcome after their trail rations: globs of rancid goat fat thinned with water and then soaked into hard bread.

The group made small talk during their meal, ethics allowed no discussion of business while eating. Afterwards Afsheen quickly related his tale of missing animals and beastly tracks.

Grymirri, Volgar thought. The Dost warrior instantly recognized the creatures from the Hazar’s description. The blind, humanoid beasts were a plague to the Dost tribe, disappearing into their caves for months or years then suddenly bursting forth to raid.

That night, with Afsheen Hazar and his wife safely inside their mud brick home, the companions lay in ambush. Morning came without incident.

The four gathered in a steep sloped gorge to discuss their next move.

In a blur, Ajax was down on the ground— pinned beneath a muscular humanoid.

Paralyzed with surprise, Corum noted the attacker’s gray skin, pupiless white eyes, and greasy white hair. The young Hazar watched as Cato charged and was knocked aside by the attacker’s primitive axe. Volgar’s own axe, made of good iron, intercepted a downward stroke aimed at the face of Ajax, who lay gasping for air under the creature’s crushing weight.

Recovering, Corum momentarily bent creation to his will. Volgar and the beast froze and dropped to the ground.

A slight snore passed the Dost warrior’s lips.

Pinned, Ajax shook Volgar. The warrior shifted slighty, opened his eyes, then blinked.

“Get off me,” Ajax said.

Volgar stood, straddled the sleeping beast, lined up, and split the Grymirri’s skull. Tooth, bone, and fluids splattered the companions.

From his vantage on the ground, Ajax noted a cave opening twenty-feet up the wall of the gorge.

Grins all around, the group broke out a rope.

Past the cavern’s entrance, they quickly found the remains of a man. Strips of the deceased’s flesh had been sliced away; one arm had clearly been gnawed.

Volgar went through the man’s belt pouches and found soiled piece of cured animal skin. He could make no sense of the markings and handed it to Ajax, who then passed it to Student Cato.

Cato read the Ionian words: "D, The last batch had some use. Press harder for more. The beasts are causing us some difficulty. We need more aggressive measures from your end."

(DM’s note: Nod to Old One for the use of initials rather than names: as a player, very annoying; as a DM, highly satisfactory.)

Disinclined to care about the dead messenger’s business, the group moved further into the cave, toward the sound of rushing water.

Torches revealed a widening in the cave with water slewing in from above. The room was a pool of water that surged violently as it sought an exit. Just to the left of the waterfall was a dark tunnel opening.

Gingerly, Ajax tested the water. It was frigid. It was a little more than thigh deep.

Crossing the pool, getting a through drenching, the convicted thief toyed with an idea. Poets always said great treasures lay behind waterfalls.

He looked across the way at his friends. The roaring water drowned out his voice. He drew his xiphos and hinted at his idea. Volgar looked amused. Corum grinned. Cato’s expression said that he would prefer for Ajax get on with business.

Ajax gingerly pushed his weapon through the water. The iron blade found no resistance, other than the deluge of water trying to pull it from Ajax’s grasp.

Triumph lit Ajax’s features. Shivering, he crossed back to Corum and had the arcanist infuse the xiphos’ blade with thaumaturgic light. Swaggering as best as he could as he crossed back to the waterfall, Ajax threw a playful look at the others.

Volgar nodded him on. Corum flicked his hands in a “go” gesture. Cato’s face was changing to a scowl, he motioned Ajax back.

There was a moment of impact as water pounded Ajax and he was through.

A place that had known no brightness for eons glistened as the light made shadows among the damp rock.

A few feet from Ajax, a Grymirri hurled itself from its pallet. In a motion, it threw an axe at the shocked Ionian thief.

 

[Tormenet]

A fight and more complications

The stone head of the weapon ripped into Ajax’s shoulder blade as he flung himself back through the waterfall.

On the other side, Volgar saw the Ajax tumble into the whirlpool. Then a Grymirri pushed its way through the waterfall, then another, and another.

“Dost!” the warrior yelled. Axe in hand he leapt into the water and began trading blows with his adversaries. Ajax scrabbled at the water, trying to get out of the way.

Cato’s mace impacted on the knuckles of one of the creatures. Its axe flung from its grip. Volgar’s axe replaced it and the creature howled as a hand sank into the black water. Finding his feet, Ajax thrust his xiphos into the creature’s back.

Axe and mace, iron and magic quickly felled the other two creatures.

Pushing through the waterfall, the companions found a single chamber with four piles of mold covered goat skins. The odor of rotting meat was close to overpowering. Quickly, the group searched the beds. They found little of practical value— a few silver drachma that a Grymirri had deemed worthless.

The cavern’s cold had the group shivering. They pushed through the waterfall once again and explored a few unoccupied chambers. A lengthy tunnel that seemed, after a great distance, to open into the light beckoned them.

However, group consensus was the Grymirri problem was resolved- four beds, four dead beasts. They went back to see the goatherd.

Afsheen Hazar rejoiced at the news. Cato picked the moment to broach the subject of the goatherd returning to Shar Jehna in the group’s protection. The unlimited vendetta made the Hazar and his family a target.

Afsheen rejected Cato’s every argument. His goats could not pasture in the Darya River Valley. No Tadu would venture this high into the mountains to kill an old man. His wife was too old to inspire a bride-theft. This place was his home.

Dejected, Cato decided to seek Sanctist Naraka’s advice. Bidding Afsheen and his wife goodbye, the four young men headed south, back down out of the mountains.

Approaching Shar Jehna’s mud brick Darya Gate, Ajax noticed a man who met his gaze and deliberately held it. The man scratched his ear and then mopped his face with his hand.

“I’m really exhausted,” Ajax said to Cato. “I’m going to go get some sleep.”

Cato shrugged and plodded on. He was trying to phrase his report to Naraka.

Inside the Darya Gate, Ajax accompanied the others along the narrow main throughfare through the town. The buildings to either side were constructed so they blocked any exit from the street, unless it was through one of the interior gates into a section of the town controlled by a tribe or the Ionians. Ajax turned right into the Ionian gate and let his friends continue on towards the Sanctum.

Once they passed out of sight, he hurried back toward the Darya Gate.

Cato’s trepidation built as he marched up the Sanctum’s stone stairs. His shoulders went back as he walked into the Sanctum’s cool interior. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the light.

The form standing in front of him resolved itself into Sanctist Naraka. The man was contentedly sipping from a leather cup filled with green tea, a Sindi commodity.

“The goatherd refused to return with us,” Cato said.

“What?!” Naraka shouted. The tea cup flew across the room and bounced off a wall.

“We solved the problem with his herd, but he did not wish to return to Shar Jehna,” Cato said. His voice remained even.

“You fo…” Naraka took a deep breath. “Go back and get him. Tell him that is my personal request. We have Hazar and Afrid tribesmen coming in from the outlying areas. They are too many for the town’s food stores. We will need his herd to get through the winter.”

Stung, Cato turned to Corum and Volgar.

“Tomorrow,” Corum said. He smiled, but his legs burned at the thought of another hike.

Volgar grunted agreement.

Outside of town, Ajax made his way toward the Darya River. On its bank was the fortified homestead of Duros. Since Ajax’s arrival in Shar Jehna, the merchant had provided Ajax with a meager source of income discreetly delivering small packages. Ajax did not ask questions; Duros never offered answers.

At the homestead's entranceway, an Ionian man stood wearing Durrani-style trousers and boots. A baldric supporting a xiphos was slung over his shoulder. The man’s muscles were well defined, in the way idealized by Ionian poets.

“Bull,” Ajax nodded.

“Boy,” the man returned.

Ajax pushed through the heavy carpet that hung over the doorway. In the mountains, few could afford to waste wood on doors.

Corum made his way to Catrika’s home. He told her about the Grymirri in the mountains and asked her opinion. She told him that Grymirri usually stayed in their subterranean realm. Violations of the creature’s holy sites were usually the key impetus behind conflicts between the beasts and the Duranni tribes.
Corum was certain the filthy room behind the waterfall was no holy site.

Catrika also said that she and Naraka discussed the situation of the walking dead. Catrika recalled reading a document that quoted a document that reported an oral history relating “the power of Avasara repelled the shayateen” and “the wicked arts of the Perfect People.” She said she saw it while in the company of Kakanda, a Sindi poet and storyteller. Her last contact with Kakanda was a letter he sent a year ago from Purushanda, a city well east of Jehna.

Meanwhile, Volgar returned to the home where he resided with Ajax. He was mildly surprised to see that the young Ionian was not there. Volgar lay down on his own blanket. He had secrets of his own and did not care to pry into those of another. Yet.