Broccli_Head
Explorer
Cool to here about Marcus's heritage. Didn't understand why the tribesmen had feeble [wan] smiles, however.
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Rel's Faded Glory III: Glory Reborn (FINAL UPDATE 6/22 - SHE'S DONE, BABY!!)
- Thread starter Rel
- Start date
Rel
Liquid Awesome
Broccli_Head said:
It is a grim time for the peoples of the Coritani and other Fodor tribes. They are facing a lean winter thanks to many of their warriors (whom they rely upon for hunting and fishing as well) being killed in the Winter War the previous year. They are glad to have Marcus as an ally and certainly glad that he's headed off to seek their lost tribesman and the home of their enemies. But they can't quite bring themselves to be optomistic of his chances for survival when he gets there.
Speaks With Stone
First Post
It looks like Rel will also be using the Book of Vile Darkness on us.
I never should have bought that book.
Or used it on Rel in the last campaign. (That book is just wrong. Even the 2nd level spells are insane - I don't want to experience the higher level ones.)
I never should have bought that book.
Or used it on Rel in the last campaign. (That book is just wrong. Even the 2nd level spells are insane - I don't want to experience the higher level ones.)
Rel
Liquid Awesome
I've been working on this update for about three days now so I hope it holds you for a few more. Enjoy...
The Sad Song of the River
The party paused long enough to see if they could Detect Magic on their fallen dragon-man foes. They discovered a potion and a ring that both gave off a glimmer of magic. These items were quickly pocketed and the group proceeded cautiously down the gorge. By late afternoon they discovered the branch of the gorge that ran off to the north but made camp before striking off in that direction.
During the night, Cathal was on watch when he heard a noise coming from up the canyon in the direction they had come from. Fearing some treachery by the Albino, he roused the rest of the camp in time for Marcus to come clanking into the firelight. He was warmly greeted by his companions and welcomed back into the group. He joined Cathal for the remainder of his watch but kept to himself about what he had learned in Rilaga. The rest of the night passed without incident and at dawn the group, whole once again, proceeded north.
The new canyon they followed had steep sides and was littered with sharp shards of rock that had crumbled from the walls above. It wove to the east and west but largely held its northward course. After the group stopped briefly for lunch, they noted that the canyon was sloping downward and at mid afternoon it ended above a steep river valley. The slope below them was covered with scree that had spilled out of the canyon down into the valley. The loose, sharp rocks stretched for hundreds of feet below them, ending in a rocky river that ran along the bottom of the valley.
Speaks knew that the way down would be difficult for Scipio whose large form was bound to cause some slipping and sliding among the rocks. He returned to his human form to aid in guiding the great cat down the slope. The two of them started down the steep side of the valley, sliding along and struggling to remain on their feet as they went. They managed to keep from falling out of control but as they reached the bottom, they realized they had other problems.
A pair of large boulders lay just across the narrow river and from behind them came a pair of almost as large humanoids. Their green skin was covered in warts and moles and their eyes were dark pits that held no compassion for the likes of Speaks and Scipio. Speaks had never before encountered their like, but he had heard plenty of stories: “Trolls!”
Above where the rest of the party stood helplessly, hundreds of feet away, Marcus saw the threat to his friends. He paused for just a moment to impart himself with the Strength of a Bull before leaping down onto the scree slope. Almost immediately the heavily armored holy warrior lost his footing and began to slide out of control down the hill.
Below, Speaks had not yet reacted to the threat when each of the Trolls drew a sizable stone and flung it at him. One of these connected and Speaks barely kept his feet as bones creaked and flesh was bruised under the strike. But he retained his senses enough to call down a Flame Strike upon the green skinned aggressors. Scipio prepared to go bounding across the river to attack them but Speaks held him to heel afraid for what may happen to his friend if he leap among the hulking humanoids by himself. Speaks glanced upslope and saw that help was a long way off.
Marius leapt gracefully down upon the shifting, rocky slope but misplaced his foot upon landing and found himself sliding out of control just behind Marcus. To be in the same lot as the comparatively clumsy, metal clad Marcus was simply embarrassing. He decided that he would leave that part out of the travelogue that he was writing.
The Trolls decided that they had better get on with killing the lone human and his pet before his friends got there so they charged across the river, leaping from stone to stone. But Scipio refused to let them attack his friend and leapt upon them just as they arrived on the near shore. The Dire Mountain Lion sent strips of green flesh flying in all directions as his claws dug into the rubbery skin of one of the Trolls. But even as he clawed the giant, he was clawed in return and felt the strength behind the dirty nails of his enemy.
Lazarius decided upon his best course of action and used his magic to Alter himSelf. A huge pair of bat-like wings sprouted from his shoulders and he sent soaring out above the sloping valley. Cathal was right behind the Wizard but not for long. His magical boots sent him streaking down the hill at astounding speed and, unlike his comrades he managed to retain his feet as he charged forward.
Marcus pushed himself upright as he slid down the hill and for a few moments moved gracefully down the hill, shifting his weight from foot to foot and making the descent look easy (natural 20!). Nearby, Marius tried to emulate this feat and failed. This was definitely NOT going in the book.
Below, things were starting to go poorly for Speaks and Scipio. Speaks did manage to evade the grasp of the Troll that was menacing him. But the one that Scipio had attacked began to shred the Mountain Lion with his claws, rending huge patches of fur from his body. Blood spilled down from the pair of combatants and began to stain the river. Scipio tried to bite his attacker but his teeth could not penetrate the tough skin of the creatures shoulder.
Speaks could see that he would not be able to wait for his companions to arrive in time to provide martial support for him. He stepped back from the creature and brandished his staff, uttering an incantation as he did so. The length of the weapon became covered with long, sharp Brambles, “Come and feel nature’s wrath!”
Lazarius saw these events unfolding and knew that he had to get within range to use his magic as quickly as possible. He tipped forward on his stygian wings and dove down the slope. Below him, Cathal’s tremendous speed became a detriment as his foot caught a larger boulder among the scree and he stumbled, sliding out of control down the steep side of the valley. Behind him, Marcus’ graceful stint at “scree surfing” also came to an abrupt end and he pitched over and began to tumble and slide out of control. He did his best to ignore the pain of the sharp stones digging into the gaps in his armor and hold onto his mace.
Marius was glad to see that he was not the only one tumbling along helplessly and hoped to show that he was more agile than he had thus far appeared in their descent. He bounded to his feet for a scant moment only to lose his footing yet again and fall, his forearms taking cuts from the sharp stones that surrounded him. (Marius easily has the best Dex in the party and was suffering from a string of particularly bad rolls.)
The Troll locked in a bloody embrace with Scipio landed another claw but was unable to get a grip with the other hand and the cat suffered less damage than he had previously. But it was still plain to Speaks that his friend would not last much longer in the grip of the giant he faced. For now there was nothing he could do except try to delay them and buy time until their allies could arrive. He continued to menace his foe with his staff and called on the Wild to supply a Harrier to strike at the Trolls.
Lazarius was rocketing down so fast that he nearly collided with the ground. He pulled out of the dive and continued to soar down the slope as best he could in his winged form. He had not had much practice at flying and his maneuverability was questionable at best.
Cathal managed to regain his feet and leap forward again using the incredible speed of his boots. Marcus struggled briefly to regain his feet but resigned himself to the fact that his armor was too encumbering to allow him to maneuver on such poor footing. He looked alongside and saw Marius struggling as well, unable to regain his balance (another crappy roll).
Seeing that Speaks was casting spells, the Trolls decided that he was the real threat. Both attacked him and ignored Scipio for a moment. Each landed a razor-nailed grasp on the Druid and tore through his defenses leaving him bleeding. Scipio stood shakily a few feet away trying to recover from the terrible damage he had sustained at the claws of the Troll.
Speaks saw that his friend was, for the moment, not being attacked directly and retreated along the riverbank a short distance before turning to use another of his magics. The ground between he and the Trolls became covered in nearly-invisible Stone Spikes. He hoped that it might slow them down long enough for help to arrive. The winged Harrier he had summoned did its best to attack and distract the Trolls but was little match for their thick hides.
And help was certainly on the way, if not in a particularly controlled manner. Lazarius continued to soar downslope on his bat wings but was still too far out of range to use any helpful magic. Cathal on the other hand made a grand entrance as he slid uncontrolled right into the midst of the trap Speaks had just laid. His legs became riddled with thorn-like spikes of stone but he ignored the pain and tried to focus on getting to his feet.
Not far behind the Brigante warrior came Marcus still sliding and tumbling out of control. Only his lesser velocity kept him from the battle now, although the manner of his arrival was still in question. Marius in a face-saving show of agility sprang to his feet and managed to approach the bottom of the valley under his own power. He surveyed the situation before him and didn’t like what he saw.
One of the Trolls, not realizing what he was running into, charged through Speaks’ trap after the Druid, landing a solid claw attack and bringing him to the brink of unconsciousness. The other started to join his brother but suddenly found himself looking down on the prone form of Marcus who was just sliding past on his graceless descent of the scree slope. A claw pierced a weak point in the armor of the warrior of St. Cuthbert and drew his blood.
Now that his friends had arrive to aid him, Speaks felt that he must escape if he was going to survive. He called out an order to Scipio to keep his distance and moved further out of the reach of the Troll that pursued him. Just as he retreated, both Trolls were enveloped in crackling lighting as Lazarius finally got within range to use his magic. Cathal moved to aid Speaks and put himself between the Troll and his ally, Mailbiter flashing in his grasp.
Marcus slid to a halt but not before entering the area of the Spike Growth and suffering some small wounds from the needle-like stones. He came to rest very nearly at the feet of the Troll who had just clawed him. Despite having been broiled by lightning moments before, the green giant laughed in jolly fashion.
Marius bounded down the hill and deftly tumbled to the side of the Troll facing Cathal, sinking his rapier in its side, dropping it to the ground. Unfortunately for the luckless Marius, he tumbled right across the Spike Stones that seemed to be doing as much damage to friend as to foe. As if his bad luck were becoming a permanent fixture, the Troll he had just slain stood back up and slashed at him with its claw. Marius was having a hard time envisioning how he was going to spin this whole encounter when he wrote about it in his travelogue. He was sure he would think of something that could make his performance look better.
Nearby, the gloating Troll reached down with both claws and managed to again pierce Marcus’ armor with one of them. There his reign of terror ended however.
Speaks had been Summoning another Ally and a fiery Salamander appeared behind the Troll and struck it. Simultaneously, the Harrier managed to pierce the creature’s considerable defenses. Finally, lightning erupted around both Trolls once again at the direction of Lazarius who flew over the battle. Both fell, one into the river where his body hissed and steamed. Lazarius yelled from above the battle, “Burn them or they’ll return to life again!”
Marcus braved the needle-like spines of stone again as he dragged the Troll’s body from the river onto shore. There, Speaks ordered the Salamander to stab them repeatedly with its flaming spear until the magic that held him on the material plane expired and he was sucked back into the flaming realm he called home. The party sat on the banks of the river panting with exertion even in the frigid mountains. Marcus and Speaks set about healing the many wounds they had suffered from the sharp scree slope and the even sharper claws of the Trolls.
Lazarius, untouched, landed nearby and drew a wand from his satchel, attempting to Detect Magic on their slain foes. He reported that one wore a piece of magical armor which explained how he had survived against the mighty teeth and claws of Scipio. Pulling back the burnt and tattered remains of the creature’s filthy tunic, he revealed a large breastplate. Turning his attention to the other body, he discovered a bag emanating magic hanging from the giant’s belt. Lazarius ignored the armor and seized the bag and sat down along the river bank to examine his prize.
Looking within the bag, he saw a sizable stone, roughly as big as his own head. He pulled out the rock and sat it along the river. Beneath it was another, similar stone and he removed that one as well. After he removed the third, he was convinced that the three stones would not fit inside a normal bag of this size.
“Woohoo! A Bag of Holding! I’ve heard tales of these back at the College of Wizardry. They’re how we supply the Legions when they’re in the field. They are similar to our Haversacks but hold much more.” He set about removing the rest of the stones from the bag to make way for some of his own possessions. Five minutes later he had already moved aside twice as the quantity of stones piling up began to take up a good deal of room alongside the river. “How many rocks did those smelly bastards cram in here?” Lazarius raised an eyebrow in thought and pulled his bedroll from his haversack. He attempted to cram the bulky roll of soft furs into the newfound bag but it did not seem to fit. He laid aside the bedroll and withdrew three more rocks from the bag. Another sat at the bottom within easy reach.
“Um, I think I was mistaken about the magic of this bag. It actually appears to generate an endless supply of rocks. This is probably where the rocks came from that they threw at you, Speaks.” The Druid approached to inspect the bag, which Lazarius handed over having lost interest in it.
Marcus and Cathal had removed the breastplate from the other Troll and were just about to start debating how to transport the great sheet of steel when they found it shrinking in their hands. Cathal held it up to his chest and found it slowly change size to approximate his proportions. “Handy that.”
From across the river, Marius called out to the others, “I think I see their trail. They came from up the river.” The others gathered their things and left the slain Trolls lying beside the running mountain waters as they waded across the shallow river. At the other side they paused to examine the trail Marius had discovered while Lazarius used a cantrip to dry their pants before they froze in the cold mountain air.
“I can’t be sure but I think it was just the two of them,” Marius reported to the group. “Should we try to follow?”
The party looked back and forth at each other. Speaks answered, “Let’s follow the trail. Maybe we can take someone else by surprise for a change.”
A half mile further up the river, they came upon a cave in the northeastern side of the chasm. They cautiously inspected the entrance but found that the small cave was inhabited only by the fetid smell of its former occupants. Inside they discovered a pair of filthy pallets and a couple other items of interest.
One was a sack of coins, bulging and ripped in a couple of places. Lazarius used his Prestidigitation spell that was still going to repair the bag and retrieve the coins that had leaked out. He stowed it in his satchel for later counting.
The rest of the group were regarding a corpse hanging from a pole and partially flayed. It was covered in small insects who were sharing in the Trolls feast. “It almost looks like some kind of fish, but look at how the legs split apart and the bones were structured. It could clearly walk. It is no animal, that I can say for certain.” Speaks informed them. “We’ll keep an eye out for more of them,” said Marius, “Maybe they’ll thank us for dispatching the Trolls, if they don’t attack us for the way we smell. Let’s get the hell out of here.” They withdrew from the cave into the cool and refreshing air of the mountains and continued their northern march, following the river valley.
They stopped a short while later and made camp, most of them weary after a long day’s march and a tough battle. Marcus offered to watch over them for most of the night as usual. He doffed his armor and cleaned it before putting it back on. Lazarius did most of the cooking before preparing to settle down to sleep. Before he did, he opened the bag they had found and spread out the coins on his bedroll to count them.
“These coins are of a fairly old Imperial mint. They date back to the reign of Narses or before.” Lazarius informed them.
“Really?” asked Marius, intrigued. The others stared rather blankly at the Wizard. “Narses was the Emperor at the time of the Sythian Secession and the Slave Wars. Many blame him for the fall of the Empire,” explained Lazarius.
Marcus wondered aloud, “So that makes them over a hundred years old.” He looked at the coins wondering how many hands they had passed through and what path had led them to be owned by Trolls in the crags of the Black Peaks. He also wondered who their next owners would be. The group lapsed into quiet and settled down to sleep.
Hours later as Cathal kept watch for the short while that Marcus needed to sleep, he found himself humming one of the songs of his people. Most of his companions did not know it but he was considered an accomplished singer and storyteller among his people, not just a warrior. As he finished humming the Saga of Velkain, he paused and thought he heard another thread of music. He strained his ears and could just barely make out a low thrum of song. It seemed to have no pattern to it. Regardless, it meant that someone was out there singing and he awoke his companions.
None of the others could make out the faint song but Speaks who agreed that it sounded like some sort of tuneless song but that was about all he could tell. It certainly sounded very distant and wasn’t getting louder. That settled, the others went back to sleep and left Cathal to listen to the song.
He paid close attention to it and decided that it was a sad song, full of melancholy. He also made the startling discovery that it did have a rhythm but one that was impossibly long. The beat of the song did not repeat itself for nearly half an hour. Whoever was singing it was incredibly patient and had an amazing memory. He listened to the song long into the night, wondering what could have been so sad as to inspire such a thing.
The party awoke in the morning and set forth along the river as before, moving ever northward into the cold terrain of the Black Peaks. As the morning wore on, the song continued faintly, drowned out when even the slightest wind blew through the canyon they followed. But it began to become more distinct. Fearful of what they may be walking into, Speaks offered to scout ahead. He took the form of an owl and the silent beat of his wings carried him forward in search of the source of the dirge that filled the valley.
He spotted no one below but after a while noticed that the song was becoming fainter and coming from behind him. He turned and flew downriver for a few minutes and again found the song growing quieter and coming from behind him. He turned upriver once more and finally located an area where the song seemed loudest but still saw no signs of the singer. Recalling the previous day where he had found himself alone against powerful foes, he wisely withdrew and found the party. Resuming human form, he guided them to the source of the sound.
They searched the area for several minutes before they admitted to being stumped as to the source of the sound. Speaks decided to try a little magic. He saw a small juniper tree growing along the rocky slope near a large boulder. He used his magic to Speak to the Plant. “Tell me little tree, can you hear the song that surrounds us?”
The wee conifer responded immediately and with an irritable tone, “Of course I can. He sings the same song all day long. I could sing it myself if I could sing. Though I wouldn’t.”
“Who is it who sings the song?” Speaks asked in confusion.
“HIM. The STONE. He sings it day and night. And I get to look forward to hearing it for the rest of my LONG life. Do you know how long juniper trees live?”
Speaks was taken aback by the large amount of sarcasm for such a small tree. “How long has he been singing like this?”
“For-EVER! Since before I was just a cone. It is interminable. Sometimes I wish the spring thaw would send the waters high up enough to just wash me away. And the ground here is fairly loose. Maybe if I grow a little larger a gust of wind will topple me down the slope. Anything to give me a break from that SONG!”
Speaks decided that he had learned as much as he was likely to from the small tree and did not wish to further aggravate it. He turned his attention to the boulder. “Hello?” The music almost seemed to pause for a moment before resuming. “Hello, can you hear me?”
The boulder began to move slowly and a pair of cracks opened to reveal pits in the stone that might have been eyes. Another crack opened below them and a deep and ponderous voice came out, “Yes.”
“My name is Speaks With Stone,” Speaks paused to allow himself and everyone else to absorb the palpable irony. “My companions and I heard your singing.”
“Yes.” For so short a word, it seemed an eternity before the stone finished saying it.
“It seems to be a very sad song.”
“It is.”
Speaks felt the urge to ask his next question before the several seconds required for the stone to finish his last syllable were up but he resisted. “What is the song about?”
“It is the Song for the Lost Innocence of the Stones.” It took long enough to utter that sentence that some of the other members of the party sat down.
“And who are you?”
“I am the Singer for the Lost Innocence of the Stones.”
Speaks sat down as well. “What caused the stones to lose their innocence?”
“The Blood of a terrible god.”
Everyone’s eyes widened at that last syllable. Speaks continued his questions, “We’ve heard stories of the slaying of Bane. Is he the god you speak of?”
“No. His Brother.”
Speaks turned to his companions, “Bane has a brother?!” Marcus answered, “None that I’ve ever heard of.”
Speaks spoke to the stone again, “When did this happen?”
“In ages past. Thousands of years ago.”
“And you were here to see it?” asked Speaks.
“I came afterward to try and heal the stone and those who dwelled within it. I failed.”
“You failed?”
“A creature was corrupted by the Blood and began to hurt the mountains. I tried to bring it back to the ways of the earth but could not. I had to kill it.”
Speaks could hear the regret in the creature’s voice, “What manner of creature do you speak of?”
“A Delver of passages in the earth. It began to dig away at the roots of the mountains, collapsing them and tearing them down.”
“And so you were forced to kill it?”
“I chased it through the mountain for days, trying to get it to listen to reason and quit its rampage. But it was tainted and could not be brought back. I destroyed it before it could cause more harm.”
Speaks felt sympathy for the stone, “You did what you had to. It could not have been prevented.”
The stone turned to regard Speaks for a moment, “That something could not be prevented is no reason not to regret that it happened. I could not heal the damage done to these mountains. They and the creatures within them now have hearts blackened by the God-Blood pooled within them. It leaves an indelible stain. And so I sing for their loss of innocence.”
Speaks considered for a moment. “We seek to prevent further evil from being done here. We travel north toward a place called The City of Endless Summer. Do you know where it is?”
“I know little of the places your kind call ‘cities’. But if you go north you shall find more evil than you like. And I doubt you’ll be returning.”
“Why is that?”
“The mountains to the north are home to murderous giants. They kill or enslave any who violate their domain. I fear you are no match for their might.”
“Is there no other way north but through their lands?”
The stone paused before answering, “The way under the mountain remains. The path the Delver took before I killed it. I don’t know what evils may have crept from the bowels of these dark mountains to inhabit them. But they may hold less danger than the lands of the giants.”
“How do we find our way into these passages?”
“Follow the river to a waterfall. There you will find a cave that will lead you to the path of the Delver. It runs long under the mountains and should take you beyond the giant lands.”
“That sounds like our best hope. Thank you Singer. And if I can find a way to heal the stones, I shall do it.”
The stone closed its eyes. “Your promise makes me almost hope a little. I shall sing of hope for a short while.” The droning song of the stone filled the valley again, but it seemed a little less sad this time.
Speaks turned back to the juniper, “He sings another song for now, little one.”
“Thank you! I reach my branches toward the sky in JOY! Thank you from the tips of my roots!”
Speaks and the rest of the group stood and walked some way upriver. Marius broke their silence, “I see now how you got your name, Druid.”
Speaks smiled, thinking of a young boy named Quintus left far in the past, “It seems to fit me more every day.”
NEXT: Murky Depths
The Sad Song of the River
The party paused long enough to see if they could Detect Magic on their fallen dragon-man foes. They discovered a potion and a ring that both gave off a glimmer of magic. These items were quickly pocketed and the group proceeded cautiously down the gorge. By late afternoon they discovered the branch of the gorge that ran off to the north but made camp before striking off in that direction.
During the night, Cathal was on watch when he heard a noise coming from up the canyon in the direction they had come from. Fearing some treachery by the Albino, he roused the rest of the camp in time for Marcus to come clanking into the firelight. He was warmly greeted by his companions and welcomed back into the group. He joined Cathal for the remainder of his watch but kept to himself about what he had learned in Rilaga. The rest of the night passed without incident and at dawn the group, whole once again, proceeded north.
The new canyon they followed had steep sides and was littered with sharp shards of rock that had crumbled from the walls above. It wove to the east and west but largely held its northward course. After the group stopped briefly for lunch, they noted that the canyon was sloping downward and at mid afternoon it ended above a steep river valley. The slope below them was covered with scree that had spilled out of the canyon down into the valley. The loose, sharp rocks stretched for hundreds of feet below them, ending in a rocky river that ran along the bottom of the valley.
Speaks knew that the way down would be difficult for Scipio whose large form was bound to cause some slipping and sliding among the rocks. He returned to his human form to aid in guiding the great cat down the slope. The two of them started down the steep side of the valley, sliding along and struggling to remain on their feet as they went. They managed to keep from falling out of control but as they reached the bottom, they realized they had other problems.
A pair of large boulders lay just across the narrow river and from behind them came a pair of almost as large humanoids. Their green skin was covered in warts and moles and their eyes were dark pits that held no compassion for the likes of Speaks and Scipio. Speaks had never before encountered their like, but he had heard plenty of stories: “Trolls!”
Above where the rest of the party stood helplessly, hundreds of feet away, Marcus saw the threat to his friends. He paused for just a moment to impart himself with the Strength of a Bull before leaping down onto the scree slope. Almost immediately the heavily armored holy warrior lost his footing and began to slide out of control down the hill.
Below, Speaks had not yet reacted to the threat when each of the Trolls drew a sizable stone and flung it at him. One of these connected and Speaks barely kept his feet as bones creaked and flesh was bruised under the strike. But he retained his senses enough to call down a Flame Strike upon the green skinned aggressors. Scipio prepared to go bounding across the river to attack them but Speaks held him to heel afraid for what may happen to his friend if he leap among the hulking humanoids by himself. Speaks glanced upslope and saw that help was a long way off.
Marius leapt gracefully down upon the shifting, rocky slope but misplaced his foot upon landing and found himself sliding out of control just behind Marcus. To be in the same lot as the comparatively clumsy, metal clad Marcus was simply embarrassing. He decided that he would leave that part out of the travelogue that he was writing.
The Trolls decided that they had better get on with killing the lone human and his pet before his friends got there so they charged across the river, leaping from stone to stone. But Scipio refused to let them attack his friend and leapt upon them just as they arrived on the near shore. The Dire Mountain Lion sent strips of green flesh flying in all directions as his claws dug into the rubbery skin of one of the Trolls. But even as he clawed the giant, he was clawed in return and felt the strength behind the dirty nails of his enemy.
Lazarius decided upon his best course of action and used his magic to Alter himSelf. A huge pair of bat-like wings sprouted from his shoulders and he sent soaring out above the sloping valley. Cathal was right behind the Wizard but not for long. His magical boots sent him streaking down the hill at astounding speed and, unlike his comrades he managed to retain his feet as he charged forward.
Marcus pushed himself upright as he slid down the hill and for a few moments moved gracefully down the hill, shifting his weight from foot to foot and making the descent look easy (natural 20!). Nearby, Marius tried to emulate this feat and failed. This was definitely NOT going in the book.
Below, things were starting to go poorly for Speaks and Scipio. Speaks did manage to evade the grasp of the Troll that was menacing him. But the one that Scipio had attacked began to shred the Mountain Lion with his claws, rending huge patches of fur from his body. Blood spilled down from the pair of combatants and began to stain the river. Scipio tried to bite his attacker but his teeth could not penetrate the tough skin of the creatures shoulder.
Speaks could see that he would not be able to wait for his companions to arrive in time to provide martial support for him. He stepped back from the creature and brandished his staff, uttering an incantation as he did so. The length of the weapon became covered with long, sharp Brambles, “Come and feel nature’s wrath!”
Lazarius saw these events unfolding and knew that he had to get within range to use his magic as quickly as possible. He tipped forward on his stygian wings and dove down the slope. Below him, Cathal’s tremendous speed became a detriment as his foot caught a larger boulder among the scree and he stumbled, sliding out of control down the steep side of the valley. Behind him, Marcus’ graceful stint at “scree surfing” also came to an abrupt end and he pitched over and began to tumble and slide out of control. He did his best to ignore the pain of the sharp stones digging into the gaps in his armor and hold onto his mace.
Marius was glad to see that he was not the only one tumbling along helplessly and hoped to show that he was more agile than he had thus far appeared in their descent. He bounded to his feet for a scant moment only to lose his footing yet again and fall, his forearms taking cuts from the sharp stones that surrounded him. (Marius easily has the best Dex in the party and was suffering from a string of particularly bad rolls.)
The Troll locked in a bloody embrace with Scipio landed another claw but was unable to get a grip with the other hand and the cat suffered less damage than he had previously. But it was still plain to Speaks that his friend would not last much longer in the grip of the giant he faced. For now there was nothing he could do except try to delay them and buy time until their allies could arrive. He continued to menace his foe with his staff and called on the Wild to supply a Harrier to strike at the Trolls.
Lazarius was rocketing down so fast that he nearly collided with the ground. He pulled out of the dive and continued to soar down the slope as best he could in his winged form. He had not had much practice at flying and his maneuverability was questionable at best.
Cathal managed to regain his feet and leap forward again using the incredible speed of his boots. Marcus struggled briefly to regain his feet but resigned himself to the fact that his armor was too encumbering to allow him to maneuver on such poor footing. He looked alongside and saw Marius struggling as well, unable to regain his balance (another crappy roll).
Seeing that Speaks was casting spells, the Trolls decided that he was the real threat. Both attacked him and ignored Scipio for a moment. Each landed a razor-nailed grasp on the Druid and tore through his defenses leaving him bleeding. Scipio stood shakily a few feet away trying to recover from the terrible damage he had sustained at the claws of the Troll.
Speaks saw that his friend was, for the moment, not being attacked directly and retreated along the riverbank a short distance before turning to use another of his magics. The ground between he and the Trolls became covered in nearly-invisible Stone Spikes. He hoped that it might slow them down long enough for help to arrive. The winged Harrier he had summoned did its best to attack and distract the Trolls but was little match for their thick hides.
And help was certainly on the way, if not in a particularly controlled manner. Lazarius continued to soar downslope on his bat wings but was still too far out of range to use any helpful magic. Cathal on the other hand made a grand entrance as he slid uncontrolled right into the midst of the trap Speaks had just laid. His legs became riddled with thorn-like spikes of stone but he ignored the pain and tried to focus on getting to his feet.
Not far behind the Brigante warrior came Marcus still sliding and tumbling out of control. Only his lesser velocity kept him from the battle now, although the manner of his arrival was still in question. Marius in a face-saving show of agility sprang to his feet and managed to approach the bottom of the valley under his own power. He surveyed the situation before him and didn’t like what he saw.
One of the Trolls, not realizing what he was running into, charged through Speaks’ trap after the Druid, landing a solid claw attack and bringing him to the brink of unconsciousness. The other started to join his brother but suddenly found himself looking down on the prone form of Marcus who was just sliding past on his graceless descent of the scree slope. A claw pierced a weak point in the armor of the warrior of St. Cuthbert and drew his blood.
Now that his friends had arrive to aid him, Speaks felt that he must escape if he was going to survive. He called out an order to Scipio to keep his distance and moved further out of the reach of the Troll that pursued him. Just as he retreated, both Trolls were enveloped in crackling lighting as Lazarius finally got within range to use his magic. Cathal moved to aid Speaks and put himself between the Troll and his ally, Mailbiter flashing in his grasp.
Marcus slid to a halt but not before entering the area of the Spike Growth and suffering some small wounds from the needle-like stones. He came to rest very nearly at the feet of the Troll who had just clawed him. Despite having been broiled by lightning moments before, the green giant laughed in jolly fashion.
Marius bounded down the hill and deftly tumbled to the side of the Troll facing Cathal, sinking his rapier in its side, dropping it to the ground. Unfortunately for the luckless Marius, he tumbled right across the Spike Stones that seemed to be doing as much damage to friend as to foe. As if his bad luck were becoming a permanent fixture, the Troll he had just slain stood back up and slashed at him with its claw. Marius was having a hard time envisioning how he was going to spin this whole encounter when he wrote about it in his travelogue. He was sure he would think of something that could make his performance look better.
Nearby, the gloating Troll reached down with both claws and managed to again pierce Marcus’ armor with one of them. There his reign of terror ended however.
Speaks had been Summoning another Ally and a fiery Salamander appeared behind the Troll and struck it. Simultaneously, the Harrier managed to pierce the creature’s considerable defenses. Finally, lightning erupted around both Trolls once again at the direction of Lazarius who flew over the battle. Both fell, one into the river where his body hissed and steamed. Lazarius yelled from above the battle, “Burn them or they’ll return to life again!”
Marcus braved the needle-like spines of stone again as he dragged the Troll’s body from the river onto shore. There, Speaks ordered the Salamander to stab them repeatedly with its flaming spear until the magic that held him on the material plane expired and he was sucked back into the flaming realm he called home. The party sat on the banks of the river panting with exertion even in the frigid mountains. Marcus and Speaks set about healing the many wounds they had suffered from the sharp scree slope and the even sharper claws of the Trolls.
Lazarius, untouched, landed nearby and drew a wand from his satchel, attempting to Detect Magic on their slain foes. He reported that one wore a piece of magical armor which explained how he had survived against the mighty teeth and claws of Scipio. Pulling back the burnt and tattered remains of the creature’s filthy tunic, he revealed a large breastplate. Turning his attention to the other body, he discovered a bag emanating magic hanging from the giant’s belt. Lazarius ignored the armor and seized the bag and sat down along the river bank to examine his prize.
Looking within the bag, he saw a sizable stone, roughly as big as his own head. He pulled out the rock and sat it along the river. Beneath it was another, similar stone and he removed that one as well. After he removed the third, he was convinced that the three stones would not fit inside a normal bag of this size.
“Woohoo! A Bag of Holding! I’ve heard tales of these back at the College of Wizardry. They’re how we supply the Legions when they’re in the field. They are similar to our Haversacks but hold much more.” He set about removing the rest of the stones from the bag to make way for some of his own possessions. Five minutes later he had already moved aside twice as the quantity of stones piling up began to take up a good deal of room alongside the river. “How many rocks did those smelly bastards cram in here?” Lazarius raised an eyebrow in thought and pulled his bedroll from his haversack. He attempted to cram the bulky roll of soft furs into the newfound bag but it did not seem to fit. He laid aside the bedroll and withdrew three more rocks from the bag. Another sat at the bottom within easy reach.
“Um, I think I was mistaken about the magic of this bag. It actually appears to generate an endless supply of rocks. This is probably where the rocks came from that they threw at you, Speaks.” The Druid approached to inspect the bag, which Lazarius handed over having lost interest in it.
Marcus and Cathal had removed the breastplate from the other Troll and were just about to start debating how to transport the great sheet of steel when they found it shrinking in their hands. Cathal held it up to his chest and found it slowly change size to approximate his proportions. “Handy that.”
From across the river, Marius called out to the others, “I think I see their trail. They came from up the river.” The others gathered their things and left the slain Trolls lying beside the running mountain waters as they waded across the shallow river. At the other side they paused to examine the trail Marius had discovered while Lazarius used a cantrip to dry their pants before they froze in the cold mountain air.
“I can’t be sure but I think it was just the two of them,” Marius reported to the group. “Should we try to follow?”
The party looked back and forth at each other. Speaks answered, “Let’s follow the trail. Maybe we can take someone else by surprise for a change.”
A half mile further up the river, they came upon a cave in the northeastern side of the chasm. They cautiously inspected the entrance but found that the small cave was inhabited only by the fetid smell of its former occupants. Inside they discovered a pair of filthy pallets and a couple other items of interest.
One was a sack of coins, bulging and ripped in a couple of places. Lazarius used his Prestidigitation spell that was still going to repair the bag and retrieve the coins that had leaked out. He stowed it in his satchel for later counting.
The rest of the group were regarding a corpse hanging from a pole and partially flayed. It was covered in small insects who were sharing in the Trolls feast. “It almost looks like some kind of fish, but look at how the legs split apart and the bones were structured. It could clearly walk. It is no animal, that I can say for certain.” Speaks informed them. “We’ll keep an eye out for more of them,” said Marius, “Maybe they’ll thank us for dispatching the Trolls, if they don’t attack us for the way we smell. Let’s get the hell out of here.” They withdrew from the cave into the cool and refreshing air of the mountains and continued their northern march, following the river valley.
They stopped a short while later and made camp, most of them weary after a long day’s march and a tough battle. Marcus offered to watch over them for most of the night as usual. He doffed his armor and cleaned it before putting it back on. Lazarius did most of the cooking before preparing to settle down to sleep. Before he did, he opened the bag they had found and spread out the coins on his bedroll to count them.
“These coins are of a fairly old Imperial mint. They date back to the reign of Narses or before.” Lazarius informed them.
“Really?” asked Marius, intrigued. The others stared rather blankly at the Wizard. “Narses was the Emperor at the time of the Sythian Secession and the Slave Wars. Many blame him for the fall of the Empire,” explained Lazarius.
Marcus wondered aloud, “So that makes them over a hundred years old.” He looked at the coins wondering how many hands they had passed through and what path had led them to be owned by Trolls in the crags of the Black Peaks. He also wondered who their next owners would be. The group lapsed into quiet and settled down to sleep.
Hours later as Cathal kept watch for the short while that Marcus needed to sleep, he found himself humming one of the songs of his people. Most of his companions did not know it but he was considered an accomplished singer and storyteller among his people, not just a warrior. As he finished humming the Saga of Velkain, he paused and thought he heard another thread of music. He strained his ears and could just barely make out a low thrum of song. It seemed to have no pattern to it. Regardless, it meant that someone was out there singing and he awoke his companions.
None of the others could make out the faint song but Speaks who agreed that it sounded like some sort of tuneless song but that was about all he could tell. It certainly sounded very distant and wasn’t getting louder. That settled, the others went back to sleep and left Cathal to listen to the song.
He paid close attention to it and decided that it was a sad song, full of melancholy. He also made the startling discovery that it did have a rhythm but one that was impossibly long. The beat of the song did not repeat itself for nearly half an hour. Whoever was singing it was incredibly patient and had an amazing memory. He listened to the song long into the night, wondering what could have been so sad as to inspire such a thing.
The party awoke in the morning and set forth along the river as before, moving ever northward into the cold terrain of the Black Peaks. As the morning wore on, the song continued faintly, drowned out when even the slightest wind blew through the canyon they followed. But it began to become more distinct. Fearful of what they may be walking into, Speaks offered to scout ahead. He took the form of an owl and the silent beat of his wings carried him forward in search of the source of the dirge that filled the valley.
He spotted no one below but after a while noticed that the song was becoming fainter and coming from behind him. He turned and flew downriver for a few minutes and again found the song growing quieter and coming from behind him. He turned upriver once more and finally located an area where the song seemed loudest but still saw no signs of the singer. Recalling the previous day where he had found himself alone against powerful foes, he wisely withdrew and found the party. Resuming human form, he guided them to the source of the sound.
They searched the area for several minutes before they admitted to being stumped as to the source of the sound. Speaks decided to try a little magic. He saw a small juniper tree growing along the rocky slope near a large boulder. He used his magic to Speak to the Plant. “Tell me little tree, can you hear the song that surrounds us?”
The wee conifer responded immediately and with an irritable tone, “Of course I can. He sings the same song all day long. I could sing it myself if I could sing. Though I wouldn’t.”
“Who is it who sings the song?” Speaks asked in confusion.
“HIM. The STONE. He sings it day and night. And I get to look forward to hearing it for the rest of my LONG life. Do you know how long juniper trees live?”
Speaks was taken aback by the large amount of sarcasm for such a small tree. “How long has he been singing like this?”
“For-EVER! Since before I was just a cone. It is interminable. Sometimes I wish the spring thaw would send the waters high up enough to just wash me away. And the ground here is fairly loose. Maybe if I grow a little larger a gust of wind will topple me down the slope. Anything to give me a break from that SONG!”
Speaks decided that he had learned as much as he was likely to from the small tree and did not wish to further aggravate it. He turned his attention to the boulder. “Hello?” The music almost seemed to pause for a moment before resuming. “Hello, can you hear me?”
The boulder began to move slowly and a pair of cracks opened to reveal pits in the stone that might have been eyes. Another crack opened below them and a deep and ponderous voice came out, “Yes.”
“My name is Speaks With Stone,” Speaks paused to allow himself and everyone else to absorb the palpable irony. “My companions and I heard your singing.”
“Yes.” For so short a word, it seemed an eternity before the stone finished saying it.
“It seems to be a very sad song.”
“It is.”
Speaks felt the urge to ask his next question before the several seconds required for the stone to finish his last syllable were up but he resisted. “What is the song about?”
“It is the Song for the Lost Innocence of the Stones.” It took long enough to utter that sentence that some of the other members of the party sat down.
“And who are you?”
“I am the Singer for the Lost Innocence of the Stones.”
Speaks sat down as well. “What caused the stones to lose their innocence?”
“The Blood of a terrible god.”
Everyone’s eyes widened at that last syllable. Speaks continued his questions, “We’ve heard stories of the slaying of Bane. Is he the god you speak of?”
“No. His Brother.”
Speaks turned to his companions, “Bane has a brother?!” Marcus answered, “None that I’ve ever heard of.”
Speaks spoke to the stone again, “When did this happen?”
“In ages past. Thousands of years ago.”
“And you were here to see it?” asked Speaks.
“I came afterward to try and heal the stone and those who dwelled within it. I failed.”
“You failed?”
“A creature was corrupted by the Blood and began to hurt the mountains. I tried to bring it back to the ways of the earth but could not. I had to kill it.”
Speaks could hear the regret in the creature’s voice, “What manner of creature do you speak of?”
“A Delver of passages in the earth. It began to dig away at the roots of the mountains, collapsing them and tearing them down.”
“And so you were forced to kill it?”
“I chased it through the mountain for days, trying to get it to listen to reason and quit its rampage. But it was tainted and could not be brought back. I destroyed it before it could cause more harm.”
Speaks felt sympathy for the stone, “You did what you had to. It could not have been prevented.”
The stone turned to regard Speaks for a moment, “That something could not be prevented is no reason not to regret that it happened. I could not heal the damage done to these mountains. They and the creatures within them now have hearts blackened by the God-Blood pooled within them. It leaves an indelible stain. And so I sing for their loss of innocence.”
Speaks considered for a moment. “We seek to prevent further evil from being done here. We travel north toward a place called The City of Endless Summer. Do you know where it is?”
“I know little of the places your kind call ‘cities’. But if you go north you shall find more evil than you like. And I doubt you’ll be returning.”
“Why is that?”
“The mountains to the north are home to murderous giants. They kill or enslave any who violate their domain. I fear you are no match for their might.”
“Is there no other way north but through their lands?”
The stone paused before answering, “The way under the mountain remains. The path the Delver took before I killed it. I don’t know what evils may have crept from the bowels of these dark mountains to inhabit them. But they may hold less danger than the lands of the giants.”
“How do we find our way into these passages?”
“Follow the river to a waterfall. There you will find a cave that will lead you to the path of the Delver. It runs long under the mountains and should take you beyond the giant lands.”
“That sounds like our best hope. Thank you Singer. And if I can find a way to heal the stones, I shall do it.”
The stone closed its eyes. “Your promise makes me almost hope a little. I shall sing of hope for a short while.” The droning song of the stone filled the valley again, but it seemed a little less sad this time.
Speaks turned back to the juniper, “He sings another song for now, little one.”
“Thank you! I reach my branches toward the sky in JOY! Thank you from the tips of my roots!”
Speaks and the rest of the group stood and walked some way upriver. Marius broke their silence, “I see now how you got your name, Druid.”
Speaks smiled, thinking of a young boy named Quintus left far in the past, “It seems to fit me more every day.”
NEXT: Murky Depths
Broccli_Head
Explorer
Wow! Viscious battle with the trolls! They seemed really tough for them to last so long against higher mid-level adventurers...
love the history, mystery of the delver and the god's blood.
love the history, mystery of the delver and the god's blood.
