Cavern - now Corvus - Company
The disparate band spends another day heading northwards in an attempt to break out of the forested borderlands between Carthagia and Naseria, ever watchful for bandits, dreadspawn or any of the other multitude of dangers that might lie in wait for them. Ebri takes the opportunity to use the mimir, asking it what it has been told of
enlightenment; all she gets is a dire, garbled warning:
"The fools, in their quest for enlightenment, have gone beyond the boundaries of what is right and ventured into darker things, so blinded by their lust for knowledge that they are. I cannot believe what depths they have sunken to, but I will not tolerate it. Something must be done about this, and I'm the one to do it."
Melisande too takes the opportunity to make use of the mimir - this time, for recording.
"Let's record this on the mimir. Maybe it will help someone sometime, you never know.
"The first day I entered the wastelands of north Carthagia, I stumbled on an ambush. A horde of gnolls were attacking a small squadron of Carthagian militiamen. I got scared and tried to join the defensive formation of the men but it was an absolute massacre, and I can hardly remember anything until I was lying on the ground bleeding half to death along with all the other Carthagians. The gnoll shaman spared me. I think he wanted there to be a human witness--someone to know what had really happened. He sent me down a trail that led to an enchanted grove, where the gnolls had recently buried dead, or so I assumed by the symbol of Immar on the mounds. Yes, gnolls worship Immar too!
"There was another thing. A fleshtearer. You know, the fighting creatures we--they make in the Manipulation laboratories. It was crucified and badly mangled, but it didn't take much to work out what had happened--the gnolls managed to kill it after a pretty ugly struggle. That sort of reminds me of the inscription in those tombs--something about those who died fighting 'the abomination'...
"In the center of the grove there was a magical monolith. I think it was the focal point of the grove's druidic power. The grove itself, unlike the wasteland forest around it, was in full bloom and growth, and it seemed like a good place to camp and rest, especially with that wound, so I washed and ate and went to sleep."
Melisande lowers her voice, speaking the rest reluctantly. It seems personal, secret. But a promise was a promise, and maybe Ebri Zol would be able to help clear up the mystery for her.
"I had a nightmare," she whispered.
"I thought I woke up in the night, and there was this--this shadow--vaguely human-shaped, moving toward me but without really moving... And then it leaned over me and I couldn't move, or scream, or anything, and I was so scared... It said some things. Or I mean, I understood some things it sort of projected.
"I take a risk / dare I break / the silence of duty
Too late perhaps / yet too early / to judge
And that / is what / I must do
Judge
It is my task
"The next morning when I really did wake up, there was a bundle on the ground next to me. It had a healing potion, that shadow-potion I showed you before, some tindertwigs and this pendant. It seems like someone wanted me to survive." Mel shrugged, still unable to guess why. "And for some reason I had a feeling the gift came from the shadow-demon of my nightmare, but I still don't know for sure. What do you think?"
As they wander, Melisande coems to appreciate companionship in ways she'd never dreamed - she's no longer seen as just 'that blue girl'. The verdant countryside also helps calm her feeligns of unease, and as they travel the budding biologist presses a flower into her noetbook or takes a ook at an anthill or collects snails in her pockets. Of course, her familiar Pierre just eats the snails but she thinks they must be escaping somehow so she keeps on collecting more
Meg'anna too enjoys the idle chat of the road, even if she isn't able to participate in it herself. But one of Mel's words catches her ear -
Fleshtearer. Once, when they stop, Meg'anna borrows Mel's notebook to write:
The Fleshtearers. THey are abominations. All of them. Those twisted, sadistic creatures are a worthless lot, created simply to destroy. The people who created them, powerful mages no doubt, are far worse than the creatures themselves. For they are the true problem. If a man
trains a wolf to hunt men, and the creature obeys, it is simply doing what is instilled in it. The wolf is to blame for the killings, as it has acted itself, but the man deserves a fate far worse than destruction, as toying with nature is a fate far worse than death. Nature is not to be
contained, not to be controlled, but to be channeled and enjoyed. These people play the role of Creator and nature will see to their destruction. Have you come across any of these horrid people? Have you seen the utter death and destruction that they cause in their egomaniacal wake? It was a fleshtearer, in fact that tore out my vocal chords. I nearly died. And for that, I will never stop hunting down these abominations until I find out who is making them and why. I can not rest until I do so.
After another days travel, they come to Naseria. Rolling vallies and woodlands stretch forth northwards from them as they break from the tangled wild forests of the borderlands, farmsteads and villages nestling amidst tilled fields and livestock wandering meadows. The weather is changing for the better now, it is clear to see amidst the verdant lands.
Sometimes, as they travel north, they see signs of the suffering this area had endured as the southmost of Naserian lands, shells of destroyed buildings or areas of scattered debris. Even twenty years after the Fang Wars with Carthagia, the lands of House Corvus, the southernmost of the sorcerous noble families, had not fully recovered.
Their path takes them on winding roads between small villages where they might stay at taverns. The odd make-up of the group usually provokes worried, mistrustful stares from locals but they progress without incident. From speaking with those they passed they discover that soon they would reach a sizeable city that lay on their route north...
* * *
It is many more days before they come to the city that serves as the seat of House Corvus, the southernmost of the Naserian noble families:
The settlement was hidden from full view behind high red stone walls, built where a wide river diverted into two flows and then returned to one, leaving a great island some two miles wide and several miles long upon which this fortified city was constructed. High battlements were occasionally highlighted by the glint of the sun on the mail of a patrolling soldier. Access was only possible via the bridges, one of which the band was crossing even now, wooden timbers creaking beneath their feet. Wooden bridges were essential. They could be dismantled or burned easily, cutting off an invading army's means of getting to Corvus City.
Here, half-way over the wide roadway-bridge, the sun glinting off the water of the river below, they were crossing into the Guardian of Naseria, the southernmost of the great cities of the nation, and the one which had suffered many sieges and assaults by Carthagian warriors during the last few hundred years. Twenty years ago, the Fang War had resulted in Corvus City being raised, Flame Guildsman mercenaries unleashing massive destructive energies that levelled the fortress of the Flame Hawks, the Elemental Order of Fire. After the invaders were finally driven back though, the city had been rebuilt even more well-defended, Lady Corvus swearing that never again would a Carthagian warrior bring battle onto the island.
They passed underneath the towering, massively fortified red-stone walls, passing under the huge gate-arch and the watchful eye of mail-clad guards above. They drew many glances in fact, Melisande and Sandslipper certainly standing out. Nonetheless, the heavily armed guards vetting newcomers through the gate allowed them in without comment, though the silk-robe clad sorcerer standing to one side, red-robed in the garb of a Corvus noble, could not help but raise an inquisitive eyebrow at the bizarre sight that trooped into the city before him.
Within, broad boulevards and streets stretched away in an organised, rectangular pattern. All the buildings were of the same red stone, and all massively tall as well in their organised blocks. Few buildings possessed less than four stories. Verdant green trees were arranged in orderly lines down the streets, in which a loose crowd of people walked about their business. Commoners, but not in the ragged garb of famer-peasants, rather in simple but well-cut cloth; merchants and their attendants wearing richer fabrics and silks; nobles, mostly in the red-cloth of House Corvus as they ushered about their business. Here, on the great boulevard that led from the gate by which the band had entered straight to the palace at the heart of the city, patrols of soldiers occasionally wandered, their halberds and breastplates polished to bright gleaming silver, and they even saw occasionally a soldier of an altogether different standard.
Each one held his head high, proud and imposing and not afraid of meeting gazes with anyone. Red cloaks flapped in the breeze behind them, and over light and expertly crafted padded armour they wore surcoats of flame-red, upon which in yellow and orange the image of a phoenix bursting up from a fire was depicted. Upon their heads they wore burnished helms of bronze, strangely crafted so that it seemed a metal eagle was framing their face, head above their brow and wings down either side. Orange and red plumes, disturbed in the breeze, fluttered from the ridge of the helms. Most carried a longsword or short sword, strapped to their side, and that was all.
Sebastion had heard many tales of them before, from passing wanderers and of course his father. Flame Hawks, mage-knights of the Elemental Order of Fire. Consummate masters of battle and fire, each an elite soldier fully the better of ten normal men. Largely drawn from the sorcerous nobility of the land, they were truly the heart of the defence of the nation, even if their numbers were few.
He'd heard tales of the others too. The battalions of Wind Hawks, forming the deadly lightning-fast and lightning-wielding cavalry of the elite forces. The stoic and unyielding Iron Hawks; his father had said once of how he saw, with his own eyes, an Iron Hawk errant in a fight in a tavern that had broken out. A man had drawn a sword and struck at the mage-knight, and the Hawk simply caught the blade in his bare hand as if it were a wooden stick, before yanking it out of the mans grasp and bending it out of shape. And the Wave Hawks, far-ranging scouts and explorers possessed of wanderlust and seeking knowledge.
Ahead of them, at the end of the boulevard, the huge red-stone palace rose up; but this being Corvus, it was eminently defensible and possessed of great ramparts and turrets. They had learned from the Fang Wars, and now the turrets were studded with ballistae to fend off Carthagian fang dragons and their riders. The mighty main entrance, framed by an incredibly ornate marble arch, was wide open to allow the flow of nobles, courtiers and messengers to pass in and out with ease. The walls were pitted with dozens of small windows, more suitable for arrow-fire than as portals to gaze upon the cityscape from; it was only higher up and upon the more central towers that wider, more spacious windows opened up. In the local dark red rock, it was a formidable sight, and this impression was backed up by the fact that it held within the armouries, barracks and stables of House Corvus's elite troops.
Other edifices caught the eye as well. Some few blocks to the west but still easily visible as its walls rose up eight stories high, the red-stone fortress of the Flame Hawks still seemed somehow squat, because while it was tall it was also massively wide, the outer walls peppered with arrow-slits. From each corner-tower, pennants flickered in the breeze, the Order's symbol emblazoned upon them, as below them mage-knights patrolled the walls of the fortress.
On the right hand of the central street leading to the palace, the great white-washed temple to Naskha was the source of a great deal of activity as people passed in and out; white-robed priests, sorcerers and commoners. Temple guard clutching polearms and wearing gold-cloth cloaks stood at the pillared entrance way but seemed more ceremonial than functional in duty. Above the thirty foot wide entrance arch, the emblem of the sorcerer-god had been cut into the stone and then filled with gold; a golden draconic head, within a golden circle. To either side of the huge building smaller temples were scattered; a sandstone temple of Solanthar, banners of the sun draped down the walls, a wood-and-stone structure covered in thick vines and bearing the tree emblem of the nature goddess Lliras, and a shrine of Immar, balconies of the many floors of the red-stone building looking out onto the street below. A little further down a temple-library of Grumand the Stone Lord was constructed of rough, gray blocks of rock,
standing out from the surrounding local stone.
On the other side of the broad street, a tall building bore a sign depicting a quill, book, and Melisande and Ebri could make out the Drakkath word for 'mage' upon it. It seemed to have a sparse but regular traffic of men and women clothed in plain, unexceptional clothes but each carrying objects indicating their arcane acumen; spellbooks, spell component pouches or staves. Unlike the richly dressed sorcerer-nobles, these men and women looked decidedly normal apart from the implements of their trade.
The long boulevard had a vast array of other establishments along its lengthy edges; bustling taverns and inns, song and laughter coming from within, ground-floor shops with signs hanging outside depicting their line of business, and half-way down the street, stalls on the sides of the central road, merchants and vendors selling their wares in the street market. Amidst the market guards prowled, on the lookout for thieves and pickpockets and often accompanied by an eagle-eyed sorcerer.
This, then, was Corvus City.
The above was the in-game description of the city upon the company's arrival; I must thank Broccli_Head for the suggestion of using it as a sort of 'gazetteer' description of the place.
Once in the city, they suddenly find that they've lost Ebri - the small woman seems to have disappeared amidst the crowds of people. Meg'anna looks around disapprovingly at the massive buildings and prods the packed ground with her staff, knowing that plants can never find root in such rock. Sebastion is a bit worried; Naserians don't like Carthagians, and his protestations that he's actually Huroneses - an ally of Carthagia - are unlikely to get him seen in a better light.
Mel is just enthusiastic, looking at the marvellous regalia and plumes and robes and
real sorcerers.
"Do you think there's a library? Gods, I have so much I want to look up, I could spend a year. Should I talk to one of the sorcerers? I can't believe I'm finally in Naseria. I have to write to my mom. Can we look inside the temples? I've never seen temples to any gods except--you know--that other one--" She is, of course, referring to Toranite temples. She'd told the others the truth about her nature - a renegade Manipulator on the run from Carthagia - during the journey to the city.
"Hey! I bet someone in there would be able to help us figure out how to work this," she cries, drawing the Fire-Serpent rod from her pocket and pointing at the arcane shop. "The sign says 'Mage' in Drakkath."
Several things happen at once.
Down near the target building, a Flame Hawk yells for people to take cover and everyone in the vicinity hurls themselves to the ground. A nearby sorcerer whips out his hands in a spellcastign pose and
webs Melisande. Dozens of nearby guards and Flame Hawks come running.
The sorcerer strides over, flanked by Flame Hawks glimmering with magical defences, and barks
"Nobody move! Woman, drop that rod right now! If you disobey I will make you comply by force!"
Mel gives a nervous giggle as if to say
who, me? and does as she's told.
"Oh, this!" She drops the Fire-Serpent rod like a hot potato.
"I wasn't going to use it!"
She laughs again, this time more relaxed. A simple misunderstanding. Easily set to rights.
"I was just suggesting we go to that mage's shop and have an expert take a look. I don't even know how to use it yet. We got it from a tribe of kobolds we defeated south of here. Sorry about the trouble. Are you a real sorcerer?"
Meg'anna and Sandslipper remain silent; Meg'anna's contemplating the sorcerer's hawkish features, much akin to a falcon she once saw perying on a field mouse. His nose reminds her of that beak, and a grin comes to the woman's face as she imagines the man chewing silently on a field mouse. Sebastion is more active, warning the others to comply and not cause any problems or else they're all dead.
The situation calms a little as the guards realise the sorcerer has the matter well in hand, and the red-robed Corvus noble begins to question them.
"Who the hell are you?" the man snaps at Melisande.
"You've just walked into Corvus City and waved a magical rod at the wizard's guild - you could be Carthagians intending to cause a little bit of destruction, eh?"
Melisande's last question does seem to throw the Corvus man.
"Yes, I am a 'real' sorcerer, woman; what does that have to do with anything?" His eyes analytically examine the party. "Hmm. Some of you look Carthagian, some of you don't. Some of you just look very, very strange. Who are you people, what's your business here?"
Next time: The party attempts to talk their way out of the mess they're in, gains a new party member, and ends up in an underground vault!
I first met our esteemed DM Carnifex in the very first installment of the Prophecy of Light campaign a couple years back. I played Melody, the naive wizard that somehow became the prophet for a very, very mean god. (Damn you, Natas!) It was fun, and the first time I was truly able to ROLEplay a character. Plus, it was my first campaign on Donboy's site.
