Battle, Battle, Everywhere
I finally find a point in the battle where I can target that mage cowering at the far edge of the battlefield, and send an arrow sailing past Viggo's searing sun to land thwock in the mage's chest. He staggers backward but isn't acting as dead as I would have liked. Anyone wandering a battlefield without obvious weapons or armor has earned a target.
Osnald directs his lances against the oncoming knights, galloping past the lovelorn enemies, and Leona sends her flaming sphere slamming into the knights as punctuation. She hurls a fire bolt at a distant troll but misses.
The enemy mage, who seems displeased by my arrow sticking in him, sends a bevy of magic missiles at me, bloodying my face and torso. We’ll see about that.
The lone catapult casts another stone bouncing into our right flank, smashing Woody the rust-monster handler to a pulp, bruising Viggo, and killing several of my Raiders. I hate that catapult, too.
Osnald's first squad of Gallo soldiers slide past Trevor's knights to pierce the Steppengard mounted soldiers with their earspoons, which must be such an embarrassing name for a weapon that it forces them to miss. More enemy knights charge across the bloodied snow toward our lines and into Fafnir's F-Troop. Steel clashes and blood sprays, and Fafnir's knights fall. Another troop of knights attacks Fafnir's foot soldiers with flails, and they respond.
Trevor's squad decides to engage the Lovelorn Unit, tiring of their chaotic behavior, knocking flails against splint, and the Steppengardians die, never understanding the pain of unrequited love.
One of the trolls caught in Viggo's searing sun howls, its skin peeling. The horses next to it scream as well, stampeding out of the sun's radius. The knights before Trevor's squad, badly injured, gauge their chances, but crash into Osnald's soldiers anyway. Trevor's knights wheel to meet them, as does his 1st squad, and the enemy knights fall with clangs and cries that sound horrible to many but are probably appealing to Viggo, but who is busy dealing with his own pain to notice.
Osnald spies the trolls getting closer, and cleverly hits them with a hypnotic pattern, leaving one of them drooling.
Fafnir roars impressively, his crusader's mantle flaring, and stomps toward the center of the field. The ringing of a bell sounds. His spiritual bull's head appears and runs into the wounded enemy knights, causing a banging noise as it strikes their armor.
Another group of knights flees the searing sun and charges Trevor's second squad.
"Roughnecks!" They advance and target the distant mage, sending a cloud of arrows to make him more of a pincushion. Somehow he is alive, and his cloudkill spell still drifts south. How is this fool alive? Must be that prelate standing next to him, touching him with healing hands.
Hertiage shouts. "Get into my belly!" His battleaxe describes wicked arcs as he swings against enemy knights. "For the duchy!" His axe strikes nothing, but the artistry is there. I wonder again how he made general, and decide it must be his enthusiasm.
Tim the War Mage takes Leona's cue and strikes his own flaming sphere against the wounded knights on the right flank, following with his own fire bolt, because he lacks the imagination of my favorite war mage. Viggo's chaplain heals him. Viggo, feeling invigorated, quaffs a potion and brings down a rain of bones upon two trolls and the enemy knights, sprouting bone shards from the bloodied snow like a gruesome crop. Hertiage laughs in delight.
Fafnir's Second steps forward against enemy knights, flails swinging. An enemy cleric shakes the charmed troll out of its stupor.
Trevor, cursing as is his wont, steps from behind his troops and engages Steppengardian knights. His Living Blade whirrs and his shortsword stabs, and the wood wreaks havoc. Osnald's Second Squad, glowing within the crusader's mantle, takes heart and spears another group of knights. Men and horses perish.
My Raiders send more death at the war mage and the cleric next to him that's been healing him. Still standing, more's the pity. I'm going to have to finish the job. Their horses fall underneath them with screams, however, and I wince at the animals’ pain.
The sunburnt troll rushes forward and slashes at Hertiage, its jaws almost completely enveloping his broad shoulders. He growls in response.
I sigh, walk up next to Viggo, and send an arrow each into the war mage and his cleric as they extract themselves from their dead horses, and both fall, slightly surprised.
Osnald's Dashgoban knights clashes with the troll, bringing it down. The halfling bard seems to be a natural commander.
Leona, wanting to keep the trolls suffering and unable to heal themselves, sends a fire bolt at one. Its companion responds by charging toward Fafnir's troops. She forgets to move her flaming sphere in the excitement, and glances at me sheepishly.
Osnald's First Squad stomps forth out of Fafnir's aura to stab at enemy knights, but strike metal. Trevor's has the same result. The clangor of battle continues. Fafnir's Gallo soldiers engages the oncoming troll, thumping it with flails. Steppengardian knights batter them and Trevor's second unit.
A third troll tramps into the left side of the field, slashing and gnashing at Trevor, who writhes and ducks to avoid its filthy talons. He directs his knights to move right and clash with the wounded Steppengardian knights, lances gathered into deadly white points spattered with red. Men and horses scream and fall, trampled. His soldiers severely damage the third troll.
Osnald steps into the aura and drops a hypnotic pattern on enemy knights. Fafnir casts a guiding bolt on the right-side troll with Nuada's blessing, and brings his bull's head to strike the troll true.
My Roughnecks, seeing the two closer trolls covered, targets the fire bolted troll, planting several shafts, and it tumbles backward, unable to heal its flesh. Tim sends his flaming sphere ramming into it and fire bolts another.
Hertiage chortles, running at the leftmost troll, axe whirring. He misses terribly, overconfident, dropping his axe at the troll's feet. The troll chuckles in response. Trevor, shaking his head, shifts his hunter's mark to the troll, stabs the troll deeply with his shortsword, following with his whip to hold it in place. He steps back, letting the troll swipe at him and shrugging off the damage. What a hero!
Fafnir's F-Troop gangs up on a troll, bludgeoning it into pudding. Osnald's second squad follows suit against the other, reducing it to a bloody mess with no grace or mercy. Troll blood turns the snow pink.
The Raiders raise bows high, and send arcs of death across the field to spatter the distant catapult. Several of its operators fall, and the wooden device sprouts arrows like stalks.
Roars Above
In the center, high above the field, the androsphinx suddenly appears, bellowing, and a wave of terror washes over us. I squint and shrug it off, but my archers visibly cower, stepping back uncertainly. Many of the other soldiers also lose heart, as do my companions.
To the abyss with that. I stride forward, turn my hunter's mark on its fleeing form, and send two arrows into it. "Come back here, kitty!" I call.
Osnald's knights, shaken by the awful howl, misses their troll. Leona, her hand shaking, casts magic missile on the last beleaguered troll. It sighs and crumples.
The peppered catapult, stuck within Viggo's searing sun, takes awful heat damage.
As the Steppengardian knights stand confused, the Gallo troops and Dashgoban knights fall upon them. Fafnir's toll the dead rings somberly above. The Roughnecks send a shower of arrows to the catapult, some of the shafts erupting in flame in the searing sun, and bring down enough of the engine's team to render it inert.
Viggo's war mage magic missiles a lone prelate near the edge of the field, for completion's sake. The cleric tries to run but falls, pierced by glowing darts.
Hertiage picks up his axe with little evidence of embarrassment, and swings at the nearest enemy knights, finally connecting but nearly dropping his weapon again with his wild movements.
Viggo brings a rain of bones onto Steppengardian knights, catching Hertiage in its radius; the general dances around to avoid the sharp points. Trevor brings more pain to them with his blade, bringing down the last of one squad. He stands alone in their midst as their horses scatter, bones crunching and flying. He chases the other squad with the Living Blade in hand. Fafnir's and Osnald's soldiers close.
My Raiders, unable to move closer to the sphinx, gather their courage and send arrows at the departing sphinx. It flies off into the clouds. Resolute, I move to the edge of Fafnir's aura, and send arrows right after each other. Striking the androsphinx in the tailbone and wing, I smile grimly as it begins fluttering and spiraling to the earth. It lands in a bloody puff of snow.
Osnald's Dashgoban knights, no longer frightened, take down the enemy knights.
A courier with Duke Gallo's banner rides up and bids us follow. We are being relieved by fresh forces, and are asked to meet with the duke.
We pass the medical tents where the injured are being carried in. Inside, the duke is examining a map. The battle continues, but we have contributed to a certain goal of Gallo's victory.
Parley?
The next day a Steppengardian courier seeks an audience with Duke Gallo. The King is withdrawing his army and requests a peace conference in Bresk. He asks the duke and the other nobles to attend. He has discovered new evidence of Ragesia's expansionist actions, and wants to bring Dassen back together. The duke doesn't feel it's a trap, but has his suspicions.
Duke Gallo says, "For your service not only during the battle but previous, my fellow nobles and I concur and offer you each knighthoods in our realm, joining the Order of the Rueful Figure."
As such, we would accompany him to the council as his bodyguards. A costumer has rich clothing for all of us, including a hooped ball gown for me, which I refuse. I cannot draw a bow in this frippery.
We are knighted in grand ceremony. I wonder what additional labors this means for us. A feast is prepared.
Peace According to Bresk
We leave with Gallo's retainers and forty armed men, as well as some of Timor's and Dashgoban's representatives. We follow half a day behind Steppengard's retreating army, and make Bresk in three days.
We are ushered into a hastily arranged parade. Nervous citizens line the streets. Osnald hears through his network a rumor that Gallo is here to force the king to end his witch hunts, and that peace will return to Dassen. Gallo says no. "We all share suspicions that something is affoot. None the less, The Quell, I ask that we keep to proper decorum during this mission."
Victorious music plays in the court. Children throw flowers at us, confusing Viggo, who throws them back. Guards surround the courtyard, and most of us notice the Ragesian ambassador and Inquisitor Torrax, who we saw in the King's throne room before, hiding in the shadows. Trevor spits. The king and Nina Glibglammer step forward as we approach.
King Steppengard looks healthier than when we last saw him, apparently contrite over a vast mistake. He offers his hand to Gallo and addresses the crowd. "My people! Recent times have been dark! From tragedy that befell my house to war, better times are ahead. I invite the nobles of the lands to stop this petty squabbling so that we can build a future together! Duke Gallo, long respected defender of the Fend, I commend you for your steady heart. I know you acted out of love for your homeland. I call for an end to struggle. Because of heroes like you and these brave warriors who attend you, our nation will survive. I welcome you into my house, as also the other nobles, to join in the Tournament of Unity! Thieves and tricksters lurk at our borders, and I now know we must be allied as one nation to defeat them!"
Gallo speaks quietly. "You speak of the Ragesians, right?" The king smiles as if he had not heard.
A right mess, this is. False smiles and unity instead of paranoid accusations. I hate court politics.
Threading Together the Piles of Horse Dung
A Dwarven aristocrat lends Gallo and us his manor. We gather and wrestle with whatever this all means. The other nobles likewise want to know Gallo's thoughts on all this. Fafnir speaks up. "If he was speaking of Ragesia as an enemy, I would find it odd that the Ragesians would be present. I would not be surprised that Ostalin is now our enemy. Ragesia still wants weakened nations to more easily fight." We agree.
We are given some free time, and my companions look at the festival and tournament to see what things of interest there are.
A dark-haired dwarf approaches us. "I'm a castle guard. Strange things are happening, people being reassigned. I normally guard the sewer entrance. I got reassigned to the royal vault and no one replaced me. The back of the castle is exposed to the world! Anyone could sneak in! Then I was told to take the day off, and no one replaced me there either!"
"I sneaked back to my normal post. A group of priests waited at the entrance to the sewers, paid off some men, and entered the sewers with some casks. Something is afoul, and I don't mean the sewers. Maybe I'm crazy, but I know you aren't in great favor with the king, so might want to know. Tell no one I spoke to you!"
More horseshit from the king and his advisor, but at least it's something we can take action on.
In the Dung Now, But Literally
A nearby graveyard outside the city walls, near the river, marks the Castle Steppengard Prison. I cast darkvision on Osnald and myself. The sky is thick with clouds, and the ground thick with dead soil and frozen excrement. We wander through the crooked gravestones westward toward the walls. The stench comes from the northwest, where the sewer entrance is.
We hear low groans and hisses from inside. A shadowy, incorporeal creature swoops toward us from the graveyard, rotted skeletal hands reaching from ashen shrouds. Twisting, roiling faces of countless people mutely screaming at their tragic end push up from within its form.
Osnald whirls, lighting the apparition up with faerie fire and granting me his bardic inspiration in the same motion. Fafnir presents his holy symbol and turns the dead creature, which quails and backs away.
Viggo casts an eye stalk to aid his vision, and proceeds inside the sewer. Trevor follows and curses. A double handful of dead corpses lurks inside, rimed with frost. Their lower limbs appear stuck in ice, and they sway in place, mouths moving silently.
I string the Taranesti bow across my back, drawing my shortsword and handaxe, and wait. It turns out I didn't need to wait, for Viggo and Osnald send a barrage of lethal cantrips and thrown magical daggers into the room over and over until the last zombie stops moving.
Death Clutches at Us
We wade through the remains carefully, wondering at their presence, and Osnald turns to see the shadowy undead creature with the screaming faces following us into the room. He lobs a faerie fire at it to light it up. It responds by morphing its face into something horrible, the effect of which Osnald shakes off. The creature drifts suddenly forward, incorporeal claws grasping at me. I duck, bringing my blades up, letting the claws hit my chain shirt.
Trevor dashes forward between zombie limbs and torsos. His steel and wood whicker in the chamber in dizzying ellipses. The tragic creature attempts to drain Trevor's life, reaching into him and grasping his heart. Trevor growls in rage. I cast hunter's mark and bury both my blades in its shadowy form. Osnald attempts to viciously mock it, but it ignores the bard's words.
Its face morphs into Dolan and Yemena Breehill, my parents, and my memories of their dying in flames wash over me. I stagger backward, almost dropping my sword and axe.
A blinding flash of light comes from Viggo. Trevor, seeing the horrors play in my eyes, slices the Living Blade of Innenotdar through the monster, and it shudders out of existence, melting like ooze among the frozen bodies on the floor. I reach out to him in gratitude to heal his wounds, almost slicing him with the handaxe.
"Are you all right, Hawk?" he asks, ducking the handaxe but accepting the cure wounds spell.
"Yeh. I will be." I grit my teeth, trying to drive the vision from my head.
At the far end of the chamber in the ceiling is a closed grate. We peer upward. Viggo casts a weird spell on Osnald that turns his tongue into a freakishly long limb that can reach the ceiling and pick the lock. The halfling shrugs and does so, in a series of writhing movements that make me want to turn away and look at the more attractive zombie corpses. The lock snaps open. Where does Viggo learn these sorceries? And why?
Viggo sends his eye spell upward and tells us telepathically that the room is empty and seems to be a torture chamber. A body lies within.
With everyone's help I plant my feet in the wall and heave upward, pushing the grate free of its mooring and clambering up inside.
The room is small and dank. Strapped on a table lies the body of Proxy Jinis, very dead. Doors stand to the south and northwest. The latter suddenly opens and reveals a horrid figure: a skeletal being with sinewy purple intestines and tongue. I move to guard Osnald in a defensive position.
Trevor leaps up next to me with whip cracking dully in the room. He lashes the creature and tries to grapple it.
The intestines explode outward toward Trevor's neck, who dodges and curses creatively. Osnald mocks it. "There'th only room for one perthon in thith room with a long tongue, thirrah!" The creature ignores him.
It dodges a ray of frost from Viggo, then moves out onto the table above Jinis's body. Its tongue whips outward at me, and I barely avoid being paralyzed by the sickening appendage. It slams its bony fists into Trevor. I hack and slash with sword and axe, missing more than striking. The thing is fast as well as gross.
Trevor uses the wooden scimitar and shortsword to better effect. It slams him again.
More vicious mockery comes from Osnald, but it again has no effect. He tries silvery barbs to make his point more forcefully, and gives Trevor the benefit.
Viggo fires a blinding ray of light, striking it with radiance. It recoils, blinded. Its tongue and fists lash out and somehow connect, and I lock into place, unable to move. My sword and axe drop to the stone. The monster clobbers me, and my head lolls.
Desperately, Trevor stabs and slashes with a savage grace, blades sinking deep into its rotted interior, stabbing again and again until it slumps against the wall, intestines and tongue flailing and wetly slapping the table.
I slowly emerge from paralysis, pick up my fallen weapons, and sheath them. I bring forth the longbow. Viggo quietly stows Jinis's body in his special bag, to deliver to his family.
We peek into the closet where the creature came from. Awful writing covers its walls. Trevor and Osnald peer at it, and determine it is infernal. The rune "Jutras" repeats, suggesting it was the name of this creature and a ritual that brought it here. Jutras was of the Greenwald family, a cowardly thief who dealt with devils and was punished.
Osnald picks the southern lock with his tongue, which is a phrase I don't want to use again if I can help it. Viggo uses a mage hand to open it.
Weird Scenes Inside The Gold Mine
A hallway stretches away westward, with doors along its length. Trevor slips inside and we flank the first door, which proves to be locked. Osnald does his nasty thieves' tools tongue trick and the mage hand turns the knob.
This might once have been a storage room, its contents pushed against the walls. A table stands in its center with a book upon it. We leave Viggo to investigate.
"It's Ragesian. A recipe for Red Madness," he says. "Confusion that leads to rage and murder and violence. It's a poison to be added to food. No doubt the casks are to poison everyone in Bresk with madness." He pockets it. He and Osnald realize that this poison would have no effect on someone protected by the Book of Eight Lands, and who stands on the soil of Dassen. It means nothing to me, but they point out that this book had been under guard by the Dwarven guard, and was stolen... so that the nobles of Dassen would be unprotected if the book were to leave this plane. Which again, makes little sense to me. What is with the Ragesians and their complicated way of winning wars?
Trevor checks the next door. It is unlocked. He opens it and finds storage and some bottles, and refrains from drinking anything.
Before the last door, I smell pipe smoke. I kick open the door. Inside sit Torrax the Inquisitor and Serrimus the Ragesian ambassador, at a small table. Torrax is smoking a pipe through his skull mask and they are talking quietly. A fire burns in the corner.
Two Evil Peas in a Pod
I step into the room and aim an arrowhead at the base of Torrax's neck. "Good morning. Move and I'll put an arrow in yer skull."
Osnald leans into the room and grants me some of his bardic inspiration.
"Oh, my friend Hawk," says Serrimus. "You've brought the rest of The Quell. Let us enjoy the moment of our victory."
I can sense he is trying to charm me, and I loose at point blank range. The inquisitor bends forward to avoid, and barks in pain. "Sorry. Torrax gets to suffer for your attempt at being charming," I snarl.
Viggo leans in and magically pulls three fire darts from the fire, which plunge toward the two Ragesians. Torrax reacts with a counterspell, causing the darts to fizzle out. The inquisitor twists in his chair and fills the hallway with a roaring wall of fire, enveloping all of us, but which vanishes as Viggo casts his own counterspell. Torrax leaps upward and dashes to the far end of the room before I can grab him.
Fafnir barrels into the room up to Serrimus's face. "I told you I would kill you when I next saw you." A terrible fiendish aura of destruction emanates from the cleric of Nuada, and the room seems to turn red. He slams Einherjar into the ambassador's jaw, knocking the older man backward to sprawl on the floor with half his face ruined. Blood spreads across the stone.
I step up onto the small table and aim downward at the Ragesian inquisitor, and send two shafts into his robes. Osnald appears behind me and hurls Tandrial, which sticks Torrax then whips back into his hand.
From the wall Viggo casts the harshest ray of frost I've ever seen, which locks Torrax's joints into place. He falls, and his mask shatters.
Fafnir lets the aura fall and the room turns back to normal. I can feel the urge to slay lift.
We find two notes on Serrimus, indicating that he had yet to decide what to write:
- Guthwulf, good news in Dassen. Nobility (almost) annihilated (except x, y, z). Lyceum agents (dead/escaped). Check Innenotdar valley — rumors of new safe passage and of a surviving Strathmore heir moving among the dissidents. Reply with retrieval location.
- Guthwulf, bad news in Dassen. Plan stopped by (x). (We are suspected./No one suspects us.) Further instructions? Also, check Innenotdar valley — rumors of new safe passage and troubling whispers of the Strathmores' line stirring once more.
Torrax has nothing of use: the usual stinking furs, leather cords, bear skull mask etched with runes, and a clawed bronze gauntlet. A ring of keys is taken from him.
Fafnir opens a door at the far corner, revealing a barred cell with a dejected halfling sitting inside. We use a key from Torrax's corpse.
"You are the heroes of the Quell!" he says in a singsong voice. "I am Randas! I was dragged here by the king's guard and tortured by a man with a skull for a head. You let me out, come save me now?"
"I am Earnest Lambert Watkins, and this is Oil Can Boyd," Viggo cracks. "Why are you in here?"
"I do nothing! The skull man, he ask about dinner tonight, he tell me he will poison everybody and make me undead!"
"How do we get to the kitchen from here?"
"Take the stairs up! The banquet is happening right now!"
We stow Serrimus and Torrax in Viggo's magic sack, which is another phrase I do not like using, and storm up three flights of stairs behind the halfling.
Interrupting the Festivities, or At Least Trying To
We emerge in a small room where two guards stare at us.
"It is we, the Quell! We must stop the banquet now, for there has been a poisoning!" intones Osnald.
"What? What's going on?"
"Did I stutter? We are here because we were invited! And we have the cook with us!"
"Why are you late? Why do you smell so bad?" demands the guard.
"The important thing is to get people to stop eating the food!" says Osnald.
"Poison you say! Come along!" the guard finally says, and leads us inside.
Nina Glibglammer has, apparently, ordered the doors to be locked, so that even the guards cannot enter. Osnald quickly picks the lock, normally this time, and we crowd through into the massive hall.
"What is this interruption!" shouts King Steppengard.
"Don't eat the food!" calls Trevor. "Everything is poison!' yells Viggo. We haul out Randas to tell his story.
Steppengard's face turns red. We can see he is affected by something. "True vile is the poison clutching my heart, damning my blood. My blood is Dassen’s blood! You slew my wife, my bright children. You cut my line of blood, and so I your king, and so I your homeland, shall
die as well. This land I created. This land I kill!"
Trevor takes immediate action, crossing the floor. His whip cracks loudly in the hall, wrapping around Nina Glibglammer.
I turn to the guards standing outside. "Your kingdom will need you soon." I step into the hall and close the two doors behind us. I scan the room for an obvious martial threat, judging that the two lines of armed soldiers seated are armed and ready to aid the king.
Steppengard leaps over his table, flail in hand, and swings at Trevor. "You damned Strathmores!" I am uncertain how he knows who Trevor is.
Madness, in the Middle of Our Feast
Nina looks as if she is choking, and suddenly grows larger and larger, into a horrific coiling form. Her smile is the last part of her to vanish, replaced by multiple viper jaws. A roiling swarm of serpents slithers, venom glistening on their fangs and light reflecting across their scales. We know somehow this is Madness taken shape.
Osnald, in a fit of inspired spellcasting, emanates calm emotions, even while an ugly cloud of confusion appears around Fafnir, Osnald, and Viggo.
Fafnir, unaffected by the confusion by sheer will, tramps across the room with bullish spirit guardians in his wake.
"Save the king!" shouts one of the armored Dasseni knights, and rushes toward his liege, but whether to save him from Trevor or from the monster remains to be seen. "To the king!" calls another. They run into the guardians, which gore and thrash at them, for Fafnir has not deemed them allies. A Blade of the Kingsguard swipes at Fafnir and misses. They seem to be set on fighting us, so are either affected by madness or abysmally stupid. A court chaplain casts sanctuary on the king.
Viggo sighs, and a grin spreads across his face. "Time for a rain of bones." And he does, showering a quarter of the room with deadly shards, friend and foe and monarch and monster alike. I am not entirely certain of our longtime companion's morals, but then I have never been. Hopefully no nobles friendly to us are caught up in it, but I can see Lady Namin and Lady Dene scream and duck under the bones. Fafnir grunts as the bones clatter on his armor. Viggo then calmly turns to bar the doors behind me.
A Dasseni guard strikes at Viggo in response, and another swings at me. I sidestep easily, annoyed that these two are blocking my way to the stage in the hall's center. More guards join the throng around Madness, the king, Fafnir, and Trevor, swinging at the latter.
Osnald stands uncertain, still affected by Madness's confusion spell, but then blinks, alert.
Trevor stabs at Madness, trying to hit the wavery mass of serpents though it seems to shift in and out of reality. He manages to connect with the Living Blade of Innenotdar and his shortsword in a dizzying flurry of strikes. Madness responds by diving into Trevor's mind, showing him his own terrors, but the trained mage slayer sets his jaw and ignores the phantasmal killer.
I step past the guards, ignoring their swung weapons, and fire two final arrows into the roiling mass of serpents. It howls silently and vanishes into a dreamy mist. The room lightens and clears, except for the moans and coughs of the wounded and the light crunch of bones.
Steppengard looks around at the shocked faces of his wounded and frightened subjects, his face sunken with horror and disbelief. One of his aides hands him his crown, which was knocked away in the battle. He does not put it on, but instead holds it before him like he doesn’t know what he’s looking at.
"What have I done?" he whispers softly. "I let that that creature control me, tie me into a knot with my own grief." He puts his face in his hands. Then slowly, as though bearing an enormous weight, King Steppengard straightens, and looks at us and Duke Gallo. "I fear I wronged you most of all. I nearly destroyed our nation, but you saved it." He looks to his crown, then raises his hand to throw it away.
Fafnir snorts, and lets his angels disappear. "You should abdicate. Gallo should take the throne, for he has shown wisdom and restraint."
"You need time to grieve your family and your loss," says Trevor with surprising gentleness.
Duke Gallo says, "I thank you for your trust in me. This is something the nobles should discuss."
Westward Bound, to Recover a Relic
While we rest and recover, and bond more deeply with our weapons, we send messages to Katrina to build onto Stormrest in South Harbor. I've ordered a greenhouse and a stable to be added. Osnald is having a gaming hall and theatre built, so I suppose our bastion is going to have a lot of guests. Viggo has a laboratory and scriptorium in the works, I hear, and Fafnir built a smithy and a sacristy next to the sanctuary, so there are three locations starting with "s" which purpose I don't understand. Trevor wanders the halls muttering and singing to himself, trying to learn the Song of Forms.
We receive a magical sending from Seaquen, who should be throwing us banquets and festivals for everything we've fought and nearly died for their sake, but who have given us another mission:
Please go to Sagorpur. Meet with Khagan Onamdammin. Seek blessing to meet with Pilus at Monastery of Two Winds to get Torch of Burning Sky.
I understand fewer than half of those words, but I remember that Khagan rules Ostalin, and a monastery lies in that land along its northern mountains. Sagorpur lies along its southern coast. The Torch of the Burning Sky is the weapon that rained fire upon Coaltongue's enemies and transported his armies in pillars of fire, and it is said to lie at Castle Korstull, where Coaltongue was slain. Ragesia's First Army is trying to find it... and we must find it first. What does this have to do with Sagorpur and monasteries? Perhaps the monastery knows where Korstull is, and how to make a path through the fire that surrounds the castle. Isn’t history fun?
Sagorpur is a week's travel southwest, and it's still unseasonably cold. There isn't much civilization between Dassen and the Ostalin city. I study the weather and the land, preparing for the journey. Viggo studies the sky and stars. Trevor packs our gear. Bresk provides a wagon and five horses.
We travel. The lands are not too unforgiving as we leave Dassen behind and cross into Ostalin, though snow still falls.
Five Birds in One Fir-Tree, Their Beards are Fanned in a Blustery Breeze
In a mountain pass we hear some deep-voiced shouting and a slow, rumbling, methodical voice. A tall, gnarly tree stands before us, and a party of dwarves are caught in its branches. The tree holds them fast, stroking their beards and heads as if to figure out what they are by touch.
"Good day!" calls Fafnir. "It looks like you have some friends with you!"
Viggo gets within shouting distance and calls in Dwarvish, calling himself Patty Simcox and asking if they are happy in the tree.
"Look how rolly-polly they are!" lows the tree. Its voice is so deep that it is difficult to understand its speech. It looks down and sees Osnald. "Oh! Look at this tiny rolly polly!"
"Oh, honorable tree! How may I address you?" asks Osnald, seeming a little nervous.
"Oh! I am Eimil Flash," says the tree.
"A pleasure! But why do you have our dear friends tied up in your branches?"
The tree advances on the halfling, evidently interested in acquiring another short being to wrap in its wooden limbs. "These dwarves are so cuddly! I could add a halfling too!"
"But they are scared, and too far from the ground! Perhaps you can put them down?"
I cast speak with plants, though the overly fond creature speaks the common tongue, and tell it that these creatures are not to hold, but to grow and be free as it is. It responds in Sylvan, which I don't understand but which Trevor does. He steps up.
"I don't know that they know you won't hurt them. Is it that you think them cute and cuddly?" he says in response. "Can we trade you something instead? These dwarves are in distress and need to be about their journey."
It looks troubled. "Well, I don't want to scare them." It begins to place the dwarves back on the ground.
"Thank you, Eimil Flash! That is kind!"
The dwarves are eager to leave, but get caught up in Fafnir's questioning.
"We are from the Night Stand Clan. Thank you for helping us. We can give you a shortcut to Sagorpur."
[Here we go afield as I introduce "In the Mists of Manivarsha" from Journeys through the Radiant Citadel in lieu of Yen-Ching.]
The Surge of Sagorpur
As the dwarves lead us down the western side of the mountains, the weather becomes noticeably warmer. Ahead, we see a vast forest and vegetation, past which is the port of Sagorpur, in what appears to be swampy grasslands. I find a way through the watery ground until proper roads are discovered. Along the route are posters for some sort of festival.
However, as we near Sagorpur, thunder rings out and the sky fills with clouds. From the formerly calm river a surge of water rises, forming a towering wave that flings boats onto the banks. The massive wave crests in a mighty swell that crashes onto the crowded shore and riverine temple.
We rush forward, thinking to help, and see several downed people and watery creatures thrashing, perhaps attacking them. Viggo tells us that these are water weirds, usually bound to a location, and one water elemental. Guardians of the temple, perhaps?
Osnald calls to a local woman who appears confused. "What can we do to help?"
"I'm trying to get to my brother, but the creature won't let me pass!"
"Do these creatures belong here?" he asks.
"I think the riverine temple, but I'm not sure!"
I run up and cast cure wounds on her fallen brother, healing the wound in his neck. "Do you remember what happened?"
He yelps and scrambles up. "We were about to announce the winner of the trials, but then this giant wave washed up and destroyed everything!"
The large water creature lifts a villager and hurls him against a temple door. Viggo advances and casts a spell so that he can speak to them. "My name is Fellatio del Toro. I see pain and destruction in this village. Will you help?"
"Keep Area Safe!" it intones (or at least we will find this out when Viggo informs us later).
Fafnir makes his voice thunder via thaumaturgy. "All of you! Clear away from the temple!" He steps forward to stand over a villager, putting himself within range of the water weird, which swipes at him with a massive liquid limb but splashes off his shield. Trevor dashes to drag the villager to safety, and I heal him too, then run toward the temple square.
Viggo addresses the water elemental in the gurgling aquan tongue. "My name is Garranis Bambino. My compatriot is Lemongrass Jones. We are here to find a peaceable solution to today's chaos. Will you help us?" The large swirling form regards him. "What we hope is that you stop attacking people so we can help them. You are adding to this chaos. Please stand down."
"The River Must Be Protected and This Is Its Temple. Why Are People Running? Are They Harming The Temple?"
Viggo patiently explains that the townsfolk are not harming the temple, but cannot breathe water and are frightened from the large wave. He alludes to appeasing the river spirit.
Fafnir risks another strike to go grab another fallen individual, and gets a water tentacle wrapped around him for his trouble. He squelches to a halt in the mud, then wrestles free. He hauls the villager back. Trevor whips at the water weird in a somewhat futile gesture, slowing it.
Osnald applies his own healing to the rescued villager. I walk past him and cure another. I haven't used this much divine healing magic in... ever, really.
"What Do You Want?" asks the water elemental of Viggo, swirling slightly. "Why Do You Remain?"
"They wish to pray and pay their respects at the river temple and to the river spirits. They have undergone trauma, and this is their place of refuge." Viggo is the paragon of patience when not speaking Common. "Will you let these folk enter and heal? May I make your river spirit an offering?"
"They May Not Come In. But The People Within Must Come Out."
"May I and my companions enter and visit your river spirit?" Viggo hides his irritation.
"No. All People Out."
Fafnir, not being privy to the conversation, wallops the first water weird with his hammer, twice. Trevor takes advantage of the situation and advances with scimitar and shortsword in hand, and strikes the weird down into a puddle. "Yeah! Take that you weird watery thing!" growls Fafnir, and stomps on the puddle, splashing them both. I grimace.
People, dressed in festival finery, begin streaming out of the temple in various states of panic and worry. Trevor peeks in and sees a well-built interior of wood, smelling of washed-out incense.
The square is clearing, as people move away toward the docks still awash in river water. The water element stands before the temple. Another weird guards another entrance.
Making Friends with Water, or at Least Not Enemies
Viggo keeps talking to the elemental, which ignores him and enters the temple building, descending into a large cistern of water like a disgruntled cat entering its lair. He sighs and tries talking to the last water weird, asking it what happened with the river.
"The River. Was Angry. And Came With Vengeance. It Was Not Iravati."
"Is Iravati the spirit of this river?" Viggo asks. It nods assent. "How do you know it was not Iravati's will?"
"We Are Iravati's Servants," it answers.
"But if Iravati runs this river, and it overflows, tell me something so I can explain to the town why it wasn't their river god?"
"There Was A Deep Jealousy, In The Storm And The River. I Fear Destruction Might Be Linked To The Catastrophe That Befell Manivarsha."
Osnald remembers this history, but that it happened 500 years ago. Manivarsha's Ruin was a huge storm and wave that rose above the swamp forest and consumed the city.
An elderly halfling approaches us. "Thank you. I am Plabon, the High Riversinger of this temple. I will work to further placate the guardians. I agree with what you found. I do not agree that it was Iravati. I believe Amanisha is the key to finding what happened." We recall that Amanisha may be the name of a person depicted on the posters.
"Is Amanisha here?" I ask.
"No. Whatever happened, it took her! The river came for Amanisha and the Riverine's Shankha. The wall of water descended and flowed around us, seeking Amanisha as she tried to help others to safety. It seized her and the trophy, then pulled them both away!"
Onamdammin, the Khagan, the man we are here to meet, appears. "Amanisha was the quintessential dancer and performer, the greatest we have ever known. She was to be proclaimed the winner of the trials. If the High Riverspeaker says she is the key to this, I believe it. I will pay five hundred gold and fertile farmland to whoever can find and return her alive!"
And, when we tell him we are here to seek a blessing to meet with Pilus of the Monastery of Two Winds, "I will give you my personal seal to aid you in your travel."
At least we get things done quickly. But then again, we are The Quell.
Can’t Stay, I’m Off to Meet A Man Who Knows How to Find A Missing Dancer Who Was Stolen by Water
Fafnir prepares to walk into the river to get the dancer back, but a long boat pulls into the dock. A tall handsome man with his head wrapped against the sun steps off. "May I help? I am Dukha Bhatiyali. You are not from around here."
"We are not," Fafnir says, ankle-deep in water. "We seek a maiden, a dancer of renown, who was taken into the water."
Dukha scratches his chin, leaning on the tall oar he carries. "I was traveling toward Sagorpur when the river struck. I saw the water sparkle with eerie green light that fled from the city. I saw this recently along other tributaries. I saw it the first day of the Shankha Trials. I will charge you one hundred gold to take you. I know everything there is to know of the swamp forest."
"If we rescue Amanisha, we have been promised land with fertile soil from the Khagan," Fafnir tries. "We could give it to you in exchange!"
Trevor, Osnald, and I pay in gold without haggling, and board Dukha's boat.
The river requires experienced boatmen to navigate the waterways. Dukha exhibits his expertise as his long paddle angles into the blue and his flat-bottomed craft glides outward with little apparent effort.
He explains that a riverine is like a guardian for the rivers, the embodiment of the rivers. Some worship them, and they are a manifestation of the water. They defend their waters and protect those who travel along their routes. The river has not reacted so much since Manivarsha had been swept away. He agrees that it was not Iravati's doing, but fears that it was a great disturbance, a jealousy, linked to that ancient trouble.
Dukha had followed the glowing green ripples, and is taking us up the Iravati River to another, that which houses the riverine Tinjhorna. Falls Clearing is our destination, two days ahead. There is no civilization along the way, but clearings to camp. Tinjhorna warned Dukha to stay away, accusing mortal folk of unleashing tainted magic upon his waters, but the boatman hopes we can still speak to the riverine and discover what happened.
Mangrove trees hang over the river. The air is warm and heavy with moisture.
A Ten-Hour Cruise, A Ten-Hour Cruise
After several hours the current decreases, and Dukha asks us to help row. We pitch in, even Osnald, who gives a good impression from a casting of enhance ability by Fafnir's deity. We reach the Tinjhorna River and find a reasonably stable site to camp. It begins to rain heavily, causing our campfire to waver and flicker. Viggo casts a tiny hut for us to dwell within, slightly too cozy.
Early in the night Trevor, on watch, perks up. Something has crawled from the water, a snakelike monster with a human face. He points it out to Dukha, who quails. "That is an evil spirit of the waters, which thrives on pain and suffering." Trevor wakes Fafnir, who thinks, peering into the darkness.
"Spirit naga," he says. "Can't kill it without it coming back a day later. Lots of spells. Evil. Bites. Immune to poison and charm." He then in turn nudges me awake with a boot.
"The hell. What's up with your boot?"
"We've got visitors," Fafnir growls, booting Viggo a little harder. I roll to my feet and sweep up my bow. By this time the naga has crept up to our dome, looking it over with its cobra-like head.
Osnald rises, staring with wide eyes at the creature, and starts giving a motivational speech that may or may not be for his own courage.
Fafnir lets his voice boom, bringing his full half-orcish vocal chords to bear. "Leave this place or suffer my wrath!"
To our surprise, the creature turns and slinks back into the water. Surely it couldn't have been frightened off... but the rest of the night is spent peacefully. We clamber back into the boat and resume our westward journey.
A Lover of Poetry, But A Terrible Audience
We row for six hours, and are compelled to stop. A great tree stands in the current, blocking our way. It stares down placidly at us with dark eyes.
"Wherrre... arrre... yooou... going...?" he says, slower than a Gate Pass guard's intellect. We look to Dukha.
"Have you seen this character before?" asks Trevor.
"Yes, but he usually stands to the side, not in the river. His name is Kenzo Vrhovec."
"Kenzo. We're heading to Falls Clearing," Trevor says.
"Oooh. I just wrote... a sonnet about... Falls... Clearing... let me recite it... to you..." And he does so. "HHoooowwwww... may I... count... the wayysss..."
Fafnir fidgets in impatience, and starts getting us off the boat to carry it past the great tree creature. Viggo stops him, and casts vital conduit, which creates a writhing tube of flesh from one treetrunk to a distant one. We carry the boat through, disappearing one by one and reappearing forty paces away. The creature still recites even as we paddle away.
I expect we're being rude.
Cats, with Bows
A gradually increasing roar drowns out the rainforest sounds long before the river turns, revealing a series of parallel waterfalls cascading from a ridge that runs alongside the river. A chain of sparsely forested islands lies along the far side of the river opposite the walls of water.
"This is where I met Tinjhorna," says Dukha, hauling the craft to the side.
We notice several pairs of green feline eyes peering from the foliage. Osnald points them out. "Do you see those? Know what they are?" The boatman shrugs, not seeing them. "Looks like bright green feline eyes. Several." He peers, then looks surprised.
"I may know. This is the territory of tigers."
I draw an arrow and keep a bead on the closest two. One of them dashes through the treeline to keep pace with us. A longbow string hums and sails past my head, and I return one of my own, which strikes furry flesh.
Dukha gasps. "These seem to be weretigers!" Whatever those are. "Leave us! We come in peace!"
Another fires, this time grazing my leg. Trevor shakes Aquiline Heart free of its strap. With precise movements Viggo casts an enchantment called cardiostasis, which sounds like a word T'aud used to use to describe his health shakes. The trees shake as the creatures respond, to whatever weird stimulus he sent their way.
One of the unaffected weretigers leaps from the bank at our boat, and Trevor reacts, his whip flashing out and stopping it in its tracks. He yanks and the cat spins sideways, splashing into the drink.
Fafnir rises and makes his own leap from the boat, nearly capsizing us as he lands heavily on the bank. He rushes up to one of the incapacitated tigers with his hammer in both hands. A thump sounds, and a thunder crack, then twice more as he channels his fighting ability. We can hear the bones crunch, and almost hear him grinning in his helmet.
Osnald follows with some well-placed feline taunting, then moves farther back in the boat toward the stern.
I step to be in front of him, aim downward at the water, waiting for the sunken weretiger to rise, and turn to Dukha. "Did you think they would listen? Would they?"
"I think so! Now that they have seen how powerful you are," he calls through the noise of the waterfalls, but I don't think he sounds certain.
Trevor leans, readying for another strike, considering his opponents. He slashes downward into the water with the Living Blade and stabs with the shortsword, causing great upward splashes.
"Leave! Flee! I tell you now! We do not come to harm, but to speak to Tinjhorna!" pleads Dukha. Several of us feel he sounds worried for these creatures more than for our situation. This is their territory, after all, and we have entered it, and they do not know us.
"Are these your fuckin' friends, Dukha?" Trevor demands.
"Dukha. Are these friends? Should we attack them?" Viggo adds.
"I... do know them. I know this is their territory," the boatman says, sheepish. "I am telling them!"
Viggo sighs, leans over, and electrifies the water the weretiger is in, sending energy buzzing. It thrashes, yowling.
Fafnir, unconcerned with diplomatic talks, continues his two-handed assault in the trees, bringing hammerblows down on his hapless orange-furred target. It falls against a tree trunk. "That's it. I hate the jungle." He turns and plods toward the last weretiger in the trees, delivering more damage.
Dukha frowns, and his face darkens.
I round on the boatman. "Dukha. Was that a trap? You knew these tigers live here."
"It was not a trap. I knew they lived here. This is their territory. They were guarding this area."
"You didn't exactly let us know that! We could have hung back, see if we could convince them different. Fafnir! Calm yer hammer!" I shout.
Trevor gets the idea, and carefully hammers the Living Blade hilt-downward onto the weretiger in the water before him, several times, apparently trying to knock it out instead of slaying it outright. Wet bonks and crunches sound, and bubbles rise. "Dukha! Do you know this guy?"
"Yes! That is Tomik Pregelm!" This boatman's lack of communication skills is going to make me mad, eventually. "Stop! We come here with no ill intent! We seek Tinjhorna!"
Viggo notices that the weretiger facing Fafnir bears many trinkets and remnants of past kills, perhaps a respected individual. He sends a mental prompt. "Dude! Stop! It's a judge or something!"
Fafnir, eager to continue adding to the red spatters on his armor, reluctantly pauses. He hauls out a rope and begins tying the tiger's arms, dragging it through the tall grasses.
Osnald pauses in his insult-hurling but notices the battered weretiger crawling up the boat. "Look, we don't want to hurt you, we want to continue on our way." He casts healing word on the tiger for emphasis. I reach down and lift the tiger up into the boat with Trevor's help.
"Dukha. You're handsome and all that, but fuckin' hell," he says.
The bound weretiger shakes off Viggo's spell and glares.
"Tomik! Norathi! We do not come to disturb the waters. We come to find the reason why they are so troubled."
Viggo stands over the fallen tiger and tries a spell to revive him. It stirs, growling. I stand amazed, as I hadn't known Viggo could bring back the dead. Fafnir had clobbered that one into paste.
Things seem calmer.
Cats, with Voices
Tomik, the one in the boat, rises to his full height. "There has been an unnatural change in the flow of the river, and the people of Sagorpur caused it. We believe you are with them."
"What makes you think it's them that caused it?" Fafnir asks, eyeing his captive for movement.
"And how long ago was this?" asks Viggo.
"Ever since the Shankha Trials. We seek to protect the waters from those who would harm it or the riverine Tinjhorna."
"We're looking for a young woman, a dancer. A woman named Amanisha Manivarsha," says Viggo.
"We have seen no girl," the tiger responds. "But noticed the water changing, and have not seen Tinjhorna since he confronted Dukha. Perhaps Tinjhorna knows something. He warned Dukha to stay away." He points a claw at the boatman.
"Let Dukha answer those questions," says Fafnir.
"The river is all powerful. I am a simple boatman," he shrugs.
"Well, something has troubled the riverine, and he has retreated to the pools atop the falls," the tiger snaps.
Fafnir then eyes his captive, untying him. "Do you want to trade some things? I did not kill you."
The tiger slowly removes a rough clay bottle from a pouch, and shows that it contains a dark sludge. "Rub this on your arms and you will become stronger."
"Interestingly, I also have a potion. Drink this, and you will grow in size and stature," the cleric says. "Unlike this salve, it will make all of you grow larger!"
Osnald, inspired, hands the tiger in front of him a healing potion. He receives a pouch of gold and a wooden tankard bearing the symbol of Cerunnos.
What a way to make friends. Beat to death, then trade liquids.
Up the Falls, Now That We've Spilled Enough Feline Blood
We disembark and hike up a jungle trail. The adjacent waterfalls are fed by a broad, shallow pool surrounded by ancient mangrove trees. Nearby, a dazzlingly attractive (if you like that sort of thing) young man with green skin walks atop the water, speaking softly while slowly circling two churning pillars of glowing green foam, which prove to be water elementals. They seem agitated, and he seems to be trying to calm them.
Osnald, Viggo, and I approach, trying to be one with nature so that the elementals don't decide to water-wallop us. They turn toward us, and the riverine smiles at us.
"Thank you very much for your assistance," he says. "But it is dangerous here. What are you doing here?"
"My name is Methuselah Honeysuckle," begins Viggo. "And this is Old Scratch Johnson..."
"We come to find a young lady who was stolen from the town downriver," Osnald interrupts. "Amanisha."
"I know nothing of an Amanisha. I have been busy dealing with the inhabitants of my river, who have been upset by changes. An ancient power that moves through the water to the southwest. It has angered many of the river, and I have been trying to calm them."
"We're here because a giant wave took out Sagorpur," Fafnir growls. "And supposedly a well-known dancer was taken by the waters. Our guide here said he has seen green shimmering waters. A lot of strange things, and that brought us to you seeking answers."
"Hmm," ponders the green youth. "I suspect that the water that has affected Sagorpur is related to the magic coursing through the rivers to the southwest. Perhaps there is something there for you that will answer your question. The Forest of Hands. There is little in that direction, largely haunted. It occupies the same land as Adorihit River and the vanished Manivarsha."
He smiles. "Allow me to provide you with this." He gives us a potion of superior healing, and a meal of algae and mushrooms. "You may rest here."
Southwest, Where We're Told Magic Courses
Dukha continues to serve as our navigator, though we trade few words. Hours pass, and rain falls heavily. We can see little through the sheets of water. Trevor pisses off the side of the boat, adding to the deluge.
A buzzing sound is heard through the hiss of rain. Flying creatures that seem made of mud emerge from the river.
"Hand over your shiniest valuables," one of them sneers. It seems angry.
"And what will ye give us in return?" I ask.
"We will let you live!" it says.
Sure, mud friend. I draw steel. "Well, come on over and see if there is anything you like."
Trevor pulls out his bright azurite stone. I glance at him.
"Mm. That is good. You may live." They begin to fly off.
That was easy. I had thought only that it was another batch of flying devil creatures that needed stabbing.
Moving onward, we smell the reek of rot. The dangling leaves of the drooping trees seem like withered fingers. These are angul trees, that stink of rotting flesh and drip crimson sap. They are harmless, if disconcerting.
"I've never been here," says Dukha, to my question of whether he'd ever been here.
Several slow-moving waterways convene here, at a rocky island covered with moss and ruined stone. The west and east sides of the island have sharp bluffs, while the north and south have gentler slopes. A blackened, rotting stump of a massive tree is in its middle. On the stump, the prone body of the young dancer we have sought lies.
We beach the boat and approach. I remain standing in the boat with arrow on the string.
She awakens in a confused state, pushing away my companions. "Oh! What happened! Who are you?"
They explain about our having come from Sagorpur.
She says her name is Nisha. "I was attacked by a monstrous woman with gray skin, that oozes ichor like the angul tree! The fiend seized the riverine's shankha, declaring it belonged to her! The wave that smashed Sagorpur seized me and the shankha, and dragged me here. She then left me here, and said I would be a prisoner here for the rest of my days! This marks the edge of Manivarsha."
"But now you are with The Quell!" says Osnald, bowing.
"Do we need to rescue the shankha?" Trevor asks. "Do you want to risk that? We are here to take you home."
"I can perhaps locate it," says Viggo, drawing forth a scroll. "If you can describe it to me."
Suddenly a line of flame rises, blocking me from the island. Great.
A woman with tattered, ancient robes and skin the color of a drowned corpse walks out of swamp at the south edge of the island.
"Welcome, visitors! I am Jijibisha Manivarshi—I'm sure you've heard of me. I know you've come to steal my trophy.” She holds up the riverine's Shankha. "But I am the last champion of Manivarshi to win the Shankha—not this upstart. It cost me everything, but my victory is eternal!"
Sore Winner
So this monstrous woman with gray skin that oozes ichor like the angul tree, as described by the formerly captive Nisha, will not require any labor to hunt down. But she seems like she has magic, and she seems like the jealous type.
From below the trunk of the stump a mass of snakes slithers up to Fafnir with shining fangs, and many jaws strike, making small dings as their fangs bounce off his armor.
I feel the heat from the wall of flames, and kick the boat and myself away from the shore to bump against a nearby island. I then leap overboard and into the drink, swimming hard under the surface and under the fire.
Trevor's voice can be heard as a dim burble, so I don't know if he's encouraging us or yelling at Jijibitcha.
Suddenly the heat and the glow above me vanishes. I begin surging upward to get to dry land, slightly annoyed that I wet myself with murky water for little reason. A flash of brightness above appears and goes away, which I later learn was Viggo casting a ray of blinding light. Jijibeach is blind for a moment.
Fafnir, I'm told, has to deal with a bunch of snakes, and brings forth his aura of purity, which protects against things like poison. Which is really nice, except that I laugh when I think of Fafnir radiating purity. He leaves the snakes behind, ignoring their snapping jaws, to strike at the dead woman. Thunder booms, rippling through the water. Einherjar must be thumping.
Osnald takes the opportunity (as I hear later) to hurl his dagger through the snakes and the blinded, bloodied hag. I barely hear her shrieking voice as she yells at someone.
What in hells? A shoal of toothy fish suddenly surrounds me, almost boiling the water with their thrashing. Some teeth manage to find their way past my skin, and I curse underwater. I haul myself onto shore and into Fafnir's purity circle (snort), and shake the water from my bow. I see the beaten-up former champion and the snakes, and decide to add to her pain. I send one arrow into her torso, but the other bounces from her thick hide. I stand, dripping.
Trevor centers his hunter's mark on her and the whip flashes around her, grappling her in place. He steps up and brings his wooden scimitar to bear. He yanks Aquiline Heart and topples her onto the wet ground.
Viggo, keeping the stump between him and the snakes, levitates the swarm upward out of harm's reach.
Fafnir takes advantage of Jijiboobo's prone condition and brings his hammer down. Blood flies.
Osnald leans down. "Soon you'll be dead. And no one will tell that story... because none of us knows who you are!" I can feel the psychic sting of his taunt.
The dead woman levels her gaze, sparkling with opalescent lights, at Trevor. He shakes it off. "Psych, bitch." Annoyed, she yanks a longsword free and reaches upward, slashing wildly. He ducks backward, taking deep gashes on his arms but protected by his boots of battle.
Since my companions seem to have the disgruntled former dance champion under control, I take some target practice at the floating snakes.
Trevor releases her from his whip and sends his blades downward into Jijiboota. She jerks wildly and lies still. "Sorry. You lost this time. You danced your last dance."
A voice calls from beneath the tree. "You up there! Has the horror been banished? Is she finally gone? Set things right. Set me free!"
"Who are you?" asks Viggo.
"I am Adirohit, the riverine of the lost River, which once nourished the great city of Manivarsha! Touch the Shankha to the stump!"
Nisha looks around, nervously taking the trophy back into her delicate hands. "What should I do?"
Osnald holds forth. "Great riverine Adirohit, I must ask. Was it you who attacked Sagorpur with a great wave?"
"I am saddened to say I played a role. Jijibisha trapped me with her fiendish power and forced me to do so. Long ago Jijibisha made a deal with a wicked god to ensure her victory at the Trials."
"How will you make amends if we free you?" Fafnir asks.
"Of my own free will I would never have attacked Sagorpur. I have been locked away for hundreds of years under this mangrove, since the Shankha Trials that precipitated the destruction of Manivarsha." We realize that the island we stand upon was once a temple. "Plus, I promise you treasures, and that I can restore my river. Soon the humans will build a new, greater city on its banks."
The trophy is touched to the stump, and a swirling male shape rises up on a column of water. Flowing white hair falls from his blue form. "Thank you. Rest here, and tell me how the world has changed over the years." Osnald tells a vast tale with charisma and charm and poetry. Most impressive, that bard can be.
Adirohit bequeaths us the promised treasures: A fist-sized sapphire worth 6,000gp; an emerald elemental gem that conjures a water elemental that resembles him; an intricately carved jade statuette depicting a muscular version of himself, worth 500gp, and a waterproof sack containing a length of the finest silk bastra, embroidered with pearls worth 250gp. Rich indeed, if vain.
We ransack Jijibutter's corpse before rolling her into the water for the bitey fishes to enjoy. We find two platinum ingots, a shield-shaped brooch of shielding, a gnarled wand of secrets made of ash wood, and a silver ring set with a pale blue stone that proves to be a ring of water walking. My friends toss me the ring, since I could have very much used it today. I shrug and put it on, testing it out by walking across the water to our boat and tug it back to us.
As we rest, it emerges that it was Jijibisha who made a deal with a god, but it was Adirohit, angry that the sacred trials had been perverted, who had unleashed the flood that had punished the ancient city of Manivarsha. Amanisha is upset that the city of her ancestors had been slain.
Boating Back
The journey back to Tinjhorna is uneventful. He is pleased at the result and enthused to hear of our journey. We return to Sagorpur with Amanisha and the Shankha, to a heroes' welcome. They give us the promised blessing to speak to the monastery.
[Here I use Unchartered Journeys to develop the trip to Eresh]
We prepare for our journey, studying the stars, blazing the trail, and acquiring supplies. A pair of water buffalo accompanies us, which Viggo names Water Buffalo Bill and I name Calamity Jane. We set off in fair spirits, with spicy foods provided by the populace of Sagorpur. We travel through the forest surrounding the swamp. As we move north we see mountains getting closer, but feel a drop in temperature from the cool winds rushing down their sides.
Ahead, Viggo's owl spies a shiny object off the road to the east. He leads me to a bottle with a message inside it. It looks worse for wear from moisture and is hard to read. It is from Nikolaj Smol Macek, who has buried “thrice his weight in the forest, and while it is worth the travel, there are great beasts that guard it, and a thousand steps to take.” A soiled map leads to a location west of here. We figure it would delay us about a day as we bend our route leftward.
Treasure Hunting
I hear crunching footsteps and breathing ahead, and put an arrow on the string. Osnald throws a hypnotic pattern over the trees, lighting up the leaves with glittering color.
I step forward behind a shrub, and see three winter wolves. Evil types that surround their prey, knock them down, and breathe icy cold. One seems alert and hungry; the others pant and stare at nothing from Osnald's charm. Trevor moves toward it and studies it to know his enemy. He readies his whip.
The alert one advances, almost sheepishly, sniffing as if hoping for a treat. I pull back the string. Trevor holds out some rations, tossing them toward it. It sniffs them, then raises its head and breathes a cone of freezing wind onto the fighter. He dodges, and I loose, missing the wolf in the cloud of winter.
"Fuckin' hell!" Trevor yelps. "Bitch, I'll take you down!"
Fafnir hands the buffalo reins to Osnald, tramps forward past Trevor, hammer in hand, and faces down the wolf. A booming sounds as he connects. The buffalo startle, yanking the halfling several feet as he speaks soothingly to them.
A fourth wolf lopes out of the trees and joins the first one next to Fafnir. Another cone of freezing wind blasts Fafnir and Trevor. The former's boots of the winterlands lets him shrug most of it off. It advances toward Trevor, who lashes out with a crack, grapples it, and yanks it prone.
Viggo gives his owl dragon's breath, and the familiar turns toward the wolves, smoke rising from its beak. He then casts toothless on one of the wolves, which tears at its natural attacks. The owl swoops and spits flame over the two winter wolves.
Osnald taunts the prone wolf. I sink two arrows into the other, making it howl. Trevor reels in his grappled foe and slashes downward with the Living Blade, leaving it bloody. He steps back, wrapping his whip to keep it under control.
The other wolf dashes away, wreathed in sudden thunder from Fafnir's booming blade. It disappears into the trees, yowling. The cleric turns and places his boot on the other's neck, crushing its ribcage with Einherjar. He steps toward the dazed wolves.
Viggo sends Owlmo flying off after the fleeing wolf, then brings down a rain of bones on it for good measure. Owlmo turns back, and I could swear I see a look of disappointment on the familiar's feathery face. Wolf blood and parts spatter the trees.
We had better deal with the remaining two wolves. Osnald steps up behind Trevor and grants me bardic inspiration. I use it to send two shafts into the closest wolf, breaking its daze. Trevor follows up with shortsword and scimitar. It never had a chance, the life fading from its eyes even as its jaws begin to snarl. Frost curls up from its dead mouth.
Fafnir turns his attention to the last wolf and takes out a rope, tying it. It stares, dazed. He shakes it and leans close, knowing it is smart enough to understand. "Surrender, puppy, or die." Viggo casts toothless on it to suppress its ferocity.
I collect two arrows from the dead wolf. I've lost the others, as the bone rain has shattered the wolf's body.
Fafnir decides he wants to try to tame the wolf, or at least make it do his bidding. Oh, well. He needs a hobby.
Here is meant to be the location of the map. In a nearby crevasse three chests lie, nearly buried. Within are values, happily enough. Rich clothing, including a bride's dress, which I will not be wearing, whatever my companions suggest. Jeweled bracelets. Coin. Thank you, Nikolaj Smol Macek, for your contribution.
