Aphonion Tales (New posts 6/13, 6/15, 6/19)

[Ladybird]

Thank you, CP, for filling in the notes on religion. And thank you, readers, for your ongoing support! And now, back to the show!

--
Meanwhile, high above the deserted village, Varya had finished her scouting and was making a leisurely circuit of the stockade, keeping an eye out for danger (And for stray rodents. She was still an owl.) when a cluster of birds in a nearby tree caught her eye. They looked oddly familiar to her for some reason – she had noticed a similar-looking group of birds the day before, too.

Varya fluttered closer. Yes, there were six birds, one slightly larger than the others. Definitely the same group of birds that had been there the day before. And – something tugged at Varya’s memory – hadn’t there been six birds perched near the campsite the night before last, as well?

The owl had no more time to think after that, though, because the largest of the birds had begun to move its feet and wings in a pattern that Varya recognized. It was casting a spell at her.

Varya didn’t have time to think before she cast a spell of her own. The bird’s Magic Missiles slammed into Varya, almost at the exact same time that her own Lightning Bolt ripped through the cluster of birds. Two of the birds frantically flapped away, squawking in terror. Four of the birds were dead by the time they hit the ground.

One of those four – the one who had cast the spell – was human by the time she hit the ground, too.

Far below, the rest of the group had heard the commotion and was running towards the edge of the stockade. Sir Toby had his musket out and aimed into the air. “PULL!” he shouted as he fired on one of the two remaining birds. A sparkling puff of fairy dust shot out of the end of his gun, soared up into the air, and sprinkled down onto the bird, turning it bright green. The puff of fairy dust was accompanied by a bullet, which also hit the bird, turning it dead.

Varya flapped lopsidedly down to the ground, where she huddled, whimpering in pain as Sister Alessandre rushed over to heal her, but the owl still managed to choke out the story of what had happened. Sir Toby started to pluck the bright green feathers of the bird that he had killed, happily sticking them in various places in his already-plumed hat and lace-edged jacket. Kit, meanwhile, was busily – but delicately – searching the crumpled body of the woman who had been a bird. “This one’s got a holy symbol on her,” she said, holding it out towards the others.

Honore glanced over at Alessandre, who was still tending to Varya, and stepped forward to look at the symbol. “Mider,” Honore said, blinking in confusion. “She’s a nature goddess, and not a very commonly-worshipped one.”

“All right,” Kit said slowly, turning this over in her mind. “What about this?” She held out another small metal circle, somewhat smaller, with a more elaborate pattern impressed on it. “She had this on her too - it doesn’t look like a holy symbol.”

“No, that’s the seal of the Earl of Bountiful,” Honore replied. “He’s a vassal of the Duke of Brightspan.”

“Great,” sighed Kit. “Brightspan’s set spies on us. Well, they don’t have them anymore.”

 

[Baron Opal]

If I hadn't said it before let me add my praise as well. I've really enjoyed reading this, both for its own sake and as a chance to revisit a campagin I enjoyed playing in. Aphonion was the first campaign I played in beyond my own circle of friends in the early '80's. It was a great illustration of a campaign with a history and where the PCs actions had consequences.

Glor'diadel, Lord of Light and Sun God ...

Paranswarm, Lord of Orderly Darkness (Lawful. Definitely lawful. Evil? Neutral? Good?? That's more up in the air): The Church of Paranswarm is enormously powerful, organized, expansionistic, and aggressive. Historically, Paranswarm was the most active force of organized evil among humans. Now, the Church is divided...

This is interesting. When I played, Paranswarm was definatly LE. We smited them with great enthusiasm. Glor'diadel we taunted on occasion, but they were benevolent so we didn't pester them if they stayed out of our way.

Gunnora, goddess of hearth and home ...
Dain, god of dwarves ...
Whimsey ...
The Mad God ...

We never had much to do with Gunnora or Dain, but the Courts of Chaos had good relations with the church of Whimsey. As the token non-chaotic, my character found them repugnant, but that's been covered. The Mad God rings a bell with me. I think that the Courts had strong ties with him or Vex or Grey Star met with him personally, or something. It's been a while.

Sytry, Lord of Golden Purity ...

Another foe of the Courts, and activly worked against. It's interesting to see that his faith has diminished since I've played.

Manumist ...
Namadon ...
Morgrath ...

Manumist as another allied faith, as can be expected. Namadon was ignored and Morgrath actively worked against.

Borsh'tro, Whipmaster of Destruction ...
* The Shadowlands, including Caldefor now, are Borsh'tro's personal domain and his principal power base on Aphonion.

Berta, Goddess of the Ever Changing Amalgamation (Pure Chaos): Berta is actually chaotic, not evil, but is currently on a destructive kick. This will presumably end at some point, but it's bad while it lasts. Not that important, but notably was the patron goddess of the Confederation of South Kingdoms, and was directly responsible for their fall (sold them out to Borsh'tro, essentially). (Rare among PCs, but possible I guess)

The Courts had fairly friendly ties to Berta, IIRC, and I think was even a patron of the Courts. There was at least one PC member of the Courts that was a cleric of Berta. The Courts worked against the expanding of the Shadowlands and the fall of Caldefor is new to me. That Berta is allying with Borsh'tro is disturbing and makes me wonder at the current fate of the Courts of Chaos. I do know that most of the founding members officially left the plane around '85-'86 and it became a NPC organization. My character, Balthazar (me m-u LG), who was a hanger-on / ally of the Courts, attached himself with another elf (Sabrae) and headed off to the Enclaves.

 

[HalfOrc HalfBiscuit]

Thanks to both the Paladin and Ladybird for your posts. I'm fully hooked now.

 

[Ladybird]

It wasn’t hard for Gyles to find tracks leading away from the burned-out stockade. Even though two weeks had passed since the slavers came through, they had taken several hundred people, and a crowd that size left a fairly obvious trail. Following Gyles’s lead, the group traveled west, further into the hills – and, after a few hours, into the edges of a forest.

Kit and Honore were on watch that night when they heard a faint rustling, far back in the trees. Unfortunately, that was all the warning they got before the shouts rang out.

”In the name of Hanal! Put up your swords, vile slavers!”

The group was instantly awake, on their feet, and shouting back.

“In the name of Canberry, put up yours!” yelled Kit.

“How dare you accuse us of being slavers! We serve the Light!” Sister Alessandre cried, with surprising volume, as she held out her holy symbol of Glordiadel.

For a few moments, there was complete chaos, as Hanalians and Canberrians alike brandished weapons and shouted threats. But with a combination of the Glordiadelians’ protests of virtue, Kit’s quick talking, and Gyles’s emphatic declarations of his own lengthy career fighting slavers, the Canberrians were able to convince the Hanalians that they were not slavers themselves, and had been sent by the Archduke to help fight the slavers.

In all the noise, Twang was the only one who heard the Hanalian lieutenant say quietly to the knight-banneret in charge of the group, “If Canberry finds out about our loss, they may seek her, too.”

“Look, there’s safety in numbers,” Kit was saying, trying to get the leaders’ attention again. “As long as you’re here, and as long as it’s still night…” Kit was also trying to keep the resentment out of her voice, and almost succeeding. “And as long as there really are slavers about, we might as well stick together. For the night, at least.”

Despite the lieutenant’s attempts to get his attention, the knight-banneret’s helmed head was firmly pointed towards Kit, and he gave a stiff, armored nod in response to her suggestion. “I think that sounds reasonable,” he replied, and reached up to take his helmet off, revealing a shy smile and a face that was startlingly young. “May we have your name, m’lady?”

It took a moment, as it always did, for Kit to realize that the “m’lady” meant her. “I’m Dame Katherine of Lyneham.”

“Sir Bernard Sathrecar,” the young knight-banneret replied, offering Kit another shy smile. “Thank you for your offer of hospitality.” The lieutenant pulled off his helmet too. He was about twenty years older than the knight, and couldn’t quite hide his disapproving frown as he watched Sir Bernard’s increasing infatuation with Kit.

There were only eight Hanalians, as it turned out. It had seemed like many more when they were shouting in the darkness, surrounding the camp with their clanking armor and clattering horses. But tucked away in their tents, they seemed remarkably unthreatening. As Kit stood watching the Hanalians go about their business, Twang scampered up beside her. “They lose something!” it declared.

“What?” Kit asked, blinking down at the little kobold. “Who lost what? And you can speak Common?”

Twang let loose a stream of clicks and twitters, interspersed with a few heavily-accented words in Common. After a moment, Kit held up her hand. “Wait a second. Let’s try this.” She concentrated for a moment, and sent out a Mindlink towards the kobold.

There, Kit thought. Now we can understand each other. And we don’t have to worry about eavesdroppers, either.

Twang just stared for a second. Kit could feel the kobold’s mind probing back, testing the link, and then it thought back slowly, I didn’t understand all of it. I still don’t speak Common that well. But the two leaders were talking about having lost something. The older one said to the younger, something like ‘If they know what we’ve lost, they will look for it too.’ Or possibly, ‘they will look for her.’ Or ‘him.’

A slow smile spread across Kit’s face. They don’t know you understand Common, do they?

Twang never really smiled, but its lips pulled back, and its hiss sounded happy. I don’t think so. I haven’t given them any reason to think so.

Good, Kit thought back. Go back to the Hanalians. Hang around their campfire and see what they’re talking about. And then come back to tell me what they’ve said. We’ll talk like this, so that there won’t be any chance of misunderstanding each other. All right?

Twang gave another one of its smiles, and scampered off towards the Hanalians’ campfire. Kit broke off the Mindlink, then looked up to where Varya was perched in a tree, and sent out another one. Varya?

What? In my mind? Oh! Dame Katherine. I’d heard about your talents. Yes. What can I do for you?

You haven’t talked in front of the Hanalians, have you? They just think you’re an ordinary owl?

Kit could sense the realization coming in Varya’s mind. Yes, that’s right.

I’d like you to…well, be an owl. Go perch on the leaders’ tent. If they’re not sharing a tent, go to the older one. He’s the one who’s really in charge, even if the knight-banneret outranks him. And listen, and watch, and see what he does, and what he says.

Varya didn’t smile either, but Kit felt the owl’s satisfaction at the assignment. Certainly. I would be happy to. Varya flapped off. Nobody in the Hanalian party paid any attention to an owl perched peacefully on top of the lieutenant’s tent, her wide yellow eyes staring off into the night.

 

[Ladybird]

Nobody paid much attention to Twang, at first, when he sidled up to the Hanalians’ campfire. Six of the Hanalian knights were sitting around it, polishing their armor, roasting various bits of food over the fire, and chatting quietly, occasionally shooting a cautious glance or two over their shoulders towards the Canberrians. Twang slipped between two of them and started rooting around the campfire, attempting to look mysterious and harmless at the same time.

One of the knights was saying gloomily, “We’re never going to find her – “ as Twang approached, and he cut off abruptly at the sound of footsteps. But when he saw who it was, he resumed their conversation as if nothing had happened. That didn’t surprise Twang at all. What did surprise him was that one of the other knights addressed him in Kobold.

“Good evening, friend!” His accent was terrible, but the Hanalian was very definitely comprehensible.

Twang grinned toothily up at him, and replied in the same language. “Good evening! I didn’t expect to find someone who can speak Kobold around here.”

“Oh, it’s nothing much,” the Hanalian shrugged, in an entirely unsuccessful attempt at nonchalance. “I just picked up a few languages here and there. You know how it is.”

“You’re very good.” Twang wasn’t sure that his attempt at flattery in return would be too successful, but the Hanalian seemed to puff up a little, and Twang decided to press his luck. “So, who are you looking for?”

The Hanalian stared at him for a moment in surprise, then shrugged again. “I guess it won’t do any harm to tell you,” he said thoughtfully. He glanced over at his companions, who were still talking amongst themselves, then turned back to Twang. “It’s the Princess Anastasia. She’s run away. She’s an idealist, you see.” The Hanalian said the word as if it tasted bad, and rolled his eyes. “She took her personal guard and one of her mother’s vollers and ran off all on her own to fight the slavers here in the south.”

“So you’re here to find her?” Twang asked carefully.

“Well, us and 500 more of the Duke’s men. None of us have had any luck, though.”

“What happens if you bring her back?”

“The Duke will marry her!” The Hanalian laughed. “He’s twice her age, but who can resist the offer of a princess’s hand in marriage?”

**
Meanwhile, Varya was perched on top of the small tent that the lieutenant and banneret were sharing. She listened for several minutes to the idle chatter of the two men within, and saw Twang return from the opposite side of the campsite. The kobold entered Kit’s tent, then left again a short while later.

**
“She stole her mother’s airship?” Kit said, when Twang had finished. A grin spread across her face. “Now that’s the kind of Hanalian we can get behind! I want to meet this Princess Anastasia.”
**

Several minutes after that, Varya saw, with an amused sniff and a fluff of her wings, young Sir Bernard leaving his own tent and heading towards Kit’s, his armor polished and his hair carefully combed.

It was only after Sir Bernard had left that the lieutenant started talking.

“My lord?” the lieutenant muttered, as quietly as if he were speaking to himself. “Yes. We have encountered a group of Canberrians. They claim to be here to fight the slavers, but I suspect otherwise.” There was a brief pause, while the lieutenant listened. “Eight of them, my lord. Led by several young women. Katherine of Lyneham - I did not see her heraldry – and two Glordiadelian clerics. I suspect that they are here to capture the princess.” There was another pause, and when the lieutenant spoke again, there was a note of relief in his voice. “Thank you, my lord. I did not think it wise to attack, either. We will tell them nothing, and leave at first light.”

 

[Ladybird]

“Ahem. Lady Katherine?”

Kit poked her head out of her tent to see Sir Bernard standing outside, holding himself very straight and shifting nervously from foot to foot.

I’m surprised he didn’t bring flowers, Kit thought amusedly. What she said was, “Come in, Sir Bernard. And it’s Dame Katherine.” Good gods, he’s younger than I am! “Would you like a drink?”

“Yes!” Sir Bernard replied, a little too eagerly.

Kit hesitated for a moment. Wine is always good for nobles, right? Sir Bernard seemed to think so, taking the goblet that Kit offered with puppyish gratitude. “Oh, thank you, my lady!”

“You’re welcome. Have a seat?”

Sir Bernard clanked – he was still wearing most of his armor – into a seat, and Kit (less clankily) did likewise.

“So,” Kit began, “you’re here to fight the slavers, too?”

Sir Bernard hemmed awkwardly for a moment before saying, “Yes! My liege – well, my father’s liege – the Duke of Snattercaz has always been very opposed to slavery.” The Hanalian took a deep drink of his wine, while Kit struggled to suppress a giggle. Snattercaz. Hanalian names had always been the hardest part of getting through Dame Esmeralda’s security briefings. “So – er – he had to come right down. He brought two vollers and 500 knights.”

“Two vollers?” Kit stared at Sir Bernard. “He brought two vollers and 500 knights within four days of the border of Canberry? I mean, I appreciate the Duke’s zeal. In fighting slavers, of course,” she added hastily. Even though Twang had filled her in on the real reason for the Hanalians’ presence, she wasn’t about to let Sir Bernard know that she knew that their princess had gone missing. “But do you have any idea how that looks, bringing a military force of that size so close to the border of another nation?”

“Er. Yes.” Sir Bernard’s face was getting redder by the second, and he reached hastily for the bottle of wine to pour himself more. “But with so many people, we’ve been able to cover a lot of ground. Er, in fighting the slavers.”

It took a little more wine, a lot more flattery, and a few sweet smiles – not even any of her psionic powers – for Kit to get Sir Bernard talking. He was only too happy to impress the pretty, slightly-older girl with his knowledge of local events and the bravery of his exploits.

“So…there are only eight of you in your group?” Kit asked, pouring him some more wine.

“Well, there were ten, but two of them got – well, there’s this basilisk around, and it froze two of them.”

“Oooh, that’s too bad.” Kit’s wince and sympathy were honest, even though she made a mental note to ask Honore more about basilisks when she had the chance.

“Oh, it wasn’t that frightening,” Sir Bernard said, with a wave of his wine goblet that was probably intended to look brave and casual, but succeeded only in being messy. “We were surprised to see it that close to inhabited territory, though. There are nobles setting themselves up, you know. We saw at least one set of fortifications. There’s even a mage’s tower!”

The flap of Kit’s tent opened, and she tensed – if it was Varya coming back to report, that could go very badly. But it was only Sir Toby. “Dame Katherine!” he declared, sweeping off his hat with a flourish. “This is for you! And this, sir, is for you!” With another elaborate flourish, Sir Toby handed each of them a bright green feather, then swooped out of the tent again.

While Kit was still blinking after Toby in confusion, Sir Bernard continued, “We were near enough to Brightspan to find out some things about them, too.”

Kit’s ears pricked up at that. “Oh, really? Like what?”

“Well, they’ve brought in a lot of specialists from a long way away. As far away as Masque and Enclaves.”

The mention of her hometown made Kit sit up even more. “Enclaves? What kind of specialists?”

“Tieflings.”

Oh, my, thought Kit. No wonder those troops in Brightspan didn’t look quite right. Tieflings. I really need to report this back to the capital.

 

[Ladybird]

The next morning, the Hanalians rose early and went off to the south, while the Canberrians continued to follow the slavers’ tracks west. They parted on relatively good terms – civil, if not friendly – and went their separate ways.

Varya soared high into the air, flying up with strong flaps of her newly-healed wings to scout ahead of the group. She didn’t realize how far away she had gotten until she spotted the tiny forms of the Hanalians, and wheeled to follow them for a few miles.

Varya didn’t see the bandits until they were almost upon them. Out of the hills burst at least thirty bandits, roaring incoherently. The Hanalians turned to fight, and Varya sped back to her own group as quickly as she could.

It was still too late by the time the others got there. All of the Hanalians were dead.

”At least they fought back,” Jet said gruffly as he surveyed the bloody scene. “Took out twenty – no, twenty-one of the bandits.”

Gyles looked up from where he was poking at one of the bandits’ bodies. “It looks like the rest of them fled that way,” he said, jerking his head towards a set of dim tracks leading off to the southwest. “Look at this - mismatched armor, shoddy weapons. The only way they were able to defeat the Hanalians was through superior numbers.”

Jet nodded in agreement. “They must have been refugees who had turned to banditry.”

Everything of value had been taken off of the dead knights, but Kit searched anyway. Alessandre, going about the sad business of assembling the Hanalians’ bodies for burial, gave her a reproachful look. “Bandits might not necessarily have taken documents,” Kit told her. “If the Hanalians were carrying any more information, I want to know.” And I may have to get Honore to read it to me, but I want to know.

There were no documents, but on the lieutenant’s body, Kit found a small black stone. The second her hand touched it, she could feel the psionic resonance. Hm. That’s not the way the elves’ crystals felt. I wonder if that was how he was talking to his lord. Surreptitiously, she slipped the stone into her pocket. Then she reached over to pull Sir Bernard’s cloak over his face and made a brief sign of Paranswarm over his body, and stood aside to let Alessandre and Honore continue their work.

 

[Ladybird]

Thanks to Varya’s gentle persuasion, the Hanalians’ warhorses agreed to follow along with the party, although even Varya couldn’t get them to carry anyone. “They won’t let anyone ride them except their people,” the owl explained. Jet shrugged and loaded some of the party’s equipment onto the Hanalians’ horses, and they all continued on their way.

It was fairly easy for Gyles to find the tracks of the few bandits who had survived the clash with the Hanalians, and once he pointed out the trail to Varya, she flapped off ahead of the group. The narrow, ragged trail of footprints ran through the low foothills, and wound into the forest, ending at a wide clearing, in which stood a village fortified with stone walls.

When Varya returned to report what she had found, it did not make Kit happy. “Stone fortifications? That sounds like the nobles’ settlements that Sir Bernard was talking about. If one of these new so-called nobles has been sending out the bandits, that can’t mean anything good.”

Suddenly, Varya squawked and fluttered up from her perch on a tree branch. Just below her, the trunk of the tree had opened, and an old man stepped out of it. He had a long beard, tattered robes, and a decidedly distracted look in his eyes. “Greetings, travelers!” he cried happily. “Praises to Berta! Praises to you all! Oh look, a butterfly….”

“Berta,” Alessandre muttered sourly. “Goddess of pure chaos. I might have known.” Kit was starting to feel similarly apprehensive, as she watched Sir Toby approach the old man, who was still shouting devout but erratic praises to Berta.

”Well met!” Sir Toby declared. “I am Sir Toby, bound to the service of Her Majesty Whimsey!”

”Ah, a kindred follower!” the old man cried. “What do you do in the service of your lady?”

“People tell me what to shoot, and I shoot! What should I shoot?”

“Oh, there are so many wonderful things to shoot…” the old man exulted.

Kit cut him off before he could make any actual suggestions, thinking very fast to try to avert any shootings of people or things in the vicinity – or any alliances between Toby and the old man that might sidetrack the group from their main goal. “You know…why don’t you go and…uh…make a list of all the things that you could shoot.”

The old man’s eyes widened. “All the things?”

“Yes!” Kit cried, with grin and a sudden flash of inspiration. “Make a list of all the things that you can possibly shoot. And when you’re done, come back!”

And with that, the old man departed, perfectly contented, heading off to make a list of all the things in the world that could possibly be shot.

 

[Ladybird]

The party continued to wind their way through the forest, still following the bandits’ trail towards the fortified village. As the trees closed in around them, deeper and darker, the sounds around them began to change – there were fewer animals rustling in the undergrowth, and fewer birds chirping overhead. Therefore, it was easier for Kit to hear the strange, dragging footsteps as they approached the path from ahead, even if she didn’t immediately know what they were.

Kit and Gyles barely managed to jump out of the way when the basilisk appeared.

Jet and Alessandre, immediately behind them, were neither as lucky nor as quick to react. Alessandre slipped off her horse and frantically put up her hands to shield her face – and was frozen in place with her hands up, turned to stone by the basilisk’s fearsome gaze. Jet too managed to fling himself free of his horse, but he hit the ground with the massive, earth-shaking thump of a stone statue.

“Don’t look!” Gyles shouted. “Keep your eyes away from it!”

The party stood, as still as if they too had been turned to stone, not daring to move or make a sound. The only noise in the clearing was made by the slow, dragging footsteps of the giant lizard, pacing around….and around…and then away. The party exhaled.

“How many did it get?” Gyles asked, brusquely surveying the scene as the party started to swarm worriedly back into the clearing. “Just Jet and Alessandre?” Honore rushed to attend to her fellow priestess, while Kashan studied both petrified people with an almost clinical curiosity, and Varya fluttered anxiously overhead.

Moving almost as quickly as Varya, Kit paced around the clearing, her mind racing. “What do we do, what do we do?” she muttered. “How can we fix this?”

“My, my,” Toby murmured, as he bent over to study Jet’s stone legs. “I know what this needs!” He stood back, poising his hands to cast a spell, while Twang looked up at him, beady eyes full of hope. With a dramatic flourish, Toby cast Prestidigitation, conjuring up small stone pedestals for the statues to stand on.

“Toby!” Kit snapped sharply. “Not helping!” She looked down at Jet’s stone face, frozen in a terrified grimace, and winced at the expression. “Do we know if they’re even conscious in there?” A collection of blank looks greeted the question. “Well, there’s one way to find out,” Kit muttered. She drew in a long breath and carefully sent a Mindlink towards Jet.

Within the stone head, she found a very conscious, very active, and very agitated mind. Kit! By all the gods, you’ve got to find a way to get us out of this! the cook thought anxiously. Please!

I’m trying! Kit’s own thoughts were rising to just as fevered a pace as Jet’s, and she clamped down on her fear with only the greatest of effort – it wouldn’t help to add her agitation to Jet’s. Honestly, I am. I’m working on it. She looked around the clearing – Gyles was looking expectantly at her, too. And so was Varya. And…

Then an idea hit her. “Wait! Sir Bernard said that there was a mage’s tower somewhere around here. Varya – can you fly up and see if you can spot it from the air? If there’s a mage around, he or she might be able to help turn them back.”

Up Varya soared, high above the treeline, surveying the landscape. Higher and higher she went, until finally, far away, she spotted a small stone tower atop a hill.

“I think I’ve found it,” the owl reported, as she fluttered back down to land on a branch near Kit. “It’s about a day’s travel to the west, but the path looks clear, and we should be able to make it without too much difficulty.”

With a profound sigh of relief, Kit said, “Thank you! All right. We need to get Jet and Alessandre on the Hanalians’ horses – if we load them sideways, the horses can probably carry them. Gyles, you and – “ Kit cut herself off. Her first instinct was to call on Jet when heavy lifting needed to be done. And he was hardly in a position to help right now. “Everyone,” she said instead. “Let’s get them on the horses and get going towards the mage’s tower.”

“But Lady Katherine – “ Gyles began.

“What, Sir Gyles?”

“Ahem. It’s just Gyles, my lady.”

“If you’re going to promote me,” Kit snapped, “I’m going to promote you. Now what is it?”

“Er. Ahem. Right. Er. Won’t this divert us from our mission against the slavers?”

”Yes, it will,” Kit admitted. “But we can’t go on without Jet and Sister Alessandre. And I won’t leave them here.”

Thank you! came Jet’s frantically grateful thought into Kit’s mind.

Don’t worry, Kit thought back, in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. We’ll get you out of this. Then, aloud, she said to Gyles, “This is worth a diversion of a day or two. We’ve got to get them back.”

 

[Ladybird]

The party moved slowly through the forest, weighed down by caution and the heavy stone bodies of Alessandre and Jet slung across the horses. For as long as Kit’s Mindlink lasted, Jet kept up a running mental commentary on cooking, the scenery, the prospect of a fight, how much he wanted to get un-petrified – anything to keep the lines of communication going between him and the outside world.

The quiet, if tense, ride was suddenly broken by the guttural declaration of “Stand. Deliver.” Five orcs and an uruk stood before the group, weapons drawn.

Gyles had spent years fighting orcs, and at the sight of the orcish bandits, a twitch started up near his eye, and his face started to flush with anger. But it was Toby who acted first. With a surprisingly melodic burst of sound, his musket went off, sending a stream of sugarplums coursing towards one of the orcs. The sugarplums smacked the orc squarely in the head, knocking him out, and continued to dance around his head as he slumped to the ground.

Kit, almost as stunned as the orc, just stared. “I was about to say, ‘Toby, you’re not helping.’ And then you did.”

And then Gyles sprang into motion, charging towards the uruk, roaring a battle cry and leveling his lance at the huge creature. Varya, with almost as much fury, flapped towards the orcs, lashing out with her claws.

Kit targeted the uruk too, but nobody could see the effects of what she was doing. Carefully, she sent a psionic feeler out into the uruk’s mind, searching around among the memories of his many battles, until she found a suitably painful memory of being wounded. Then, just as carefully, she drew it forth, and a gash opened up in the uruk’s shoulder, even though no blade had come close to him. The elves had taught Kit how to Recall Agony, but she’d never done it before. It was…disconcerting. But effective, she had to admit.

The uruk, slashed by Gyles’s lance, Kit’s psionic power, and Varya’s claws, lashed out with his axe, swinging wildly at Varya’s fragile wings. The other orcs rushed towards Honore. Twang, cowering in the back of the group, shot Magic Missiles at the orcs, moving as far back as he could while remaining in range. Shoot – retreat – shoot – retreat – retreat – retreat – retreat. The terrified little kobold might have been pleased to know that he had taken down one of the orcs, but he had fled into the forest before he could even see the results of his spellcasting.

Meanwhile, Gyles had left his lance sticking in the uruk, and had drawn his sword to batter the other orcs with ever-rising fury. Sir Toby shot his musket again, sending an arrow into one of the other orcs; and Kashan matched Twang’s choice of spell, with similar success, although not with a similar flight afterwards.

Finally, under Kit’s repeated mental assault, the uruk’s mind entirely gave out – he let out one last shriek of pain and collapsed, wounds opening up all over his body. Gyles finished off the last of the orcs, then straightened up, pulling his lance out of the uruk’s corpse with a brutally forceful tug.

”My lady!” Gyles growled. Kit just nodded – she wasn’t going to risk correcting Gyles when he was standing there with a sword in one hand and a lance in the other, both dripping with orcish blood. “Request permission to follow the rest of the filthy orcish bandits!”

“All right…” Kit replied, a little uncertainly.

From above, Varya interjected softly, “Would you like me to go keep an eye on him? I’ll make sure he stays focused on fighting the slavers. I’ve worked with him before, and he’s got a bit of a blind spot when it comes to orcs.”

Both Varya and Kashan split off to go with Gyles on his quest to hunt bandits, orcs, and whoever else came across his path. And Twang, as the others soon discovered, was nowhere to be found. That left Kit, Honore, Toby, and the petrified Jet and Alessandre. And several Hanalian warhorses, who continued on their plodding way west towards the mage’s tower.

[At this point, unfortunately, Real Life broke in, and the players of Gyles, Kashan, Twang, and Varya all had to leave. And yes, Gyles is a ranger, with the favored enemy ‘orcs’ ]