Carnifex's Story Hour (Updated January 20th, "The Union")
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Broccli_Head
Explorer
Yup! I remember that battle.
Poor Wolf.
Poor Wolf.
Carnifex
First Post
Angcuru said:Just finished reading the first page.
Reaction:
That world man...you should publish it.
Cheers man
That's kinda what's happening - Steam & Steel is me publishing the steamtech side of things, the Biothaumaturgist's Handbook is hopefully to be the biothaumaturgy side of it... I'd really love to publish it as a full setting one day, but that a) requires a lot more experience and demonstration of skill on my part and b) requires a hefty reworking, since metaplots aren't always good in published settings and this world has some serious metaplots going on 
Cheers for the comment though!]
*scurries off to read Angcuru's SH*
Carnifex
First Post
Mel rubbed her hands on the front of her dress to get rid of the arcane tingling, even though she knew it was more in her mind than in her palms. Wide-eyed, she glanced around to be sure the bandits had all taken flight. Her heart was still racing.
Next she took quick stock of the group: Wyshira was with Wolf; the only other wound she'd seen someone take was Sebastion's.
He was still in the saddle, but his glassy-eyed stare did not look promising. Brow furrowing in concern, Mel jogged over and caught his horse's reins, and gave him a tentative pat on the knee. "Hey, you all right?"
He did not respond. Although worried, she hesitated to interrupt Wyshira--it was clear the horizontal Wolf was more in need of a priestess than the vertical Sebastion. Might as well get in line, she thought, and began to walk his horse toward Wyshira. Mel was just reaching out to nudge Sebastion again a little more firmly when the black knight strode up and diverted her breezy attention completely away.
"Well, I guess we were all lucky, then," she said, returning his nod. "Hail and greetings to you too, and thank you."
"To rely, even partially, even with a casual tongue, upon luck is neither effective nor rational..." Ebri murmured, not heeding whether others listened, but unable to keep from recalling the lesson. Her eyes were fixed on the corpse at her feet, and the blood pooling beneath it, the small but lethally efficient wound her kama had made in its chest. She took it in, as aware of it in its dying as she had been of its threat. "We were not lucky. We were the more skilled."
Its blood coated her blade to some three inches. Is this then the nature of reality?
When reality punctures the heart, the illusion of the body-- then there is no healing from it; the illusion cannot re-form...
"Wyshira," Ebri went on, her voice unvaried in tone and monochromatic, as if she were preoccupied, and wiped her blade on the hem of her tunic. "are your efforts sufficient to stablize the mercenary? If not I should be willing to render aid. Otherwise I will attend to Sebastion's wound."
If she took notice of the newcomer, there was no sign of it for now.
Wyshira's pale hair fell like a curtain over Wolf's still form as she bent close to him, concentrating single-mindedly on the task of determining his condition. The spasms had stopped, but his skin was still a sickly grey hue. The poison waited in his veins still, held at bay by her spell; but it was only a matter of time before it wracked his body once again. At least he breathed normally, and his wounds no longer bled freely.
Realizing that there was nothing more that she could do for Wolf at the moment, the priestess sat back with a deep sigh. She hunched her shoulders, trying to relax the tense muscles, and then finally looked up and around at the battle field. While one half of her mind worked on the problem of the poison in Wolf's body, the other half took in the scene: each of her companions was safe and accounted for, although not necessarily unharmed; the bodies of several of the bandits lay dead and/or dying nearby, but she saw none on their feet; and a strange, black-armored knight stood with his helmet in his hand, talking casually with Melisande. Wyshira couldn't focus on the words being spoken, but it was obvious that the man posed no threat to the party.
Ebri's calm voice called out to her, and Wyshira was relieved to hear it.
"Ebri! Yes....... I mean, no! I -- I... Yes, I have him stablized. But those arrows that hit him were poisoned. I've delayed the effects with a spell, but when it wears off, it will become strong again, and may kill him. I have nothing to help him. Do you have something? Some antitoxin maybe?
"Does anyone have any antitoxin?"
"And of Wolf's skill?" Kale murmored to himself with bite, in retort to Ebri's comment about luck and skill. "Is that why he lay here dying?" He looked to Ebri in frustration. "You can heal. You're skilled. Tell me- if Wolf lived or died, would it be your skill that accounts for it? Or is this where you start talking about 'luck' and 'fate'."
Luck, of course, had everything to do with who got to draw fresh breath- any talk of skill was simply vanity. Kale spared no glance for the Immar woman: she was good in a fight, if only she'd stay silent afterword.
There was venom in his words, while an odd fatalistic detachment served to mute the effect, if only slightly. Kale did not share Ebri's meritistic philosophy, but if he could use it to goad a bit more energy in her assistance, then the woman's words might be worth something after all.
Skill was a thing hard-earned. Few people who spoke truly knew of it. Kale simple knew enough to acknowledge he didn't have it. Angelo was an incredibly skilled warrior, yet still a 'Novice' to those who knew. Wolf was a skilled survivor, yet there he lay dying before them all. As for the Ebri and the company's 'skill'...
Luck, of course, would be the only thing that could save Wolf. Kale saw the power of the poison that had gripped him- the man would be dead soon without help... and the executor of his fate was the only one who escaped. Luck, fate, call it anything but skill.
"No doubt you are overwrought--" the dark squat priestess answered softly to Kale's bitter words, as if explaining to a confused child. "As you can see, Wyshira is tending to him, and I have offered to assist her. It would be pointless to waste our combined magical energies when it is either not needed, or beyond help, and so leave nothing in reserve should we be attacked by an additional force. For all we know, these pitiable souls--" she inclined her head toward the fallen attackers, "may be scouts, an advance force to test us. Unlikely, I grant, but possible. And I suggest to you again that luck is an antiquated concept that fosters ill-preparedness. Now I beg you to excuse me while I consider what little I have learned of poison--"
Turning on her heel, Ebri approached Wolf and the crowd that hovered about him with a measured thoughtfulness. Excuse me a moment--" she murmured, touching Wyshira on the shoulder and squatting down next to the stricken mercenary. I will see if I can identify the poison, at least. Some have obvious signs. " She peered into his face, and, explaining to him what she was about to do prior to each action, pulled back an eyelid, checked his tonge, his pulse, and smelled his breath and the blood on his clothing that had leaked from the wounds.
Hearing both Wyshira, and then Kale, ask for antitoxin, Burl searched his memory of herbal remedies. He remembered being told Ashgar Bark. This bark when prepared into a powder form and rubbed into a poisoned wound would both neutralize the poison and bring some healing help to the one who was afflicted.
“This is a long shot, but if we could find some Ashgar bushes, we might be able to help Wolf. The bush is common to hills and mountainous areas.” Burl then went on to describe the bush. “How much time do we have, Wyshira?”
Ebri could see that the man was strong. Asgar bush would do it, in all probability, especially if combined with a much diluted extract of datura. So she judged, reasonably confidently. Both of which she had, sealed in papers and sewn into her tunic. That was not the question, but rather...
She looked down gravely at the man they called Wolf. He lived seeking profit from his skill with weapons. How much gold do you hold your life worth, when it comes to it? Wolf was an apt name; to live in that manner, with no overarching purpose, chasing the meaningless profit of a sordid world-- one would be closer to a beast than a person. But that, too, was immaterial. Wolf's morality was not the issue, but rather expediency.
In the abacus of her mind, she began to tally the various factors.
Should he die, the others would insist on burying or, possibly, burning him, though burying was more likely on account of the smoke and obvious sign of their presence that would result. Yet, if he lived, he would still be weak; they would have to coddle him and would still be slowed. In any case, time was not particularly pressing, and so the factor of time was of little consequence.
His death will cause them to grieve; this will make them more tightly bound together. They will experience a sense of shared purpose and renewed resolve, most likely. There was also the not insignificant fact that the loss of the charismatic leader would make them more vulnerable to manipulation. Though she was unpopular with Kale, she knew the others found her competent and reassuring, and admired her martial skill. She could expand that impression if she exerted minimal effort.
On the other hand, the mercenary, in spite of all, was handy in a fight. She had her ward to think of, first of all, and they had been in enough danger not to think it would be abating any time soon. And his leadership took pressure and the glare of attention from her, leaving her relatively free of action and peripheral-- this also could be useful.
And, if she felt unpopular with the younger mercenary, Amegrion, it was clear that producing an antidote and saving his life could only improve his estimation of her. It might be worthwhile to address that issue before it grows unwieldy, his irritation. Debt has a way of mollifying annoyance and resistance.
Wolf also had contacts... but then, so did she...
She mused, pondering, and stood to give way to Wyshira once more. "As you see, his situation is quite dire..." Wolf shivered, probably a chill from the sweat that slicked his skin. Do you know I have your life in my hands, beast-man? she wondered, more curious, detached, rather than taunting. "I am not as certain as our mage of the efficacy of Asgar bush in this instance. The remedy is potent, and in his weakened state, here in the wild-- In any case, I seem to recall reports that it is more useful for ingested poisons, as opposed to those induced into the blood. But I may remember wrongly. I will ask my god for wisdom, if you will excuse me, and perhaps it will become more clear." Remembering to offer a "reassuring" pressure to the other priestess' shoulder, she withdrew to a low rock nearby, closing her eyes, and settling with a few deep breaths.
For now, she would delay, and perhaps the better option would become obvious.
* * *
Sebastion reached out to grasp the reins, gently, settling the fracious mare with a firm grip of the knees and a reassuring touch, but his mind was somewhere else - somewhen else.
He was trembling slightly as he slipped out of the saddle, his knees almost buckling, and he was unsure whether it was the wound or the vision, or whether the one had instigated the other.
He transferred the sword to the other hand, having to forcibly will the whitened knuckles to release before he could. Wiping away the strange tingle left by the thrumming blade, he turned the sword over slowly to examine it more closely.
It was still the same sword, the same familiar weight and heft, but it felt different - which was plainly foolish. He must have been delusional - he'd heard of that happening, but that was for head wounds...
Finally he became aware Mel was beside him, talking quietly, and he turned to face her, his eyes still a little distant and vague.
"I saw... history? Something... these bandits... but not these bandits. An army, dressed like them..." Suddenly, he focussed, turning to face her fully.
"Does magic sleep?"
"Well," she began in a happily pedantic tone, "To put it simply, there is potential magic and there is kinetic magic. To the uninitiated, potential magic may seem 'dormant' because it has to be nudged to become active. The most common forms of nudging are of course the words and gestures of spellcasting, but there are others. There's a thaumic field of potential magic everywhere, all through us and around us, and it can be caused to vibrate if you get the right harmonic of arcana--and that's called spellcasting. Objects like wands and amulets can also contain potential magic which must be triggered, usually by a word or an action. You're still bleeding. Ebri?"
There was some discussion going on over Wolf, the result of which was that Ebri Zol, seeming unconcerned, went of to meditate. Obviously Sebastion had been overlooked.
"Ebri, Sebastion needs some healing too. By the way, I meant we were lucky to have had help from Sir Angelo here, and he was equally lucky to have had help from us, being alone in the face of so many dangerous bandits. That's luck, isn't it?"
Even as she finished speaking, her brow began to crease with a sudden thought, which of course she blurted out. "You believe in fortune, don't you, Ebri? Isn't Immar the god of travel and luck?"
You still believe in luck, don't you...?
A wave of moderately alarmed irritation passed over Ebri, and she opened her eyes slowly, as though she had been lost in meditation. You have lost focus. You forget your own illusion amidst that of the world, and cracks begin to show. And they may be animals, but they are not unintelligent ones... she chided herself.
"It was surely a most positive combination of events..." she answered, hitching up her pants legs and rising to her feet. As for luck, that is harder to say. My apologies for the delay, Sebastion, but it seems my help will not assist Wolf significantly in any case, at least not my gifts from Immar... " She set about examining his wounds, expounding as she worked.
There are those, of course, who say that the very idea of luck, that any event can be random, is an affront to the gods-- a challenge to their sovereignty, and an implication that they are not in complete control of this realm of being; all events are either fore-ordained or decided and controlled by them in the moment they occur. Yes, even our own decisions and actions. Perhaps happily, this is not a widely held view.
Certainly, there are random events in the world, I believe, if you ask me. I do not particularly think Immar is concerned whether I eat wheat rolls or gruel to break my morning fast. And I take your meaning, though I had at first thought you meant we were lucky to defeat the enemy, and that gave me pause. I do think it dangerous and unhealthy to depend upon random factors or some impartial, uncaring principle when it comes to such things, when it is clear that skill and practice are the deciding factors. As I said, it fosters an unhealthy mental attitude.
But as for what you meant, that it was fortunate we came into contact with Sir Knight--" Ebri smiled, and took the opportunity to summon the healing energy, murmuring the appropriate words. that is an event that has significant meaning and consequence; otherwise the knight would have been outnumbered, obviously. And in such a case, I think it far from random accident. Rather than luck, I should say beneficial agency. Or so my faith tells me--" the monk concluded, grateful that despite its slavering dependence on the good will of idols, she had memorized this line of argument.
While Immar may be held by the common people to be a god of travel and good fortune, or as you say, luck-- those of us who worship him know that there is no such thing..." She strove to make her face serene. "...only his will, favor, and benevolence toward us and all who request his aid."
"We have... hours," Wyshira replied to the necromancer's earlier question, reaching for another roll of clean linen strips from her pack. "Maybe four." She inspected the bandages she'd made for Wolf, making sure that they weren't too tight.
"I can heal his wounds, almost completely I'm sure. But the injuries are minor really. It's the poison that's weakened him like this, and I can't cure what's been done. At least not now. In the morning I should be able to restore the damage, but the thing is, he may not make it till morning.
"I'm a fool. I should have had antitoxin in my kit. I -- I didn't think......" Wyshira couldn't finish. She bit her lip, then stared at Wolf, her face contorted with self-reproach. Finally, she shook her head slowly, and began to whisper the calming words of a healing spell.
Next she took quick stock of the group: Wyshira was with Wolf; the only other wound she'd seen someone take was Sebastion's.
He was still in the saddle, but his glassy-eyed stare did not look promising. Brow furrowing in concern, Mel jogged over and caught his horse's reins, and gave him a tentative pat on the knee. "Hey, you all right?"
He did not respond. Although worried, she hesitated to interrupt Wyshira--it was clear the horizontal Wolf was more in need of a priestess than the vertical Sebastion. Might as well get in line, she thought, and began to walk his horse toward Wyshira. Mel was just reaching out to nudge Sebastion again a little more firmly when the black knight strode up and diverted her breezy attention completely away.
"Well, I guess we were all lucky, then," she said, returning his nod. "Hail and greetings to you too, and thank you."
"To rely, even partially, even with a casual tongue, upon luck is neither effective nor rational..." Ebri murmured, not heeding whether others listened, but unable to keep from recalling the lesson. Her eyes were fixed on the corpse at her feet, and the blood pooling beneath it, the small but lethally efficient wound her kama had made in its chest. She took it in, as aware of it in its dying as she had been of its threat. "We were not lucky. We were the more skilled."
Its blood coated her blade to some three inches. Is this then the nature of reality?
When reality punctures the heart, the illusion of the body-- then there is no healing from it; the illusion cannot re-form...
"Wyshira," Ebri went on, her voice unvaried in tone and monochromatic, as if she were preoccupied, and wiped her blade on the hem of her tunic. "are your efforts sufficient to stablize the mercenary? If not I should be willing to render aid. Otherwise I will attend to Sebastion's wound."
If she took notice of the newcomer, there was no sign of it for now.
Wyshira's pale hair fell like a curtain over Wolf's still form as she bent close to him, concentrating single-mindedly on the task of determining his condition. The spasms had stopped, but his skin was still a sickly grey hue. The poison waited in his veins still, held at bay by her spell; but it was only a matter of time before it wracked his body once again. At least he breathed normally, and his wounds no longer bled freely.
Realizing that there was nothing more that she could do for Wolf at the moment, the priestess sat back with a deep sigh. She hunched her shoulders, trying to relax the tense muscles, and then finally looked up and around at the battle field. While one half of her mind worked on the problem of the poison in Wolf's body, the other half took in the scene: each of her companions was safe and accounted for, although not necessarily unharmed; the bodies of several of the bandits lay dead and/or dying nearby, but she saw none on their feet; and a strange, black-armored knight stood with his helmet in his hand, talking casually with Melisande. Wyshira couldn't focus on the words being spoken, but it was obvious that the man posed no threat to the party.
Ebri's calm voice called out to her, and Wyshira was relieved to hear it.
"Ebri! Yes....... I mean, no! I -- I... Yes, I have him stablized. But those arrows that hit him were poisoned. I've delayed the effects with a spell, but when it wears off, it will become strong again, and may kill him. I have nothing to help him. Do you have something? Some antitoxin maybe?
"Does anyone have any antitoxin?"
"And of Wolf's skill?" Kale murmored to himself with bite, in retort to Ebri's comment about luck and skill. "Is that why he lay here dying?" He looked to Ebri in frustration. "You can heal. You're skilled. Tell me- if Wolf lived or died, would it be your skill that accounts for it? Or is this where you start talking about 'luck' and 'fate'."
Luck, of course, had everything to do with who got to draw fresh breath- any talk of skill was simply vanity. Kale spared no glance for the Immar woman: she was good in a fight, if only she'd stay silent afterword.
There was venom in his words, while an odd fatalistic detachment served to mute the effect, if only slightly. Kale did not share Ebri's meritistic philosophy, but if he could use it to goad a bit more energy in her assistance, then the woman's words might be worth something after all.
Skill was a thing hard-earned. Few people who spoke truly knew of it. Kale simple knew enough to acknowledge he didn't have it. Angelo was an incredibly skilled warrior, yet still a 'Novice' to those who knew. Wolf was a skilled survivor, yet there he lay dying before them all. As for the Ebri and the company's 'skill'...
Luck, of course, would be the only thing that could save Wolf. Kale saw the power of the poison that had gripped him- the man would be dead soon without help... and the executor of his fate was the only one who escaped. Luck, fate, call it anything but skill.
"No doubt you are overwrought--" the dark squat priestess answered softly to Kale's bitter words, as if explaining to a confused child. "As you can see, Wyshira is tending to him, and I have offered to assist her. It would be pointless to waste our combined magical energies when it is either not needed, or beyond help, and so leave nothing in reserve should we be attacked by an additional force. For all we know, these pitiable souls--" she inclined her head toward the fallen attackers, "may be scouts, an advance force to test us. Unlikely, I grant, but possible. And I suggest to you again that luck is an antiquated concept that fosters ill-preparedness. Now I beg you to excuse me while I consider what little I have learned of poison--"
Turning on her heel, Ebri approached Wolf and the crowd that hovered about him with a measured thoughtfulness. Excuse me a moment--" she murmured, touching Wyshira on the shoulder and squatting down next to the stricken mercenary. I will see if I can identify the poison, at least. Some have obvious signs. " She peered into his face, and, explaining to him what she was about to do prior to each action, pulled back an eyelid, checked his tonge, his pulse, and smelled his breath and the blood on his clothing that had leaked from the wounds.
Hearing both Wyshira, and then Kale, ask for antitoxin, Burl searched his memory of herbal remedies. He remembered being told Ashgar Bark. This bark when prepared into a powder form and rubbed into a poisoned wound would both neutralize the poison and bring some healing help to the one who was afflicted.
“This is a long shot, but if we could find some Ashgar bushes, we might be able to help Wolf. The bush is common to hills and mountainous areas.” Burl then went on to describe the bush. “How much time do we have, Wyshira?”
Ebri could see that the man was strong. Asgar bush would do it, in all probability, especially if combined with a much diluted extract of datura. So she judged, reasonably confidently. Both of which she had, sealed in papers and sewn into her tunic. That was not the question, but rather...
She looked down gravely at the man they called Wolf. He lived seeking profit from his skill with weapons. How much gold do you hold your life worth, when it comes to it? Wolf was an apt name; to live in that manner, with no overarching purpose, chasing the meaningless profit of a sordid world-- one would be closer to a beast than a person. But that, too, was immaterial. Wolf's morality was not the issue, but rather expediency.
In the abacus of her mind, she began to tally the various factors.
Should he die, the others would insist on burying or, possibly, burning him, though burying was more likely on account of the smoke and obvious sign of their presence that would result. Yet, if he lived, he would still be weak; they would have to coddle him and would still be slowed. In any case, time was not particularly pressing, and so the factor of time was of little consequence.
His death will cause them to grieve; this will make them more tightly bound together. They will experience a sense of shared purpose and renewed resolve, most likely. There was also the not insignificant fact that the loss of the charismatic leader would make them more vulnerable to manipulation. Though she was unpopular with Kale, she knew the others found her competent and reassuring, and admired her martial skill. She could expand that impression if she exerted minimal effort.
On the other hand, the mercenary, in spite of all, was handy in a fight. She had her ward to think of, first of all, and they had been in enough danger not to think it would be abating any time soon. And his leadership took pressure and the glare of attention from her, leaving her relatively free of action and peripheral-- this also could be useful.
And, if she felt unpopular with the younger mercenary, Amegrion, it was clear that producing an antidote and saving his life could only improve his estimation of her. It might be worthwhile to address that issue before it grows unwieldy, his irritation. Debt has a way of mollifying annoyance and resistance.
Wolf also had contacts... but then, so did she...
She mused, pondering, and stood to give way to Wyshira once more. "As you see, his situation is quite dire..." Wolf shivered, probably a chill from the sweat that slicked his skin. Do you know I have your life in my hands, beast-man? she wondered, more curious, detached, rather than taunting. "I am not as certain as our mage of the efficacy of Asgar bush in this instance. The remedy is potent, and in his weakened state, here in the wild-- In any case, I seem to recall reports that it is more useful for ingested poisons, as opposed to those induced into the blood. But I may remember wrongly. I will ask my god for wisdom, if you will excuse me, and perhaps it will become more clear." Remembering to offer a "reassuring" pressure to the other priestess' shoulder, she withdrew to a low rock nearby, closing her eyes, and settling with a few deep breaths.
For now, she would delay, and perhaps the better option would become obvious.
* * *
Sebastion reached out to grasp the reins, gently, settling the fracious mare with a firm grip of the knees and a reassuring touch, but his mind was somewhere else - somewhen else.
He was trembling slightly as he slipped out of the saddle, his knees almost buckling, and he was unsure whether it was the wound or the vision, or whether the one had instigated the other.
He transferred the sword to the other hand, having to forcibly will the whitened knuckles to release before he could. Wiping away the strange tingle left by the thrumming blade, he turned the sword over slowly to examine it more closely.
It was still the same sword, the same familiar weight and heft, but it felt different - which was plainly foolish. He must have been delusional - he'd heard of that happening, but that was for head wounds...
Finally he became aware Mel was beside him, talking quietly, and he turned to face her, his eyes still a little distant and vague.
"I saw... history? Something... these bandits... but not these bandits. An army, dressed like them..." Suddenly, he focussed, turning to face her fully.
"Does magic sleep?"
"Well," she began in a happily pedantic tone, "To put it simply, there is potential magic and there is kinetic magic. To the uninitiated, potential magic may seem 'dormant' because it has to be nudged to become active. The most common forms of nudging are of course the words and gestures of spellcasting, but there are others. There's a thaumic field of potential magic everywhere, all through us and around us, and it can be caused to vibrate if you get the right harmonic of arcana--and that's called spellcasting. Objects like wands and amulets can also contain potential magic which must be triggered, usually by a word or an action. You're still bleeding. Ebri?"
There was some discussion going on over Wolf, the result of which was that Ebri Zol, seeming unconcerned, went of to meditate. Obviously Sebastion had been overlooked.
"Ebri, Sebastion needs some healing too. By the way, I meant we were lucky to have had help from Sir Angelo here, and he was equally lucky to have had help from us, being alone in the face of so many dangerous bandits. That's luck, isn't it?"
Even as she finished speaking, her brow began to crease with a sudden thought, which of course she blurted out. "You believe in fortune, don't you, Ebri? Isn't Immar the god of travel and luck?"
You still believe in luck, don't you...?
A wave of moderately alarmed irritation passed over Ebri, and she opened her eyes slowly, as though she had been lost in meditation. You have lost focus. You forget your own illusion amidst that of the world, and cracks begin to show. And they may be animals, but they are not unintelligent ones... she chided herself.
"It was surely a most positive combination of events..." she answered, hitching up her pants legs and rising to her feet. As for luck, that is harder to say. My apologies for the delay, Sebastion, but it seems my help will not assist Wolf significantly in any case, at least not my gifts from Immar... " She set about examining his wounds, expounding as she worked.
There are those, of course, who say that the very idea of luck, that any event can be random, is an affront to the gods-- a challenge to their sovereignty, and an implication that they are not in complete control of this realm of being; all events are either fore-ordained or decided and controlled by them in the moment they occur. Yes, even our own decisions and actions. Perhaps happily, this is not a widely held view.
Certainly, there are random events in the world, I believe, if you ask me. I do not particularly think Immar is concerned whether I eat wheat rolls or gruel to break my morning fast. And I take your meaning, though I had at first thought you meant we were lucky to defeat the enemy, and that gave me pause. I do think it dangerous and unhealthy to depend upon random factors or some impartial, uncaring principle when it comes to such things, when it is clear that skill and practice are the deciding factors. As I said, it fosters an unhealthy mental attitude.
But as for what you meant, that it was fortunate we came into contact with Sir Knight--" Ebri smiled, and took the opportunity to summon the healing energy, murmuring the appropriate words. that is an event that has significant meaning and consequence; otherwise the knight would have been outnumbered, obviously. And in such a case, I think it far from random accident. Rather than luck, I should say beneficial agency. Or so my faith tells me--" the monk concluded, grateful that despite its slavering dependence on the good will of idols, she had memorized this line of argument.
While Immar may be held by the common people to be a god of travel and good fortune, or as you say, luck-- those of us who worship him know that there is no such thing..." She strove to make her face serene. "...only his will, favor, and benevolence toward us and all who request his aid."
"We have... hours," Wyshira replied to the necromancer's earlier question, reaching for another roll of clean linen strips from her pack. "Maybe four." She inspected the bandages she'd made for Wolf, making sure that they weren't too tight.
"I can heal his wounds, almost completely I'm sure. But the injuries are minor really. It's the poison that's weakened him like this, and I can't cure what's been done. At least not now. In the morning I should be able to restore the damage, but the thing is, he may not make it till morning.
"I'm a fool. I should have had antitoxin in my kit. I -- I didn't think......" Wyshira couldn't finish. She bit her lip, then stared at Wolf, her face contorted with self-reproach. Finally, she shook her head slowly, and began to whisper the calming words of a healing spell.
Carnifex
First Post
At Burl's command, the fire serpent crumpled to a pile of ash, the elemental returning back to its home.
* * *
Angelo looked around casually at the bandit-strewn path, reaching to take a waterskin off his belt and take a swig in the heat of the sun. The barded warhorse, a sizeable specimen that Sebastion recognised as a western Huronese breed of exceptional quality, meandered back up to its rider and nudged gently at him. The knight nodded at the dead red-armoured warrior that had assailed them with the bladestaff.
"Red Talon," he said by way of explanation. "I've seen them before; we sometimes have problems with them around Zhatan but all they need to do is hide away their weapons and armour and they are but men. Gilamees can go to and fro as they please through the eastern realms; that's why I prefer fighting goblins, they can't pretend they're not the enemy. There's a monastery, about a day's travel east from here, a Grumandic establishment that I was staying at when a traveller said he'd avoided some bandits led by red-armoured men in this direction yesterday." He took another swig. "I figured it might be Red Talons. The enforcers of the Children of Gilamesh."
He heard Sebastion speak confusedly and raised an eyebrow quizzically. "So you have seen Red Talons before. They're tough; it's a shame the other escaped. I'd like to know what two Red Talons are doing out here." Then the knight seemed to remember something and pulled the discharged pistol from his belt before setting about reloading it.
"If there is a monastery near here then we will be able to get ministrations for Wolf that might help with the poison, though if as you say your magic will not last for more than a few hours I fear we might not get there in time," Cord said gently to Wyshira, the blind monk squatting down next to Wolf. "It is not your fault you do not bear an antitoxin. I believe our ambush was no accident - the archer pinpointed Wolf and used arrows coated with venoms. This speaks to me that he was their target." A pause as the dwarf's face creased with sadness. "If the Red Talons are Gilamees, then perhaps this was done as revenge. After all, Wolf said that he had encountered slavers before. What if Tarravus was not the first operation of the worshippers of the Dragon Lord he had foiled?"
"Right. The Dragon Worshippers were appraised of Wolf's entry into the city, it's no surprise they were watchful for his departure. Wolf's had dealings in the past, though I'd say we're all involved now." Kale looked to the knight in explaination. The following would be an entertaining brag along the tavern rail with friends, but sour reality robbed accomplishment of its joy. "We eliminated a small cell of Gilamees operating underground Tarravus. They were slavers, but something more was going on. Stockpiles of equipment and magic all around, we... interrupted their plans a bit. This isn't the last we've seen of the Dragon followers, or their enforcers," Kale finished, accepting the path they'd have to follow.
Seeing the knight reloading his pistols sparked a reminder in Kale's thinking. Walking over to Melisande's mount, he replaced the spear he'd used, and tightly prepped another item. Tightly hilt-tied, he slipped a brigand's scabbarded sword opposite the spear. He regarded Melisande with a glance only long enough to warn precocious children from playing without supervision. Quickly, he made his escape back to his mount.
Red Talons. Old words sprung to mind. Kaverail Kavas: Bronze claws. They sounded like the names of rivaling neighborhood gangs. Azure blades. Blood Ravens. Take a cool color, add a menacing object, and you've got a team to kill and die for. Groups and factions and postures. Kale had departed from Iril and the armies and the merchanture and the houses, but the stink of them all could be felt over everything. The mercenary sighed. There was no escape, yet these very demons were the ones who put mutton in the pot. He watched as the surviving brigands recovered. All he really wanted was to be able to hold onto his simple conceptions: us against them. You fight me, I win, I take your stuff. Later, you're still alive? Let me buy you a drink.
"Why does it always have to get personal?" he murmored in wonder as he looked down at Wolf. "No, Wolf isn't too fond of slavers, and the other way 'round. It's not the worst cause to die for, I suppose..." We led a dozen chained children out of those passages.
* * *
With Wolf lying nearby, unconcious and breathing weaky, Kale set to questioning the bandits that had survived. It didn't take much from him to work the story out of them.
They were brigands and sellswords - though they called themselves mercenaries rather than bandits - and the two red-armoured men had paid them for the ambush. The Red Talons wanted Wolf dead, it seemed, though the bandits hadn't been told why. The grim, armoured men had wanted the rest of the party killed too if possible, but it was Wolf who they most wanted down. Some of the men had seen the Red Talon archer carefully envenoming his weapons beforehand though again they knew not what substance had been used, for it came from an exotic glass phial.
At Ebri's suggestion of the band being advanced scouts, the Black Knight shook his head. "I am fairly certain there is no larger force that these men were scouts for near here; but you should still be careful as you travel. There are tales of unrestfulness amongst the viler denizens of this range and the caves beneath it. I have heard rumours of the dwarven settlements in the north Sarokeans engaged in fierce struggle with beasts there, though the tales vary wildly in their details."
At Ebri's comments about the fortune of meeting the Black Knight, Angelo gave a wry smile. "I had not known of the exact number out here, though when I saw you already embroiled in battle with them I came as fast as I can. I do have a few advantages against numbers though," he said, tapping the back of one metal gauntlet where the metal bulged out as if the armour contained something within. "Even this armour is heavily augmented with combat systems. Had it been a Brother-Sergeant of the Order here then mere bandits would not have stood a chance. Alas I am merely a Novice," he said with humility.
At Kale's invitation, the Knight nodded. "I might as well return to the monastery now that the bandits are dealt with, and leave on my path tomorrow. Most likely the archer has fled for good but Red Talons are determined scum and he might try to finish off your wounded friend."
On the ground Wolf stirred faintly, eyelids flickering open and his eyes moving groggily. He seemed unable to do little more than twitch and stir slightly, but he appeard to be concious.
"Red Talons," he whispered hoarsely and faintly.
"Not any longer." Sebastion said, quietly, wandering around the area.
* * *
Ebri considered again, adding the new information about the Red Talons into the tally, and came around to stand above the fallen mercenary as the others saddled up and prepared to move out.
If he dies, their target dies... removing the principle threat to the rest of us... It was more than a little tempting, but facile. From what the interrogations had revealed, it was possible the Red Talons might decide to seek the rest of them out. He clearly knows something of them, beyond our general encounter with the enclave of Gilamesh...
It was the added bead that might tip a scale. The others were leaving to search for ashgar. Decide, or you will lose any advantage you might accrue from this--
He could live, for now. It left the most potential advantage, and his death would be final, while she could always choose to kill him later if she chose, if matters warranted at a later date. Knowledge is power, beast-man-- Her lips formed a tiny, very ironic smile for the barest second. You're very lucky... if this works...
She reached up for her kama, and raised her voice to cut through the conversations and preparations of the others.
"There is no need to seek the Ashgar bush--" she announced, her eyes fixed on the patient. She prodded him with a toe to judge his level of consciousness; it would determine whether she could administer the mixture orally or must use an alternate method. "-- I have that substance. You will do better to guard the approaches to our position and prevent an ambush. Or perhaps, should do, once we have removed to a less visible location. Do take care not to jar him unduly. I will need a vessel, or a container of some kind-- " she looked up, finally, and around at the rest of them. "A shield or an arm grieve will do if there is nothing else--"
Holding out the edge of her long shirt, Ebri slipped the end of the kama through it with a deft maneuver, shouldered the weapon, and ripped the small tear further. In her hand appeared two small paper packets. "Before you grow agitated--" Her words fell pointedly in Kale's direction-- "consider that while the nuts are pleasant and nutritious, the antitoxic decoction of the leaves is quite lethal if used incorrectly, especially in a weakened individual. " Fortunately, that was a true statement, and could be verified by them later." Having considered, however, I think it the best option of those few we have. If he lives, you may thank me for my lack of haste in this."
"Wait, Ebri. Let's be sure that he is strong enough to take the cure." Wyshira produced a scroll from a case in her pack, and unrolled it. She sat cross-legged and rigid on the ground beside Wolf, and solemnly read the words on the parchment. As the scroll disolved into nothing in her hands, she intoned her question:
"Will giving Wolf the Asgar leaf cure him of the poison, or harm him further?"
* * *
Angelo looked around casually at the bandit-strewn path, reaching to take a waterskin off his belt and take a swig in the heat of the sun. The barded warhorse, a sizeable specimen that Sebastion recognised as a western Huronese breed of exceptional quality, meandered back up to its rider and nudged gently at him. The knight nodded at the dead red-armoured warrior that had assailed them with the bladestaff.
"Red Talon," he said by way of explanation. "I've seen them before; we sometimes have problems with them around Zhatan but all they need to do is hide away their weapons and armour and they are but men. Gilame
es can go to and fro as they please through the eastern realms; that's why I prefer fighting goblins, they can't pretend they're not the enemy. There's a monastery, about a day's travel east from here, a Grumandic establishment that I was staying at when a traveller said he'd avoided some bandits led by red-armoured men in this direction yesterday." He took another swig. "I figured it might be Red Talons. The enforcers of the Children of Gilamesh."He heard Sebastion speak confusedly and raised an eyebrow quizzically. "So you have seen Red Talons before. They're tough; it's a shame the other escaped. I'd like to know what two Red Talons are doing out here." Then the knight seemed to remember something and pulled the discharged pistol from his belt before setting about reloading it.
"If there is a monastery near here then we will be able to get ministrations for Wolf that might help with the poison, though if as you say your magic will not last for more than a few hours I fear we might not get there in time," Cord said gently to Wyshira, the blind monk squatting down next to Wolf. "It is not your fault you do not bear an antitoxin. I believe our ambush was no accident - the archer pinpointed Wolf and used arrows coated with venoms. This speaks to me that he was their target." A pause as the dwarf's face creased with sadness. "If the Red Talons are Gilame
es, then perhaps this was done as revenge. After all, Wolf said that he had encountered slavers before. What if Tarravus was not the first operation of the worshippers of the Dragon Lord he had foiled?""Right. The Dragon Worshippers were appraised of Wolf's entry into the city, it's no surprise they were watchful for his departure. Wolf's had dealings in the past, though I'd say we're all involved now." Kale looked to the knight in explaination. The following would be an entertaining brag along the tavern rail with friends, but sour reality robbed accomplishment of its joy. "We eliminated a small cell of Gilame
es operating underground Tarravus. They were slavers, but something more was going on. Stockpiles of equipment and magic all around, we... interrupted their plans a bit. This isn't the last we've seen of the Dragon followers, or their enforcers," Kale finished, accepting the path they'd have to follow.Seeing the knight reloading his pistols sparked a reminder in Kale's thinking. Walking over to Melisande's mount, he replaced the spear he'd used, and tightly prepped another item. Tightly hilt-tied, he slipped a brigand's scabbarded sword opposite the spear. He regarded Melisande with a glance only long enough to warn precocious children from playing without supervision. Quickly, he made his escape back to his mount.
Red Talons. Old words sprung to mind. Kaverail Kavas: Bronze claws. They sounded like the names of rivaling neighborhood gangs. Azure blades. Blood Ravens. Take a cool color, add a menacing object, and you've got a team to kill and die for. Groups and factions and postures. Kale had departed from Iril and the armies and the merchanture and the houses, but the stink of them all could be felt over everything. The mercenary sighed. There was no escape, yet these very demons were the ones who put mutton in the pot. He watched as the surviving brigands recovered. All he really wanted was to be able to hold onto his simple conceptions: us against them. You fight me, I win, I take your stuff. Later, you're still alive? Let me buy you a drink.
"Why does it always have to get personal?" he murmored in wonder as he looked down at Wolf. "No, Wolf isn't too fond of slavers, and the other way 'round. It's not the worst cause to die for, I suppose..." We led a dozen chained children out of those passages.
* * *
With Wolf lying nearby, unconcious and breathing weaky, Kale set to questioning the bandits that had survived. It didn't take much from him to work the story out of them.
They were brigands and sellswords - though they called themselves mercenaries rather than bandits - and the two red-armoured men had paid them for the ambush. The Red Talons wanted Wolf dead, it seemed, though the bandits hadn't been told why. The grim, armoured men had wanted the rest of the party killed too if possible, but it was Wolf who they most wanted down. Some of the men had seen the Red Talon archer carefully envenoming his weapons beforehand though again they knew not what substance had been used, for it came from an exotic glass phial.
At Ebri's suggestion of the band being advanced scouts, the Black Knight shook his head. "I am fairly certain there is no larger force that these men were scouts for near here; but you should still be careful as you travel. There are tales of unrestfulness amongst the viler denizens of this range and the caves beneath it. I have heard rumours of the dwarven settlements in the north Sarokeans engaged in fierce struggle with beasts there, though the tales vary wildly in their details."
At Ebri's comments about the fortune of meeting the Black Knight, Angelo gave a wry smile. "I had not known of the exact number out here, though when I saw you already embroiled in battle with them I came as fast as I can. I do have a few advantages against numbers though," he said, tapping the back of one metal gauntlet where the metal bulged out as if the armour contained something within. "Even this armour is heavily augmented with combat systems. Had it been a Brother-Sergeant of the Order here then mere bandits would not have stood a chance. Alas I am merely a Novice," he said with humility.
At Kale's invitation, the Knight nodded. "I might as well return to the monastery now that the bandits are dealt with, and leave on my path tomorrow. Most likely the archer has fled for good but Red Talons are determined scum and he might try to finish off your wounded friend."
On the ground Wolf stirred faintly, eyelids flickering open and his eyes moving groggily. He seemed unable to do little more than twitch and stir slightly, but he appeard to be concious.
"Red Talons," he whispered hoarsely and faintly.
"Not any longer." Sebastion said, quietly, wandering around the area.
* * *
Ebri considered again, adding the new information about the Red Talons into the tally, and came around to stand above the fallen mercenary as the others saddled up and prepared to move out.
If he dies, their target dies... removing the principle threat to the rest of us... It was more than a little tempting, but facile. From what the interrogations had revealed, it was possible the Red Talons might decide to seek the rest of them out. He clearly knows something of them, beyond our general encounter with the enclave of Gilamesh...
It was the added bead that might tip a scale. The others were leaving to search for ashgar. Decide, or you will lose any advantage you might accrue from this--
He could live, for now. It left the most potential advantage, and his death would be final, while she could always choose to kill him later if she chose, if matters warranted at a later date. Knowledge is power, beast-man-- Her lips formed a tiny, very ironic smile for the barest second. You're very lucky... if this works...
She reached up for her kama, and raised her voice to cut through the conversations and preparations of the others.
"There is no need to seek the Ashgar bush--" she announced, her eyes fixed on the patient. She prodded him with a toe to judge his level of consciousness; it would determine whether she could administer the mixture orally or must use an alternate method. "-- I have that substance. You will do better to guard the approaches to our position and prevent an ambush. Or perhaps, should do, once we have removed to a less visible location. Do take care not to jar him unduly. I will need a vessel, or a container of some kind-- " she looked up, finally, and around at the rest of them. "A shield or an arm grieve will do if there is nothing else--"
Holding out the edge of her long shirt, Ebri slipped the end of the kama through it with a deft maneuver, shouldered the weapon, and ripped the small tear further. In her hand appeared two small paper packets. "Before you grow agitated--" Her words fell pointedly in Kale's direction-- "consider that while the nuts are pleasant and nutritious, the antitoxic decoction of the leaves is quite lethal if used incorrectly, especially in a weakened individual. " Fortunately, that was a true statement, and could be verified by them later." Having considered, however, I think it the best option of those few we have. If he lives, you may thank me for my lack of haste in this."
"Wait, Ebri. Let's be sure that he is strong enough to take the cure." Wyshira produced a scroll from a case in her pack, and unrolled it. She sat cross-legged and rigid on the ground beside Wolf, and solemnly read the words on the parchment. As the scroll disolved into nothing in her hands, she intoned her question:
"Will giving Wolf the Asgar leaf cure him of the poison, or harm him further?"
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