WotBS Bonus Time's Burning Sky
- Thread starter VicsHacienda
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RangerWickett
Legend
Wow. Okay, I got this far - WotBS - Bonus Time's Burning Sky - and will need to come back to read the rest!
VicsHacienda
Explorer
Where the Water Runs Red
[Friendly reminder that this encounter was generated using Uncharted Journeys to cover the travel to Eresh.](Since we left Sagorpur I have been bothered by some bug. Trevor takes over the tale below; while he talks like he’s hurling liquid against a wall, he has that noble training and a clean writing hand. Don't tell him I said so. - Hawk)
We grumble since we get no rest. Viggo is menacing and all, but he ain't no outrider like Hawk. That marshland really did a number on her. It looks like she's coughing up sticky swamp water. Between her irritating (yet absolutely understandable) hacking and Viggo's constant desire to probe Osnald's trypophobia, everyone is on edge. (I thought I was getting used to marshes what with traveling through the ones north of Seaquen, but I guess I'm not a lizardfolk. It's annoying because now we're in the mountains, and in my kind of terrain. - Hawk)
We navigate through the mangroves, the forest, and around the mountains. Once we leave the mangroves, everything is cold and covered by winter. We have no untoward encounters, maybe our hacking and shouting discourage anything approaching us. This cold can't be good for Hawk, especially coming from the humidity in Sagorpur. (I'm fine, Trevor. The mountain forests of Gate Pass have snow on them every winter. Yer not my nursemaid. Besides, these water buffalo are not supposed to be this far north. - Hawk)
Our luck runs out once we pass through the plains. Viggo hears it first - people talking in anxious, animated voices. He cannot hear what they are saying. They don't sound violent, so we approach. A couple of farmers talking over a fence bitching about something is what I hear. They're upset about a devil weed. We chat for a bit. The weed vexes them. Osnald suggests they stop smoking it and it won't bother them. They don't understand. Fafnir, ever the practical, tells them to just yank it out: "That's what we do at the ranch." That's when the country folk explain like we're simpletons: it's a weed that's like The Devil.
"Ah!" says Viggo. "We've seen this before. Just sprinkle holy water on it." And with that bit of wisdom dispensed, Viggo leads on. The farmers rub their chins contemplating the solution as we trod down the road. The buffalo leave their chips as parting gifts. (We have to put extra heavy horse blankets on the water buffalo; they are from the warm marshlands, and don't enjoy this weather a bit. - Hawk)
It's a little bit before we come into a village celebrating (garlands and shouting gave it away). I smell alcohol. "Finally, my kind of place. Party and booze."
They are celebrating longevity of the village or some such nonsense. As long as there's drink I'll celebrate buffalo shits. (I'll say nothin' at this time. - Hawk)
Once we get to the village center there's a confusing air about; some are cheering, some appear relieved, and some are crying forlornly.
I go straight to the beer lady. "Here, you want some beer? I have beer, you want some? Here, take some beer. You want some beer?" She doesn't let me answer and shoves a flagon in my face.
"Um, Yes?!" I down it and wipe the suds from my stubbly face. "So what's going on here? What am I celebrating?"
She says a bunch of words: "Longevity of the village! Sacrifice, all sorts of fun crazy stuff. We celebrate, gather in the square, we drink, go to the altar, do some stuff, we drink some more, it gets crazy, we do some stuff, and we drink some more, we get really crazy." It doesn't make sense. She sounds like a preacher who is convinced and can only say those preacher words; not real talk.
"So have we happened upon Shitzville?"
"No, that's up the road a bit, this is Redwater," she quickly replies.
She seems anxious and nervous. She doesn't give specifics about their celebration of longevity of the village, whatever the naughty word that means. I take another beer. Fun and crazy. A fuckin hoot.
Osnald sees two women kissing and thinks it's a good idea to interrupt. He engages the woman with the shortest skirt, which ends at his eyebrows. She regards him with an up-and-down look. In a deep voice she says, "We are celebrating the longevity of the village. The town needs to make an offering because weather is bad. I think it's going to be a good year. I think the offering selected will be well accepted."
"An offering? Maybe I can help. So what is being offered?" Osnald asks.
"Oh it's something the village agrees on. It's all been arranged and taken care of. Don't worry about helping, this bad weather is going to turn around after we do the offering tonight. It's a good offering that everyone agrees on."
Osnald notes she has a book in her pocket: Bleeding for Adults. Osnald recognizes the book as teachings from Erewhon, a deity of life, death and rebirth, magic and transformation, who accepts all sorts of sacrifices: human, animal, or otherwise. Osnald learns the town is named Redwater because the water runs red from sacrificing.
Viggo finds a large-breasted woman with a tray of cookies. He asks her what she studies and if he could study her (My companions have never learned respect for the objects of their interests. - Hawk). Her name is Kazusa Scuk and has a whispery voice. She looks at him and his clothes disdainfully, then cautiously passes him a cookie, careful not to touch Viggo.
"We are celebrating the longevity of the village."
Viggo asks how often they "celebrate the longevity of the village."
"Annually," she replies. Viggo raises his eyebrows, then realizes he misheard her.
"It's an offering that the town all agrees upon. Everyone understands. A mutually agreed upon offering. Sacrifices need to be made and everyone will do their part. Everyone knows their part and everyone sacrifices, mutually." She turns away to hand out cookies to the children gathered around.
Fafnir sees a crying woman and asks why she weeps. She says her name is Mary and the town needs to sacrifice to Erewhon for the longevity of the village. It's winter and a sacrifice is necessary to bring about bounty and to preserve the village.
She's to be that sacrifice.
I take my beer and find Fafnir by the well in the village plaza. I tell him about my interaction with the beer lady. Fafnir says, "Yeah, they're gonna kill her." He hooks his thumb at the woman wiping the tears from her eyes but trying to smile and look happy. "Some Erewhon god wants a sacrifice."
"Oh yes, Erewhon, the deity of rebirth, death, magical transformation. He has a pack of white hounds with red ears that gather souls in the winter," Osnald chimes in from below.
I spit-take my beer. "Fuckin’ Osnald?! Let a guy know when you sneak up on him. So the village is gonna sacrifice one of their neighbors to this god?"
Viggo and Osnald say, "yes." They look at each other. "Jinx! Grimace and sneer, you owe me a beer!" they say in unison. (Gods help me. - Hawk)
Fafnir suggests we kill the village to save the girl.
Viggo suggests that human sacrifice is stupid, but it's difficult to separate correlation from causation with superstitious folks.
"What if we give the village something else to sacrifice? Like a white winter wolf?" I belch into my mug. (Not a bad idea. Trevor still has room for his wits even when filling the rest of himself with drink. - Hawk)
Fafnir's eyes widen when he realizes what I am suggesting. "No! Not wolf! I train it, you will see. Most incredible white winter wolf you will see. Incredible wolf."
Osnald puts his hand on Fafnir's arm. "Ain't no one going to be able to train that thing, big guy. Come on, look at your scratches. And we can't keep it muzzled forever."
Fafnir looks at the muzzled wolf tethered to the buffalos. "Such a magnificent beast..." Fafnir closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and sighs. "Water Buffalo Bill and Calamity Jane are skittish around Frostbite."
Hawk turns to Fafnir. "Ye named it?" (I shouldn't have asked. I name all our riding and work animals, why not name his murderous evil hound? - Hawk)
Fafnir nods. "It needs a name worthy of its stature."
Osnald wanders off while we talk. He comes back with Emaberhun Avsen, the religious leader of the village. "So fellas, Ember here is willing to consider another sacrifice. I said we have the perfect thing. Something better than some floozy from town. I told Everhun here that in order to end winter you need to sacrifice a winter beast to show that winter is over. Erewhon would want nothing less."
Viggo gasps, "Oh! I. Have. An. IDEA. Yes, Erewhon would want a special sacrifice, something that befits his oeuvre: rebirth. Maybe the village has chosen wisely. Maybe Mary is the vessel for the sacrifice."
"Stop bein' daft. To quote Trevor, 'what the hell are you talking about?'" asks Hawk.
Viggo casts womb walk. Mary, the mutually selected sacrifice, suddenly moans and falls to her knees. "Quickly! Gather some blankets and warm water," Viggo commands.
Revelers gather to see the commotion. Mary, now prone on the ground, screams as her belly distends. She's pregnant! naughty word hell! She's pregnant. More people gather and chant as Mary's screams grow louder. Blankets and warm water are handed to Viggo as he tends to the now crowning baby with... shockingly white hair?! Tossing some blankets down for privacy, Viggo jumps aside and a fully grown white winter wolf bursts from Mary's vagina. Amniotic fluid and blood splatter everywhere.
"Behold! Erewhon's sacrifice, to end all sacrifices," Viggo exclaims.
"Nuada has delivered this beast mere hours ago to us for Erewhon! The gods have spoken!" shouts Fafnir.
"The gods have spoken!" shouts Emaberhun Avsen.
Fafnir, not without a tear creasing his eye, crashes Einherjar on the wolf's skull, killing it.
"The gods have spoken!" repeats Emaberhun Avsen.
What the naughty word did I just see? I need more beer. (I think I'll join you. - Hawk)
The wolf is sacrificed. The village erupts in cheers and sweep us all into the feast. They fete us. I get fat with pork and wine.
We head out the next day, and Osnald whines about not finding those two women who were making out.
More Familiar Happenings Along the Mountain Ways
[Here we are back in WotBS Monastery of the Two Winds.]We travel through other wintry villages and make it to foothills. It's rocky and we are alone. The monastery is in the mountains. We can walk a series of narrow switchbacks, but our beasts of burden can't navigate it. (They really shouldn't be this far north, the poor beasts. - Hawk) A system of winches and steps have been installed to assist their ascent. We use the winches to summit two mountains, but when we get to the third we see the steps have been smashed, but their winches look okay. Fafnir and Viggo elect to climb up to retrieve the harnesses necessary to carry Bill and Jane up the mountain.
"I've got no illusions about this. It's an ambush. Be ready, boys," warns Hawk.
Fafnir determines there are worg tracks leading up the slope. Viggo sends Owlmo up to reconnoiter, then changes tack. Viggo peers thru Owlmo's eyes, thus blinding himself. Fafnir takes a potion of growth, slings Viggo onto his back, and carries him up the path.
As the two ascend, a wall of fire cuts off our path to them. Osnald and I had remained below with the animals and Hawk. We hear two arrows fffft past Fafnir and Viggo. One plinks off Fafnir's armor. Osnald says, "I'll have none of that," and dispels the wall of fire.
"What shower of naughty words is this? It had to be all the way up the hill. I'm a skirmisher for naughty word's sake." I cast jump to leap up. I pass Fafnir and Viggo and tuck near the incline to avoid any danger from above. "I've seen what arrows can do from a distance." (Well, you've seen what my arrows can do. These are spindly little goblin shortbow shafts. - Hawk)
Viggo uses Owlmo's eyes to target a rain of bones on the hostiles atop the hill near the winch, striking four entities and killing the archer who fired arrows at Fafnir and a worg hidden in the scrub.
Another archer attempts to hit Fafnir across the chasm, plinking off his armor. Another wall of fire encircles Fafnir and Viggo.
I turn to see Fafnir push through the column of fire with Viggo on his back and stomp up the mountainside. His face is sweaty and streaked with soot. His eyes aren't reflecting the fire as much as they are matching its intensity. Fuuuuck. That's some scary naughty word. (That's my fellow rancher. - Hawk)
From the shadows just above Fafnir and Viggo fly two arrows too high and wide to hit Fafnir... because they are meant for Viggo! They graze Fafnir's shoulder and ricochet into the canyon below. Another archer from across the canyon fires at Fafnir again.
That's when I realize: I left Osnald alone at the bottom.
VicsHacienda
Explorer
Killing Saboteurs
(Okay, I’m back. - Hawk)
I gaze up the broken steps a hundred or more paces above, spying out orc faces as they pop up to shoot. Next to me, unable to reach the enemies far above, Osnald grants me bardic inspiration, then goes back to clandestinely measuring me for a ball gown. Don't ask.
A hundred paces above, Trevor leaps up the steps past Fafnir carrying the blind Viggo. His whip flashes against the goblin spellcaster's face, holding them in place. The wall of fire vanishes as the sorcerer falls atop the worg's corpse.
I step toward the loose slope of scree, watching for orcish faces. I spy two on the next-highest level, but take aim at the one at the very top. The first shaft takes him in the collarbone, and as he lurches backward, the second arrow plunges into his chest. He topples forward onto the next lower ledge.
Viggo, on Fafnir's back casts a rain of bones on the opposite side of the scree, causing great discomfort to our orcish friends, to the tune of two bodies crunching to the earth.
Two shortbow arrows soar from across the way, helped by the orc standing next to Trevor. Ragesian Infiltrators, if I guess correctly. We've fought these before. Another fires a pair of arrows. Only one strikes Trevor, who shrugs it off.
The overly large Fafnir lunges up onto the next terrace and hurtles a javelin of lighting, past Trevor's assailant and toward the two bow-orcs across the scree. Lightning crackles as the orcs dodge aside. Then, bursting with passion, he brings out Einherjar and slams the nearest orc, wreathing him in booming energy. The orc tries to run, the thunder shuddering around his body. He tears down the steps toward Osnald and me.
"Leave one alive!" calls Viggo, though why he wants one alive I won't guess.
Osnald dashes upward to get closer, and drops a hypnotic pattern over the approaching orc, who skids to a halt, fascinated.
Trevor backs up and runs forward, his whip trailing behind as he leaps across the gap. The Aquiline Heart wraps around the orc on the far side, pulling Trevor farther to land skidding on the opposite side. The Living Blade sweeps. The orc staggers.
I send two more arrows up the way to strike the orc's companion, who lives still. Hardy folk, these sneaky-assed Ragesian saboteurs. Viggo sends a vibrant blue rebounding bolt against my target, which then bounces to Trevor's orc. Both orcs drop, their skeletons visible for an instant beneath their flesh.
I gather up the two buffalo and guide them into the newly repaired winches' harnesses, despite their lowing and complaining.
Fafnir gathers the hypnotized orc and ties him up and, still large, uses his fiercest intimidation. "Tell us who you are!"
"We are part of Second General Signus's troops. We, um, came here a little over a week ago, went into the town to get at the monastery. He left to get reinforcements. He should return any day."
"What went wrong?"
"We were left to defend this pass. Um, but there are more of us! In the town of Eresh."
Fafnir presses him for numbers. "How many! Where is the camp! Who is in charge! 'Um' is not an answer!"
"About a hundred and fifty, under, um, Lieutenant Kormus. Garrisoning the town."
"So they tried to get to the monastery, but had to retreat." The orc nods. "And who came back from that attempt? Did many die? How were they repelled?"
"Um... they suddenly weren't in the mood to fight," the orc says. "They are acting oddly."
"You can live, then, if you can withstand Osnald's mocking," Fafnir grumbles. And the bard causes the orc to die of headache. Fafnir kicks the body out onto the scree.
Eresh and the Monastery of At Least One Wind
Climbing the mountain, beyond a great stone wall, we see a massive building a thousand feet above. Below, a town sprawls, connected by roads. A river crosses between.
The gates of the wall are open and unguarded. Around us the tents of an army sprout like weeds, but it seems strangely silent. Perhaps the Ragesians are settled in the town. Trevor explores and finds most of the tents empty, the campfire coals cold. He does see a Ragesian soldier, who appears asleep.
Fafnir looms over the prone soldier and addresses him in orcish, as if he is a superior officer. The orc does not respond. His lips are chapped and broken, his eyes sunken, as if dry or malnourished. Viggo thinks he is drugged or ensorcelled.
VicsHacienda
Explorer
It seems more to Fafnir and me that, like in the cold canyons of Gate Pass, sometimes a person loses the will to move or live, and this fellow seems like that. Leaving the soldier, we enter the open gates. We spy some abandoned carts, but no tracks in the snow.
We approach a tall, battered edifice of stone. Osnald judges it to be some sort of temple devoted to ancient beings. It looks to have suffered siege damage, and its walls are breached in places. Fafnir and I scout its perimeter. Finding much of the walls to be piles of rubble, we clamber over them into the courtyard. A cold campfire and tents are strewn, likely a week old. Ragesian bodies lie, as do unarmed people dressed in robes, many of which succumbed to battle wounds, but also some by starvation or lack of water, despite the presence of a well.
A gap in the wall reveals an indoor temple. We enter. Osnald scratches his chin at the iconography and decor and feels it is a shrine to the element of fire. More Ragesians lie here, dead from apparent neglect. Trevor digs through their belongings.
Fafnir moves slowly into a greater hall, hammer in hand. I follow close behind, arrow on string. Closed doors stand at either end. Fafnir pushes one open. A dark chamber yawns. More dead bodies and a dimly glowing altar. Osnald tiptoes up to the altar to look it over. A plaque reads, Flame does not judge - it proves. Viggo perceives that a spellcaster who meditates in this area might gain a faint link to the Elemental Plane of Fire. He sits and ponders it, and Fafnir rests, while Trevor, Osnald, and I explore a nearby room.
The room has several tables, bookcases, and a fireplace, and appears to be some sort of study. It has been torn apart and used as perhaps a staging area for Ragesians. Burnt scraps of paper curl in the dead fireplace. Part of the wall has fallen away, showing a corner of the courtyard.
We listen at the far doors. Silence. I push them open and see a plaque outside:
A warrior, raging and brought into the world.
Conjured by planted spins or by two dull things.
Brightly in hungers and bites at your touch,
in its wake it leaves not much.
What am I?
We think it's fairly obvious that it's flame, and this is a front entryway. We exit the structure and resume the road to the west.
We come across a body by a cart, barely alive though stricken by the same malaise. Viggo casts identify to determine the cause, and finds it is a form of a highly powered calm emotions spell. Who has the power to do this across a land?
Moving on from the poor soul, we wander among a batch of buildings, one of which is large and columned. Viggo grins, for it is a massive library, standing solemnly in the center of a great courtyard with pools and lawns.
A plaque reads, Tranquility Athenaeum. The grounds and windows look unmarred by attack. It does not look to have been kept up as much as it might, with weeds and errant branches and overgrowth. The name Cheng Shun is emblazoned on a statue of a seated figure; Trevor recalls him as the patron or hero of knowledge who went searching far and wide for stories and would bring them back to his native land.
We round the building to examine other statues, and peer inside the windows. Rows of book cases and seats line a grand hall, overflowing with books and scrolls. Osnald examines a bust of Zhuan Xuegang, someone associated with knowledge and history. Where do they learn this stuff? Trevor and I look at a statue of Su Jingyi, and have no idea who it is, but Trevor notices a symbol of Oghma. A fourth statue is of Tao Peng, which Osnald says is out of place, as she is an infamous societal figure who trafficked in secrets and spycraft, revered by those seeking secrets and known for using illicit means to extract knowledge. I move on to a bust of Wen Jianhong, who I have somehow heard of as some veteran soldier. Trevor says he was famous for defending a library in battle, and was thought to be killed, but he returned from the dead to defend it again. Osnald looks at Guo Shi, and cannot fully recall where he's heard the name except that he was not well thought of, but might have had some sort of redemption story.
I wonder at how this place is so untouched when the fire temple had been so ravaged. Had the army not advanced this far?
The northerly end of the grounds show some pillared buildings and doors. We gather. I enter a scriptorium and see a woman moving lethargically among the shelves. Osnald greets her. "Good evening, fair lady. Do you have time to converse with us?"
She looks him up and down without interest. "Eh. If you must."
"Are you feeling unwell?"
"Rather impertinent. I feel fine. I feel... fine."
Fafnir strides up. "Do you work here? Are you a scholar?"
It seems apparent that she responds to people of authority, so he continues. "I am a knight of Ostalin. You may address me as Sir Fafnir. We wish to know what has happened here. Signs of struggle, and an army marching through that has disappeared. What do you know?"
She actually curtseys to him. "Sir Fafnir. I can tell you that the malaise that struck the land began when the Ragesians attacked. Suddenly they did not care, and neither did we. Everyone seems satisfied, but I and others know that we have not had dreams or nightmares since that day. We cannot decide if it is important or not. I started to research, but what does it matter?" She indicates the scrolls. "I have found nothing of import."
Trevor examines the scrolls: Medic of Despair. Enemies of Insanity. Rebel of Utopia. Traitor Without Desire. Kings of Tomorrow. They sound all like romantic stories to me.
I sit down on the stairs, having no wish to introduce myself as any kind of noble, and even less desire to interact with someone who cares about nothing.
Osnald looks closer at the scrolls the woman had been perusing. "Does anyone have anything to detect magic?" Viggo detects a sort of miasma around the entire area, the same massive calm emotions effect as before, but its school and source is not apparent. It seems almost like smoke floating through the air. Unable to tell more, Viggo thumbs through Doctor of Freedom, a scroll about biomancy.
"What do you know about the Monastery?" asks Fafnir.
"The monastery? I heard the Ragesians wanted to get to it. They were trying to capture the spirit of storms to force it to surrender. The person in charge here in Shen Hanying. Ask him. But he does not care for foreigners."
"Didn't ask that. Where is he?"
She points, and Fafnir nods.
We enter the library and traverse its length. Osnald grandly greets the lone librarian there, almost hidden under a stack of books in his hands. The man seems to ignore him, but responds in a dreary manner.
"What is it you wish?"
"I wish to present to you Lord Fafnir, and ask questions of the library and the Monastery of Two Winds."
"Oh. Yes. The monastery." He sounds like he has something against it. We notice his arm is artificial, like Viggo's, and it is working with the books as if of its own will. "Quite an attribute. What do you want to know?"
"We want to go up there. And find out why this place is cursed. Ensorcelled. Whatever."
"That matters not. What matters is... well, I would have said knowledge, but that too is waning. Perhaps if you have stories and tomes of your lands? I understand you are nobles of Ostalin?" The librarian looks sad.
"Something here is making people apathetic. Where would we look to know more?" demands Fafnir.
"Some of the monks of the healing house along Notus Road may know. They take in those who have succumbed. Perhaps it is my imagination, but some have also vanished recently."
We leave for the healing house, and I have rarely felt such a desire to leave a passionless place like this.
We decide the large building with the copper roof is the healing house, and head toward it. Apparently they have been helping people who have lost the ability to care for themselves. As we tramp through the fields, we see the sign hanging over the door: Harmony Grove House.
Fafnir strides in. "Hello! Anybody here?" Many people lie on the floors and beds in various states of consciousness.
A dolorous-looking figure turns. It wears black robes and a long-nosed mask like a bird. "Yes?" His voice is also lethargic, but he has a little more animation than the others. "What do you have to offer?"
"We have noticed your town, and the Ragesians, are under some sort of spell. Shen said that you all were taking in people who have fallen ill. We want to know more about this disease," Fafnir explains.
"Yes. When the Ragesians attacked. But they did not get far. Right after they attacked the fire shrine. It happened in minutes. It seems to be magical, suppressing people's... I will not say will to live, but desire for anything. We have tried prayers and rituals, but have seen nothing like this over such a wide area. It is also strange that no one dreams... perhaps it has something to do with the dream realm."
"So when people rest, they become affected?"
"No. Over time, everyone succumbs to it. I myself can feel its effects, but I try to remain focused on my work. It gives me enough purpose to fight off some of the effect."
"What can you tell us of the monastery? Can anyone here cast powerful spells?"
"Oh, no. Not of that scale. The monastery? I have not been up there, and no one else has gone there since. I heard someone came down from there, but never returned up, so is still here. Something has also happened in the Valley of the Storms, and all are forbidden to go there. Go to Peak's Shadow, the local inn. They may know more."
Forbidden? Naturally, we want to go there.
Peak's Shadow is a building in the shadow of a small mountain. As we travel through the narrow streets, we notice someone spying on us through a window, then vanish as if spooked. Osnald and Fafnir decide to investigate.
(I was busy squinting and looking around for enemies stalking us, so Trevor speaks here. - Hawk)
The house is empty, but is hung with veils. The gossamer drapes flutter when we enter; our eyes adjust to the dim interior from the brightness outside. From within a woman's voice whispers, "I am Balance. And you have met my kin." The filmy curtains conceal her figure. She vanishes, and instantly a male voice behind claims, "The scales weigh heavy, and your actions will tip it!" Everyone turns to see a male form melt into the tulle shades.
Hawk scans the interior but sees nothing and lowers her bow. "Well, that's a daft welcome."
"That's just naughty word weird," exclaims Trevor.
"Hey man, do that thing. That thing. Sing your song," says Viggo as he pokes at Trevor.
Everyone groans.
"That cat-screeching sound that he howls? The ghosts are gone. We don't need to scare them away," huffs Fafnir.
Fafnir isn't wrong. He voiced what the others thought. Trevor had been humming a "tune" since they left Innenotdar Forest. Tiljann had taught him the words. She was patient with his poor Sylvan. He got better under her tutelage, but unfortunately, she parted ways, and his progress stalled. That didn't stop Trevor. He kept humming and "singing." He took night watches on his own because no one wanted to hear him butcher the song. Finally, Osnald took pity on everyone and stepped in. He taught Trevor notes and how to carry a tune. Trevor got better, but he did not have Osnald's golden voice or years of vocal practice.
Trevor clears his throat, "Ahem," and starts to sing. It's less "singing" and more talking over a melody. His voice is deep, calm, and gravelly bass-baritone. His delivery is somber and just shy of conversational. It's nothing like the exhausted yet ethereal fairy choir of Seela or Tiljann's bright timbre. It reflects Trevor's rebelliousness and his weariness. Osnald had urged Trevor to lean into his voice and not try to mimic others. Trevor made the Song of Forms his. And he talked the hell out of that song.
(Trevor is manifesting his inner spoken-word bard, so back to me. - Hawk)
As Trevor speaks, we see a figure, or perhaps two figures, a woman and man, mixing together and making up parts of each other. It seems each is trying to leave, but is being snapped back into place by Trevor's Song of Forms.
Osnald tries to introduce us as the two forms weave in and out. "Dear spirits, we mean you no harm. I am Osnald, and these are my compatriots. Is there help we can render unto you?"
"You can release me. How do you know this song? How are you doing this?"
"He learned it from the Seela. of the Innenotdar Forest," I venture.
"Do you know what is happening with the people here?" asks Viggo. "They seem despondent, and unresponsive."
"I am keeping the town in balance," says the woman side. "When the Ragesians arrived, they brought great violence, and I wish to keep this place calm and peaceful as I found it twenty years ago. It is a refuge, and I would not surrender it."
"It seems to have veered too far to the side of calm and peaceful, to the point of being dead," I say.
"The Ragesians' violence is so much that it causes a strain to balance it," she says. The figures look drained.
"What happens if you rest? What can we do to help?" Viggo asks.
"Were I to stop keeping balance, the area would explode into rage and war."
"We could find the army and remove its leaders," offers Fafnir. "If we get rid of the Ragesian threat, would you see fit to stop?"
"Yes. The people of this place are not violent. Were the invaders to leave, I believe I could rest."
"I could take the spirits inside myself," Osnald offers. "I might be exhausted, but we could bear the burden for a time."
"I would not be willing to do that. It requires my stopping the effect."
"Are we going to be affected if we stay?" I wonder. It seems yes, so we have a time limit before we too are compelled to lay down and die.
"I am too weak to withdraw my influence from so many, and I will not forsake my beliefs, even if my spirit be eternally destroyed. Help me by going in peace, leaving, and raising neither sword nor spell in battle. I cannot survive much longer, and when I pass, the scale will collapse, and discord will reign," says Balance.
So we need to dispatch the Ragesians without violence? Are we even good at that?
"May we go in peace if our companion stops singing?" asks Fafnir.
"Of course. I ask again that you raise no sword or spell in battle," says Balance. "As you approach the temple, know that the lesser east wind serves her master in this valley and beyond. Stalking claws, invisible and loyal, have seized those I unwittingly laid low, and carried them away to lie beneath the tempest to the east. The storm that has gathered for decades will not long idly lie, I sense. Be warned: children of the wind are strong here, too strong for me to calm them."
"So we are to travel to the Valley of Storms to negotiate a possible ally against the Ragesians, do I have that right?" Fafnir says.
The Peak's Shadow lies under the shadow of a small peak, which I am not amazed to discover. We see more people, listless but not yet forsaken. They lounge and wander. Even Ragesians in uniform are about, mixing with the locals.
The inn looks nice enough. It's crowded with locals and invaders, some of which are unconscious. We recognize the bartender as Shahalesti. Trevor beckons her over, and she listlessly gives us beer. Her name is Thashalanos.
"Thashalanos. We have heard that people in this tavern may know what is going on in the Valley of Storms," grumbles Fafnir.
"If anybody did, it would be them," she points.
Trevor engages her in Elvish, asking about the monastery. Apparently the monastery's two halves complement each other. The east wind is more adventurous, while the west is more contemplative.
Fafnir saunters over to a group and convinces a Ragesian orc to give up his seat. He asks the indicated patrons. "Are you from here, or from the army?"
"We are monks from the monastery," they reply. "I belong to the east, he to the west. We do not seek to compete."
Fafnir, thinking of the previous Seaquen delegation, asks if they have seen or heard other foreigners visit a month ago. The monks had not, having come down a week ago and choosing to remain in the town. Fafnir offers to help them carry their gear back up in return for guiding us, but their lethargy makes that choice for them.
I fume near the door, nursing a weak beer. I hate this inaction, this lack of caring.
One of the monks mentions Pilus, his master, which is the name of the man we need to see to get that blessing... or maybe the man we will meet once we get it, to get to Castle Korstull. I don't even know; it's like juggling walnuts while trying to crack and eat them at the same time. Apparently one master, Longinus, embodies a philosophy centered on meditation and teaching, focusing on spiritual wisdom and the inner peace of his followers. He values restraint and the ethical implications of power, striving for a deeper understanding of magic and its impact on the world. In stark contrast, Pilus is characterized by his ambition and cunning, driven by revenge against Coaltongue. He actively seeks to extend his life and gain power. I can admire his energy, if not his goal.
Some person named Caella once followed one wind, now the other, and is the only person besides Pilus who goes to the Valley of Storms. She is apparently not too nice, which means we should get along swimmingly. The monk says the approach is guarded by elementals, and the code word to pass is "Eshu."
We decide to continue northeast, toward the Wind Shrine, toward the fork that leads to the Valley of Storms, and the monastery itself. We look toward farms as we travel the road, barren and cold.
At the fork, two stone archways stand, with runes that suggest gale winds and calm winds, around a marble platform. Trevor bows and prays briefly to both, and feels the wind swirling around him and his magical weapon. I stand near the east wind rune, feeling more in tune with it, with energy and revenge, than with inaction.
A monk emerges from the house. "To hear the wind is to hear yourself. Choose what you hear." He lights incense, and I feel a sense of calm before the east wind stirs, cold and whispering.
A faint voice calls: "Blood remembers, even when land forgets." Mist gathers around my feet, and the temple fades away to fields and scarecrows, and tall silhouettes of gallows-trees. This place looks new yet familiar. A figure takes shape: Gavintar Nock! His cloak is in tatters, his bow lowered. His eyes are hollow. He lifts a hand toward me, his mouth silent, and the wind speaks through him: "He heard the wind that lies... the same wind that called to our ancestors. It calls to you too." Three ravens circle around a single black feather. And with that, my vision ends, and the monk next to me stumbles.
"What... kind of backwards pageantry was that?" I snarl. I am not given to mystical things, and don’t appreciate that being pushed into my memory.
"There is a third wind that flows through you, my friend," he says. "It is unlike the two winds here." Well, that’s nice. The North Wind, I expect I am.
I fall silent, and follow the group without speaking. As we walk, Fafnir, sensing the difference in me, offers to talk. "God's naughty word. Arcane naughty word. I have to think about it, but I don't want to," I reply quietly.
Brightly colored banners and flags line the path upward, flapping wildly in the wind. White birds wheel, weird three-winged things with sharp claws and upside-down beaks. Their flight is erratic.
The wind grows heavier as we rise hundreds of feet above the plain. Blasted-looking trees dot the slope.
Thick columns of wind whirl in place, larger than mere dust devils, and advance upon us. "Eshu?" I say. Trevor calls it more confidently, as does Osnald.
One column suddenly blasts out a gale of air behind us, nearly knocking us off our feet. Trevor staggers. Is it attacking, or moving us on our way?
"Hey, ye great windbag. Is Eshu not good enough for ye?" I call back. The second column approaches and blasts us from the front.
Fafnir strides past. "Eshu." He passes the wind column above. It turns, if a column of wind could be said to turn, to face him. "If all they're doing is blowing at us, let's keep on."
"I don't care." Viggo, disliking the treatment, casts backdraft, enveloping the second elemental in a cone of fire. "Don't push my friends." (Aww… you think of us as friends? - Hawk)
I move on to keep pace with Fafnir, as does Trevor, who uncoils his whip in readiness. Osnald runs up and past us.
Viggo is blown back in response, and suddenly an icy rift opens beneath him, swallowing him into the mountainside. The wizard twists and scrambles, grasping the edge, and does not slide into the ravine. He rolls aside.
The second wind column rushes at Trevor, who whips at it. It slams at him, buffeting him, then rushes past. Fafnir grunts and runs downhill, booming-blading it with Einherjar. He steps on a shallow patch of snow, which opens up another rift. He pitches forward but keeps his feet, sending thunder over the elemental.
Viggo crawls back toward the road, raising a hand to cast an almost dismissive rain of bones on both elementals. The tree between them shudders with the impact. "Everybody stay on the path!"
Entering Eresh from the Southeast
We approach a tall, battered edifice of stone. Osnald judges it to be some sort of temple devoted to ancient beings. It looks to have suffered siege damage, and its walls are breached in places. Fafnir and I scout its perimeter. Finding much of the walls to be piles of rubble, we clamber over them into the courtyard. A cold campfire and tents are strewn, likely a week old. Ragesian bodies lie, as do unarmed people dressed in robes, many of which succumbed to battle wounds, but also some by starvation or lack of water, despite the presence of a well.
A gap in the wall reveals an indoor temple. We enter. Osnald scratches his chin at the iconography and decor and feels it is a shrine to the element of fire. More Ragesians lie here, dead from apparent neglect. Trevor digs through their belongings.
Fafnir moves slowly into a greater hall, hammer in hand. I follow close behind, arrow on string. Closed doors stand at either end. Fafnir pushes one open. A dark chamber yawns. More dead bodies and a dimly glowing altar. Osnald tiptoes up to the altar to look it over. A plaque reads, Flame does not judge - it proves. Viggo perceives that a spellcaster who meditates in this area might gain a faint link to the Elemental Plane of Fire. He sits and ponders it, and Fafnir rests, while Trevor, Osnald, and I explore a nearby room.
The room has several tables, bookcases, and a fireplace, and appears to be some sort of study. It has been torn apart and used as perhaps a staging area for Ragesians. Burnt scraps of paper curl in the dead fireplace. Part of the wall has fallen away, showing a corner of the courtyard.
We listen at the far doors. Silence. I push them open and see a plaque outside:
A warrior, raging and brought into the world.
Conjured by planted spins or by two dull things.
Brightly in hungers and bites at your touch,
in its wake it leaves not much.
What am I?
We think it's fairly obvious that it's flame, and this is a front entryway. We exit the structure and resume the road to the west.
The Source of Indifference
We come across a body by a cart, barely alive though stricken by the same malaise. Viggo casts identify to determine the cause, and finds it is a form of a highly powered calm emotions spell. Who has the power to do this across a land?
Moving on from the poor soul, we wander among a batch of buildings, one of which is large and columned. Viggo grins, for it is a massive library, standing solemnly in the center of a great courtyard with pools and lawns.
The Library, If Anyone Cares
A plaque reads, Tranquility Athenaeum. The grounds and windows look unmarred by attack. It does not look to have been kept up as much as it might, with weeds and errant branches and overgrowth. The name Cheng Shun is emblazoned on a statue of a seated figure; Trevor recalls him as the patron or hero of knowledge who went searching far and wide for stories and would bring them back to his native land.
We round the building to examine other statues, and peer inside the windows. Rows of book cases and seats line a grand hall, overflowing with books and scrolls. Osnald examines a bust of Zhuan Xuegang, someone associated with knowledge and history. Where do they learn this stuff? Trevor and I look at a statue of Su Jingyi, and have no idea who it is, but Trevor notices a symbol of Oghma. A fourth statue is of Tao Peng, which Osnald says is out of place, as she is an infamous societal figure who trafficked in secrets and spycraft, revered by those seeking secrets and known for using illicit means to extract knowledge. I move on to a bust of Wen Jianhong, who I have somehow heard of as some veteran soldier. Trevor says he was famous for defending a library in battle, and was thought to be killed, but he returned from the dead to defend it again. Osnald looks at Guo Shi, and cannot fully recall where he's heard the name except that he was not well thought of, but might have had some sort of redemption story.
I wonder at how this place is so untouched when the fire temple had been so ravaged. Had the army not advanced this far?
The northerly end of the grounds show some pillared buildings and doors. We gather. I enter a scriptorium and see a woman moving lethargically among the shelves. Osnald greets her. "Good evening, fair lady. Do you have time to converse with us?"
She looks him up and down without interest. "Eh. If you must."
"Are you feeling unwell?"
"Rather impertinent. I feel fine. I feel... fine."
Fafnir strides up. "Do you work here? Are you a scholar?"
It seems apparent that she responds to people of authority, so he continues. "I am a knight of Ostalin. You may address me as Sir Fafnir. We wish to know what has happened here. Signs of struggle, and an army marching through that has disappeared. What do you know?"
She actually curtseys to him. "Sir Fafnir. I can tell you that the malaise that struck the land began when the Ragesians attacked. Suddenly they did not care, and neither did we. Everyone seems satisfied, but I and others know that we have not had dreams or nightmares since that day. We cannot decide if it is important or not. I started to research, but what does it matter?" She indicates the scrolls. "I have found nothing of import."
Trevor examines the scrolls: Medic of Despair. Enemies of Insanity. Rebel of Utopia. Traitor Without Desire. Kings of Tomorrow. They sound all like romantic stories to me.
I sit down on the stairs, having no wish to introduce myself as any kind of noble, and even less desire to interact with someone who cares about nothing.
Osnald looks closer at the scrolls the woman had been perusing. "Does anyone have anything to detect magic?" Viggo detects a sort of miasma around the entire area, the same massive calm emotions effect as before, but its school and source is not apparent. It seems almost like smoke floating through the air. Unable to tell more, Viggo thumbs through Doctor of Freedom, a scroll about biomancy.
"What do you know about the Monastery?" asks Fafnir.
"The monastery? I heard the Ragesians wanted to get to it. They were trying to capture the spirit of storms to force it to surrender. The person in charge here in Shen Hanying. Ask him. But he does not care for foreigners."
"Didn't ask that. Where is he?"
She points, and Fafnir nods.
We enter the library and traverse its length. Osnald grandly greets the lone librarian there, almost hidden under a stack of books in his hands. The man seems to ignore him, but responds in a dreary manner.
"What is it you wish?"
"I wish to present to you Lord Fafnir, and ask questions of the library and the Monastery of Two Winds."
"Oh. Yes. The monastery." He sounds like he has something against it. We notice his arm is artificial, like Viggo's, and it is working with the books as if of its own will. "Quite an attribute. What do you want to know?"
"We want to go up there. And find out why this place is cursed. Ensorcelled. Whatever."
"That matters not. What matters is... well, I would have said knowledge, but that too is waning. Perhaps if you have stories and tomes of your lands? I understand you are nobles of Ostalin?" The librarian looks sad.
"Something here is making people apathetic. Where would we look to know more?" demands Fafnir.
"Some of the monks of the healing house along Notus Road may know. They take in those who have succumbed. Perhaps it is my imagination, but some have also vanished recently."
We leave for the healing house, and I have rarely felt such a desire to leave a passionless place like this.
The Healing House in the Harmony Grove
We decide the large building with the copper roof is the healing house, and head toward it. Apparently they have been helping people who have lost the ability to care for themselves. As we tramp through the fields, we see the sign hanging over the door: Harmony Grove House.
Fafnir strides in. "Hello! Anybody here?" Many people lie on the floors and beds in various states of consciousness.
A dolorous-looking figure turns. It wears black robes and a long-nosed mask like a bird. "Yes?" His voice is also lethargic, but he has a little more animation than the others. "What do you have to offer?"
"We have noticed your town, and the Ragesians, are under some sort of spell. Shen said that you all were taking in people who have fallen ill. We want to know more about this disease," Fafnir explains.
"Yes. When the Ragesians attacked. But they did not get far. Right after they attacked the fire shrine. It happened in minutes. It seems to be magical, suppressing people's... I will not say will to live, but desire for anything. We have tried prayers and rituals, but have seen nothing like this over such a wide area. It is also strange that no one dreams... perhaps it has something to do with the dream realm."
"So when people rest, they become affected?"
"No. Over time, everyone succumbs to it. I myself can feel its effects, but I try to remain focused on my work. It gives me enough purpose to fight off some of the effect."
"What can you tell us of the monastery? Can anyone here cast powerful spells?"
"Oh, no. Not of that scale. The monastery? I have not been up there, and no one else has gone there since. I heard someone came down from there, but never returned up, so is still here. Something has also happened in the Valley of the Storms, and all are forbidden to go there. Go to Peak's Shadow, the local inn. They may know more."
Forbidden? Naturally, we want to go there.
Into the Shadow, or Its Peak, Anyway
Peak's Shadow is a building in the shadow of a small mountain. As we travel through the narrow streets, we notice someone spying on us through a window, then vanish as if spooked. Osnald and Fafnir decide to investigate.
(I was busy squinting and looking around for enemies stalking us, so Trevor speaks here. - Hawk)
The house is empty, but is hung with veils. The gossamer drapes flutter when we enter; our eyes adjust to the dim interior from the brightness outside. From within a woman's voice whispers, "I am Balance. And you have met my kin." The filmy curtains conceal her figure. She vanishes, and instantly a male voice behind claims, "The scales weigh heavy, and your actions will tip it!" Everyone turns to see a male form melt into the tulle shades.
Hawk scans the interior but sees nothing and lowers her bow. "Well, that's a daft welcome."
"That's just naughty word weird," exclaims Trevor.
"Hey man, do that thing. That thing. Sing your song," says Viggo as he pokes at Trevor.
Everyone groans.
"That cat-screeching sound that he howls? The ghosts are gone. We don't need to scare them away," huffs Fafnir.
Fafnir isn't wrong. He voiced what the others thought. Trevor had been humming a "tune" since they left Innenotdar Forest. Tiljann had taught him the words. She was patient with his poor Sylvan. He got better under her tutelage, but unfortunately, she parted ways, and his progress stalled. That didn't stop Trevor. He kept humming and "singing." He took night watches on his own because no one wanted to hear him butcher the song. Finally, Osnald took pity on everyone and stepped in. He taught Trevor notes and how to carry a tune. Trevor got better, but he did not have Osnald's golden voice or years of vocal practice.
Trevor clears his throat, "Ahem," and starts to sing. It's less "singing" and more talking over a melody. His voice is deep, calm, and gravelly bass-baritone. His delivery is somber and just shy of conversational. It's nothing like the exhausted yet ethereal fairy choir of Seela or Tiljann's bright timbre. It reflects Trevor's rebelliousness and his weariness. Osnald had urged Trevor to lean into his voice and not try to mimic others. Trevor made the Song of Forms his. And he talked the hell out of that song.
Balance, Out of Balance
(Trevor is manifesting his inner spoken-word bard, so back to me. - Hawk)
As Trevor speaks, we see a figure, or perhaps two figures, a woman and man, mixing together and making up parts of each other. It seems each is trying to leave, but is being snapped back into place by Trevor's Song of Forms.
Osnald tries to introduce us as the two forms weave in and out. "Dear spirits, we mean you no harm. I am Osnald, and these are my compatriots. Is there help we can render unto you?"
"You can release me. How do you know this song? How are you doing this?"
"He learned it from the Seela. of the Innenotdar Forest," I venture.
"Do you know what is happening with the people here?" asks Viggo. "They seem despondent, and unresponsive."
"I am keeping the town in balance," says the woman side. "When the Ragesians arrived, they brought great violence, and I wish to keep this place calm and peaceful as I found it twenty years ago. It is a refuge, and I would not surrender it."
"It seems to have veered too far to the side of calm and peaceful, to the point of being dead," I say.
"The Ragesians' violence is so much that it causes a strain to balance it," she says. The figures look drained.
"What happens if you rest? What can we do to help?" Viggo asks.
"Were I to stop keeping balance, the area would explode into rage and war."
"We could find the army and remove its leaders," offers Fafnir. "If we get rid of the Ragesian threat, would you see fit to stop?"
"Yes. The people of this place are not violent. Were the invaders to leave, I believe I could rest."
"I could take the spirits inside myself," Osnald offers. "I might be exhausted, but we could bear the burden for a time."
"I would not be willing to do that. It requires my stopping the effect."
"Are we going to be affected if we stay?" I wonder. It seems yes, so we have a time limit before we too are compelled to lay down and die.
"I am too weak to withdraw my influence from so many, and I will not forsake my beliefs, even if my spirit be eternally destroyed. Help me by going in peace, leaving, and raising neither sword nor spell in battle. I cannot survive much longer, and when I pass, the scale will collapse, and discord will reign," says Balance.
So we need to dispatch the Ragesians without violence? Are we even good at that?
"May we go in peace if our companion stops singing?" asks Fafnir.
"Of course. I ask again that you raise no sword or spell in battle," says Balance. "As you approach the temple, know that the lesser east wind serves her master in this valley and beyond. Stalking claws, invisible and loyal, have seized those I unwittingly laid low, and carried them away to lie beneath the tempest to the east. The storm that has gathered for decades will not long idly lie, I sense. Be warned: children of the wind are strong here, too strong for me to calm them."
"So we are to travel to the Valley of Storms to negotiate a possible ally against the Ragesians, do I have that right?" Fafnir says.
Peeking into the Peak's Shadow, For What It's Worth
The Peak's Shadow lies under the shadow of a small peak, which I am not amazed to discover. We see more people, listless but not yet forsaken. They lounge and wander. Even Ragesians in uniform are about, mixing with the locals.
The inn looks nice enough. It's crowded with locals and invaders, some of which are unconscious. We recognize the bartender as Shahalesti. Trevor beckons her over, and she listlessly gives us beer. Her name is Thashalanos.
"Thashalanos. We have heard that people in this tavern may know what is going on in the Valley of Storms," grumbles Fafnir.
"If anybody did, it would be them," she points.
Trevor engages her in Elvish, asking about the monastery. Apparently the monastery's two halves complement each other. The east wind is more adventurous, while the west is more contemplative.
Fafnir saunters over to a group and convinces a Ragesian orc to give up his seat. He asks the indicated patrons. "Are you from here, or from the army?"
"We are monks from the monastery," they reply. "I belong to the east, he to the west. We do not seek to compete."
Fafnir, thinking of the previous Seaquen delegation, asks if they have seen or heard other foreigners visit a month ago. The monks had not, having come down a week ago and choosing to remain in the town. Fafnir offers to help them carry their gear back up in return for guiding us, but their lethargy makes that choice for them.
I fume near the door, nursing a weak beer. I hate this inaction, this lack of caring.
One of the monks mentions Pilus, his master, which is the name of the man we need to see to get that blessing... or maybe the man we will meet once we get it, to get to Castle Korstull. I don't even know; it's like juggling walnuts while trying to crack and eat them at the same time. Apparently one master, Longinus, embodies a philosophy centered on meditation and teaching, focusing on spiritual wisdom and the inner peace of his followers. He values restraint and the ethical implications of power, striving for a deeper understanding of magic and its impact on the world. In stark contrast, Pilus is characterized by his ambition and cunning, driven by revenge against Coaltongue. He actively seeks to extend his life and gain power. I can admire his energy, if not his goal.
Some person named Caella once followed one wind, now the other, and is the only person besides Pilus who goes to the Valley of Storms. She is apparently not too nice, which means we should get along swimmingly. The monk says the approach is guarded by elementals, and the code word to pass is "Eshu."
The Wind Shrine, Wherein I Have A Vision, Which I Don’t Want to Talk About, So Feck Off
We decide to continue northeast, toward the Wind Shrine, toward the fork that leads to the Valley of Storms, and the monastery itself. We look toward farms as we travel the road, barren and cold.
At the fork, two stone archways stand, with runes that suggest gale winds and calm winds, around a marble platform. Trevor bows and prays briefly to both, and feels the wind swirling around him and his magical weapon. I stand near the east wind rune, feeling more in tune with it, with energy and revenge, than with inaction.
A monk emerges from the house. "To hear the wind is to hear yourself. Choose what you hear." He lights incense, and I feel a sense of calm before the east wind stirs, cold and whispering.
A faint voice calls: "Blood remembers, even when land forgets." Mist gathers around my feet, and the temple fades away to fields and scarecrows, and tall silhouettes of gallows-trees. This place looks new yet familiar. A figure takes shape: Gavintar Nock! His cloak is in tatters, his bow lowered. His eyes are hollow. He lifts a hand toward me, his mouth silent, and the wind speaks through him: "He heard the wind that lies... the same wind that called to our ancestors. It calls to you too." Three ravens circle around a single black feather. And with that, my vision ends, and the monk next to me stumbles.
"What... kind of backwards pageantry was that?" I snarl. I am not given to mystical things, and don’t appreciate that being pushed into my memory.
"There is a third wind that flows through you, my friend," he says. "It is unlike the two winds here." Well, that’s nice. The North Wind, I expect I am.
I fall silent, and follow the group without speaking. As we walk, Fafnir, sensing the difference in me, offers to talk. "God's naughty word. Arcane naughty word. I have to think about it, but I don't want to," I reply quietly.
The Climb to the Monastery, and a Pair of Blowhards
Brightly colored banners and flags line the path upward, flapping wildly in the wind. White birds wheel, weird three-winged things with sharp claws and upside-down beaks. Their flight is erratic.
The wind grows heavier as we rise hundreds of feet above the plain. Blasted-looking trees dot the slope.
Thick columns of wind whirl in place, larger than mere dust devils, and advance upon us. "Eshu?" I say. Trevor calls it more confidently, as does Osnald.
One column suddenly blasts out a gale of air behind us, nearly knocking us off our feet. Trevor staggers. Is it attacking, or moving us on our way?
"Hey, ye great windbag. Is Eshu not good enough for ye?" I call back. The second column approaches and blasts us from the front.
Fafnir strides past. "Eshu." He passes the wind column above. It turns, if a column of wind could be said to turn, to face him. "If all they're doing is blowing at us, let's keep on."
"I don't care." Viggo, disliking the treatment, casts backdraft, enveloping the second elemental in a cone of fire. "Don't push my friends." (Aww… you think of us as friends? - Hawk)
I move on to keep pace with Fafnir, as does Trevor, who uncoils his whip in readiness. Osnald runs up and past us.
Viggo is blown back in response, and suddenly an icy rift opens beneath him, swallowing him into the mountainside. The wizard twists and scrambles, grasping the edge, and does not slide into the ravine. He rolls aside.
The second wind column rushes at Trevor, who whips at it. It slams at him, buffeting him, then rushes past. Fafnir grunts and runs downhill, booming-blading it with Einherjar. He steps on a shallow patch of snow, which opens up another rift. He pitches forward but keeps his feet, sending thunder over the elemental.
Viggo crawls back toward the road, raising a hand to cast an almost dismissive rain of bones on both elementals. The tree between them shudders with the impact. "Everybody stay on the path!"
VicsHacienda
Explorer
I threw together a map of the monastery using Dungeon Alchemist. This is NOT canon or even accurate; I just hated not having a map for the place. Use it, if you'd like. If this violates any sort of copyright, I apologize. Please remove this post or let me know, and I'll remove it. Otherwise, the files are CC0
