VicsHacienda
Explorer
Up and Away to Somewhere, But An Elf Wants to Talk to Us
We use the star-touched lamp to cause the sky to be overcast and gray, hiding our flight. The palanquin shudders beneath us as it flies.
As we ride, we figure out where to go. That army might follow us, and we aren't certain whether they're friendly despite the presence of the Shahalesti, whose relationship with us was no better than civil. To Turinn, which has a Ragesian-planted governor and might be under siege? My companions seem to want to get back to Seaquen, to research more, resupply, and maybe because they're homesick. That requires traveling back over the mountains past the Monastery of Two Winds, over hundreds of miles of plains into Ostalin and then swamps and then Seaquen. Viggo could cast his strange steeds spell once the chariot fails.
Trevor perks up; Shalosha has contacted him via a sending spell. I seek an alliance with Seaquen to ensure the survival of Shahalesti without my father's draconian methods. Please meet with me. We share common enemies.
He squints and thinks, then sends her a response: Alliance smart. Coaltongue was assassinated and Torch stolen before we arrived. Meet us in Seaquen. We can talk there and possibly request passage to Ycengled. He has a grin on his face, though, because the pretty Elven princess talked to him and no one else.
Pilmat whispers to Viggo that Gorquith knows people in Turinn, which is what brought him to Korstull. We have heard Leska has blockaded the port city, presumably by sea. The imp continues: “to find those sympathetic to rebellion, go to the Green Market, to the herb stalls. Say the phrase ‘I was told your mountain thyme is hard to find.’ The response will be ‘Only for those who do not know where the roots run.’” I am pleased to hear there is Resistance there; those who had traveled to Korstull had intended to make their plans there.
So, it looks like we're going to ride this palanquin until it quits, save the two remaining soul gems, and walk to Turinn. Who commissions a magical chariot that requires dead people to run it? Osnald's broom flies for free.
To Turinn, At Least Until We Get Distracted
With the chariot ditched like a royal carriage, we walk the road to Turinn. The coastal mountains to the west rise before us. We pass a ruined monument: twelve weathered stone pillars that surround an obelisk, seemingly shattered by an ancient lightning strike. Being curious types, we halt to look it over. It looks old but once part of a culture. The pillars bear the faded symbols of Sindaire and Ostalin both, once proud emblems worn by centuries of weather. Broken weapons lay scattered, remnants of a forgotten treaty between powers. The crumbling stones stand as a solemn reminder of the short lifespans of nations.
We camp for an hour to rest and stretch our muscles. We travel southwest.
The next day we close with the port city of Turinn, nestled between mountains and a river leading south. A long queue of people wait to enter the city, being threaded past Sindaire soldiers checking each cart. A Ragesian officer overlooks the proceedings. It seems as if poorer people have a more difficult time getting past, being unable to offer trades or bribes.
Osnald casts seeming on us, making us look like a rich merchant's retinue. We approach. Fafnir and I are in matching guards' armor with black feathers in our helmets. Trevor appears as a vicious-looking sellsword. Pilmat goes invisible.
Nearing the gate, we see bodies in small cages, some living, some not. Signs saying Traitor hang from them. A billboard says, Reward Offered to Information Leading to Traitors to the Empire. A poster of local art of children shows Coaltongue giving flowers to children: Sindaire Loves Coaltongue.
They look us over. We do our best to look bored, Osnald imperious but jovial.
"What's yer business here?"
"My business is the same here as my business everywhere, and that is the business of business! Ah-ha!" says Osnald.
"What sort of business is that?"
"I travel and find out what people are into. I am an advancement in haberdashery, I would say my trade is. Certainly you've heard of Lord Parnell the Fourth."
They nod. "You're here to buy hats, then."
"Here to buy, sell hats! What's great about selling hats? It's a great way to top off the day!" Osnald grins.
"Very good. I guess you have some funding." He looks over our entourage. "All right, your lordship. Hope you find what you're looking for." He doesn't quite put out his hand, but has a hopeful look.
"I wouldn't dream of entering a city without helping the local constabulary!"
Fafnir steps forward. "Do not trouble my lord with trivial exchanges!" He drops a silver into the man's palm.
"Your generosity will be noted," the soldier says.
A Tour of Turinn
We enter the city and look for the Green Market. The city is well-patrolled by Sindarene soldiers accompanied by Ragesian observers. We see more public notices offering rewards for information about enemies of the Empire.
There is clearly a large, wooded area within the city that might be our destination. We walk the market, people-watching. We notice that the Ragesians seem to be helping themselves to goods, which might make it a little easier to find someone who isn't fond of them.
There are foodstuffs, craftspeople, smithies, temples. We look for the Herb Market. Osnald keeps an eye out for signs of a thieves' guild here. As a member of the Resistance, I notice markings of them here. The grafitti appears in a leaf motif, and I read the coded slogans. I nudge Trevor and let him know.
We arrive at what must be the Herb Market. A middle-aged woman tends to the various plants. "What may I help you with?" she says in a surprisingly ragged bass voice.
"I'm interested in your wares!" says Osnald brightly. "Anything exotic?"
"Everything. Exotic, common, smoking, for the gods. Halfling herb. The best." She holds forth a pouch. "Silver an ounce."
"It's a habit I cannot break," he says. He counts out five ounces for everyone. She rolls it and hands it over, but expects the transfer of money first. He hands her six. "Do you mind if I ask a question?... what is the latest style of hat here?"
"With the cold weather, warm caps. I like mine with fur on the inside," she says, friendlier.
"Cooking herbs?"
"Everything. What do you seek? What are you cooking?"
"I was told your mountain thyme is hard to find," grumbles Fafnir, guessing that Osnald was having a hard time remembering the passphrase Pilmat gave us.
She stops, and looks hard at us. She peers around. "Only for those who do not know where the roots run. Let me show you." She looks at another stall across the way, nodding at someone.
Fafnir and I squint, trying to determine if she is on the level. She seems honest. He nods at us.
She leads us through the back of her large stall into a wooden building, some manner of warehouse. "You caught me by surprise," she rasps. "I am Marta Fen. I haven't heard that passphrase in a while. Who are you?"
Osnald bows. "I am Osnald Swiftwillow. This is my dear friend Fafnir, our deadly friend Hawk, and our noble friend Trevor."
"Avenisti Nock, of the Gate Pass Resistance," I say, tiring of the subtleties. "We spoke with Lord Gorquith. He lives still in Castle Korstull, one of the few alive."
She looks suspicious until we explain the circumstances of our meeting with him.
"Have you heard of the Quell?" Fafnir asks.
She nods. "What of them?"
"We are them," I say. "They stand before you," Fafnir adds.
"Why are you here, so far from home?"
"We seek a means to leave the country, to continue our strikes against Ragesia."
"You need a ship to Seaquen? You know there's a blockade."
"Nothing is airtight."
A man bursts in. "Inquisitors! They followed someone here! Coming up the street!"
I look to Darius, who looks worried. Osnald keeps our disguises up. We draw weapons.
"Marta. Do you think your cover is blown?" asks Trevor, concerned. She shrugs.
"They've been keeping close tabs on me. Maybe I slipped up."
Trevor suddenly wraps her up in the whip and tells her to play along. He will pretend to be beating her up and questioning her, so that she is not affiliated with us. I move to a counter and pretend to be rifling for valuables.
Here Ten Minutes and Already Rebelling
A Ragesian soldier crashes through the door brandishing a battleaxe. "Put your hands up!" Another comes through a door opposite. The man who warned us raises his hands and moves against the wall.
A greatsword-wielding warrior walks in. "What have we got here? Visitors to Turinn?"
The Inquisitor follows, sweeping his mask back and forth.
"Hands up!" a soldier snarls at me.
"I ain't available for datin'," I say, looking down at him.
Fafnir tramps up. "We surrender!" And then casts bloody smite on the inquisitor. The soldiers start, but swing at the cleric. The man with the greatsword brings it about in a whir and clangs off Fafnir's armor. With Einherjar in hand, Fafnir brings it down on the skull mask, triggering the spell. The inquisitor cringes from the strength of the blow, but tries to cast a reactive spell to no avail.
Osnald's fog of war clouds the room. Most of the Ragesians stand, suddenly uncertain. A new soldier enters, weapon drawn. A second greatsword-wielding warrior stalks up to Trevor. The Aquiline Heart uncoils from Marta and lashes toward the veteran, who tries to parry but ends up with leather around his neck. "Stay down!" Trevor says to Marta.
Trevor then steps up to a counter and slashes at the veteran with the Living Blade. He seems out of sorts, unable to connect as well as he usually does. Sowing more confusion, I call out, "For the Empire!" and sink two shafts into the veteran’s splint mail. The veteran Ragesian staggers.
Ragesian battleaxes ring off Fafnir's armor. A soldier who just entered attacks the man who warned us, even though he has his hands up after being told to put his hands up, which convinces me even more firmly that Ragesians are crooked naughty words.
Viggo appears behind the soldier and mind slivers him for being a creep.
The mage next to Fafnir cringes again from the necrotic pain of the bloody smite, his mouth bleeding too much to cast spells. He disengages from the combat to wipe his bloody face. The nearby warrior attacks Fafnir with his greatsword, only making noise.
Darius casts a fire shield about him, evidently uncertain whether to attack those who represent his side.
The man in the corner, harassed by a soldier, pulls a dagger and precisely sticks the soldier. The soldier next to me shakes his head, dealing with the fog of war, and brings his battleaxe across my back, almost severing one of my quiver straps. I glance at him in annoyance.
Fafnir tramps across the room toward the mage, ignoring the swings of the veteran and a soldier, and swipes the inquisitor with Einherjar. Booming energy crackles. He then turns to the veteran and grins, enjoying his ability to move around without getting hurt.
Magic missiles dart from Osnald to the mage, harming him further. The bard then steps next to Marta to provide some measure of protection.
A Ragesian leaps onto the counter to swing downward onto Trevor, missing despite his height advantage. The veteran follows with his greatsword, but Trevor parries. Trevor lashes the veteran's throat, bringing the man down, then slashes the soldier's legs on the bar. The Aquiline Heart whistles upward to yank the soldier's feet from under him, and his face cracks into the wood as he falls dead. Trevor then replaces him on the bar. There’s my murderous fighter.
I send an arrow into the space where the man's dagger was a moment ago, bringing down the soldier by the door. I turn to the confused Ragesian next to me. "See? That's what happens."
Freed from obstacles, Viggo steps over the soldier's body and surveys the room. Counting four opponents, he casts flittering eyes. The veteran and the mage stagger, their eyes rippling and darting. Viggo then joins Trevor atop the bar for effect.
Clearing his mouth of blood, the mage suddenly disappears. As he is blinded, he is likely blundering around trying to find safety. A booming blade sounds from outside, then a thump. The mage must have tried to teleport away.
The soldier next to me drops his shield and swings two-handed, hitting me in the chest.
"Yer startin' to annoy me," I snap.
"Ha! Did you see that!" Fafnir cries, then joyfully slams Einherjar down on the veteran so hard that his splint mail cracks. The man drops with a clank. He then telekinetically yanks a soldier closer to him.
Osnald casts a spell on my soldier that forces him to dance. The soldier comically dances in place, charmed.
Trevor leaps from the bar and approaches the last soldier, whipping him, then rendering him a bloody mess with his blades. The soldier falls to his knees, then to the ground.
I stow the bow, draw steel, and beat the dancing soldier around the head and soldiers until he's out. His dance is done for now.
Fafnir grabs the inquisitor's corpse and drags him inside. He roars at a pair of common folks looking nervously at him. "Roaar! Empire business! Dissenters will be punished!" He enters and Trevor bars the door.
Marta rises from the floor and adjusts herself. "That was good. But we cannot stay here. More soldiers will come. Follow me."
We quickly loot the soldiers. I find a nice iron flask stamped with a shield symbolizing Ogham, containing a potion. Osnald finds an iron coin similar to mine: crossed blades, symbol of the thieves' guild of Seaquen.
"Will I see you again in battle?" Fafnir asks Darius.
"I hope so, and I hope it is on the same side: against Leska," the inquisitor replies. Trevor gives him some gems to get by. Darius salutes us and leaves, able to move freely due to being an inquisitor.
Marta opens a secret trapdoor and leads us down under the city. She knows a smuggler who can run the Ragesian blockade: Captain "Salty" Yorik. The man who helped us slips out, not wanting to be around.
Under Turinn, Where the Water is Greener
Marta leads us through sewer tunnels. As we reach a circular chamber with stinking murky water, we realize the scent lifts and smells cleaner. A monster bursts from the water and lunges at us.
Trevor reacts with a whip crack, which echoes from the sewer walls. His blades follow in a menacing blur. Fafnir's war god's blessing makes him even more accurate. The ferocity of his attack delivers fear into the creature's nerves.
Magic missiles come from Osnald to strike it. I send two arrows into its thick hide. It flees, splashing as it goes.
Marta shrugs and leads us onward. At a darkened end, we reach the western spur of Turinn. Soon we will meet Captain Yorik and his ship, the Eon Osprey.
