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Shadows over the Sunderland
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<blockquote data-quote="wolfheart" data-source="post: 6272700" data-attributes="member: 15874"><p><span style="color: #FFA500">3rd Eismond 1309 MC</span></p><p></p><p>Alton Dunwall sits alone in the cellar of a candle maker’s shop in one of the southern wards of Northbridge. He quietly despairs at his current state, never having felt so helpless in all his young life. At the mercy of those who are searching the city for a way to safely escape to his father’s contacts in the south. Not a fortnight before, he was a celebrity in this city, now he is a fugitive who cannot show his face for fear of being taken into custody.</p><p></p><p>He takes some small comfort from the thought that his younger brother, Alik, is already in the south far from the reach of the queen’s forces. He frets for his middle brother, Aiden. Had he been one of those pulled into the streets and hung, no news of this has been able to be confirmed. </p><p></p><p>The sound of footsteps in the shop above calls him back from his tortured reverie. They are light steps, not the heavy steps of the armored guardsman who had visited the shop soon after his arrival the previous day. It may just be a customer, but the muffled sound of conversation does not have the sound of simple business.</p><p></p><p>He moves to a panel that hides the niche he has used as a bolt hole since they arrived. Footsteps can be heard coming near to the door to the cellar. He begins to duck inside as a figure comes bounding down the stairs, but stops when he sees that it is Jeyne.</p><p></p><p>“You should see it out there; the city is covered in fresh snow. It is really quite beautiful,” she says. Jeyne has a bundle of clothes in her arms which she deposits on a table in the center of the room. “I hear the storm is still blowing hard up by the lake.”</p><p></p><p>“There are a lot of watchmen about, and everyone is talking about the Bloody Yule,” she continues. “You can’t enter a shop or tavern without someone bringing it up, it is really kind of amazing.”</p><p></p><p>“I am glad you find it amusing,” he says with more than a hint of sarcasm. “What is this you have brought?”</p><p></p><p>“Our disguises, we are going to be leaving soon,” she says. “Hobb arranged it. Fortunately for our purposes the world thinks you are dead. It will make getting away much easier.”</p><p></p><p>“They think I am dead?”</p><p></p><p>“Yes, the talk on the street is that you and your father burned in the estate fire.”</p><p></p><p>“I do not know how to feel about that.”</p><p></p><p>“You should also know they think you burned in the hellfire of your own blasphemous rites. The watch seem to be extremely well informed about your cult activities. More than common watchmen should be. And they are free in talking about this. I did not even need to flirt with them to get any of the information. It is as though they are under orders to spread the word. Some are even tying you to the mad murderer from the sewers that we got the amulet from.”</p><p></p><p>“That is ridiculous. I hope you told them it was not true.”</p><p></p><p>“Oh yeah, I told everyone who would listen about how the queen attacked us with undead soldiers, and I also threw in that you weren’t dead but hiding in the city,” Jeyne snaps, this time being the one to employ sarcasm.</p><p></p><p>Before Alton can reply, Hobb is suddenly there. He seems to have appeared out of thin air. He carries a bucket and a couple of bottles.</p><p></p><p>“Well, time to make the two of you look less ‘Dunwallish’,” he chuckles. Setting down the bucket and flashing Jeyne a broad smile.</p><p></p><p>“What do you mean?” Alton asks.</p><p></p><p>“We can’t have you running around with those wavy red locks. People will recognize you right off,” Hobb giggles.</p><p></p><p>Hobb then relays the plan in full to Alton, Jeyne adding details as needed. The first step involves dying and cutting the hair of both Alton and Jeyne. They are to don the peasant’s clothes that Jeyne brought with her, so as to look less noble. Once disguised, they will leave the city among the company of a group of Waullens, who Alton’s father had dealings with. They will head west to Dunsaine on the coast.</p><p></p><p>Hobb has to stop to explain that the overland routes to the south are all being watched for any signs of the overthrown houses or their liege-lords moving against the queen. For contrary to the watchmen’s tales many escaped the Bloody Yule and are abroad or in the wilderness. Caravans are being stopped by roving squads of horsemen, live ones, who are searching for any signs of the wayward nobles. </p><p></p><p>They will take a ship from Dunsaine to the Waullen Isles, and from there to the south. The will call on the Fairbairns in Cyrwith. Hobb speculates that they may be able to enlist the deposed noble family in the next stage of his father’s plan. He does not elaborate on what that next phase is, but assures them that the help may well be needed.</p><p></p><p>Dyed and shorn, Alton curls up on a cot in the corner of the cellar. He falls into a restless slumber, preparing for their flight from the north the next day.</p><p></p><p>-----</p><p></p><p>A cold wind can be heard through the stone walls of the Priories infirmary. The storm that bore down on the company the previous day has not abated. The snow continues to pile up and drift outside this stone sanctuary in the rough northern hills of Mercia.</p><p></p><p>Lucan lies in a pallet that has been stuffed with fresh straw to increase his comfort. The wound of the goblinkin’s blade has continued to fester, and the priests are speculating that the blade was poisoned. He is feverish and has had horrific dreams, a cold sweat soaking the linens and his clothes. </p><p></p><p>The others had come to check on him in the early hours of the morning but were quickly sent away by Sister Doria. She will not allow any to approach him and chastises them for barging in and disturbing the other patient. </p><p></p><p>In another pallet rests another man, who also appears to be stricken with a fever. Wild tattoos can be seen twisting up and down his bare arms and his hair and beard have many random braids embellished with golden wire and other odd baubles. His visage a stark contrast to the fine features of Lucan next to him.</p><p></p><p>They are left to the care of the Sister for the remainder of the day. Beric returns at midday to have the dressing changed on his leg wound, but otherwise the patients rest undisturbed.</p><p></p><p>-----</p><p></p><p>After the morning prayers, Weyland returns to the study of Curate Ruan. They had a short discussion the night before when Weyland had arrived back at the priory out of the storm. Ruan invites Weyland to sit and the two resume their conversation of the night before.</p><p></p><p>“This disk, it has grooves on the back as though it should fit into a niche or something.” Ruan points to the evil amulet resting on a low table between them. “And I have detected some taint about the item. We should all avoid touching it with our bare skin.”</p><p></p><p>“I had figured as much, Father,” Weyland replies. “I am ill at ease in its presence, and was tormented with visions of shadows out of the corners of my eye as I carried it here. This might have been an effect of the storm and lack of sleep, but something tells me it was more than that.”</p><p></p><p>“I dare say it was probably your stress that allowed it to work on you. Whoever of your company carries it should also carry one of the protection charms that we use when accessing the Black Vault.”</p><p></p><p>“I understand, Father, your wisdom in this is without reproach.”</p><p></p><p>“I have also reconsidered your request to search the Black Vault for information about these scrolls the madman spoke of.”</p><p></p><p>“Father, thank you for this boon.”</p><p></p><p>“I had a dream last night. I was alighted on the back of a great eagle and we flew off over the lake. As we approached the other side and entered the airs over the Sunderlands I perceived of a shadow on the horizon. It grew steadily and smokes and mists began to roll about me as the eagle twirled and dove. We then ascended up through a torrent of flame and ash, breaking out over a land scorched and scarred. In a flash, I was back in the priory, standing in the gloom outside the Black Vault, and the door heaved and cracked with the sound of thunder.” A few beads of sweat break on the brow of the aged Curate as he relays this tale.</p><p></p><p>“Blessings of Atar!” Weyland exclaims.</p><p></p><p>“I take this as a sign that we are to unseal the vault. I shall allow you and the scholar Errol to enter the vault and examine the manuscripts. You will both wear the charms and in addition I will pray for some miracles to further ward you against the taint in that room. You will be allowed to enter tomorrow.”</p><p></p><p>“Thank you, Father. You are most kind.”</p><p></p><p>“Before then, however, I would like to take advantage of you and your friend’s presence. There are some mundane tasks that could use the help of some extra hands.” The Curate pauses, looking about his study uneasily. “And there is another matter that will require some discretion. It is a blessing that you have arrived at this time as I need fresh eyes to explore a mystery here in the priory. Some odd things have been happening of late.”</p><p></p><p>“Odd, how do you mean odd?” Weyland seems puzzled at the look of the old man as he speaks. He has always known Father Ruan to be a man of calm and composure.</p><p></p><p>“It would be better if we discussed this with everyone,” He replies. “There are many who have tales to tell and I would like many eyes on the room as one among us may know more than they are letting on. Some of the other priests think this is some sort of curse, but I suspect it is of a much more mundane origin.”</p><p></p><p>“Yes, of course. Whatever you think best.”</p><p></p><p>“I would ask that you keep your eyes open for anything amiss today as you go about your tasks. We will discuss everything over the evening meal.”</p><p></p><p>“Very well, Father. I will take my leave.”</p><p></p><p>“Yes, please see Melvanos. He will assign some tasks to you and your companions. Something that fits their skills,” the Curate finishes.</p><p></p><p>Weyland rises and bows. He quietly leaves the Curate’s chambers and returns to the others.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="wolfheart, post: 6272700, member: 15874"] [COLOR="#FFA500"]3rd Eismond 1309 MC[/COLOR] Alton Dunwall sits alone in the cellar of a candle maker’s shop in one of the southern wards of Northbridge. He quietly despairs at his current state, never having felt so helpless in all his young life. At the mercy of those who are searching the city for a way to safely escape to his father’s contacts in the south. Not a fortnight before, he was a celebrity in this city, now he is a fugitive who cannot show his face for fear of being taken into custody. He takes some small comfort from the thought that his younger brother, Alik, is already in the south far from the reach of the queen’s forces. He frets for his middle brother, Aiden. Had he been one of those pulled into the streets and hung, no news of this has been able to be confirmed. The sound of footsteps in the shop above calls him back from his tortured reverie. They are light steps, not the heavy steps of the armored guardsman who had visited the shop soon after his arrival the previous day. It may just be a customer, but the muffled sound of conversation does not have the sound of simple business. He moves to a panel that hides the niche he has used as a bolt hole since they arrived. Footsteps can be heard coming near to the door to the cellar. He begins to duck inside as a figure comes bounding down the stairs, but stops when he sees that it is Jeyne. “You should see it out there; the city is covered in fresh snow. It is really quite beautiful,” she says. Jeyne has a bundle of clothes in her arms which she deposits on a table in the center of the room. “I hear the storm is still blowing hard up by the lake.” “There are a lot of watchmen about, and everyone is talking about the Bloody Yule,” she continues. “You can’t enter a shop or tavern without someone bringing it up, it is really kind of amazing.” “I am glad you find it amusing,” he says with more than a hint of sarcasm. “What is this you have brought?” “Our disguises, we are going to be leaving soon,” she says. “Hobb arranged it. Fortunately for our purposes the world thinks you are dead. It will make getting away much easier.” “They think I am dead?” “Yes, the talk on the street is that you and your father burned in the estate fire.” “I do not know how to feel about that.” “You should also know they think you burned in the hellfire of your own blasphemous rites. The watch seem to be extremely well informed about your cult activities. More than common watchmen should be. And they are free in talking about this. I did not even need to flirt with them to get any of the information. It is as though they are under orders to spread the word. Some are even tying you to the mad murderer from the sewers that we got the amulet from.” “That is ridiculous. I hope you told them it was not true.” “Oh yeah, I told everyone who would listen about how the queen attacked us with undead soldiers, and I also threw in that you weren’t dead but hiding in the city,” Jeyne snaps, this time being the one to employ sarcasm. Before Alton can reply, Hobb is suddenly there. He seems to have appeared out of thin air. He carries a bucket and a couple of bottles. “Well, time to make the two of you look less ‘Dunwallish’,” he chuckles. Setting down the bucket and flashing Jeyne a broad smile. “What do you mean?” Alton asks. “We can’t have you running around with those wavy red locks. People will recognize you right off,” Hobb giggles. Hobb then relays the plan in full to Alton, Jeyne adding details as needed. The first step involves dying and cutting the hair of both Alton and Jeyne. They are to don the peasant’s clothes that Jeyne brought with her, so as to look less noble. Once disguised, they will leave the city among the company of a group of Waullens, who Alton’s father had dealings with. They will head west to Dunsaine on the coast. Hobb has to stop to explain that the overland routes to the south are all being watched for any signs of the overthrown houses or their liege-lords moving against the queen. For contrary to the watchmen’s tales many escaped the Bloody Yule and are abroad or in the wilderness. Caravans are being stopped by roving squads of horsemen, live ones, who are searching for any signs of the wayward nobles. They will take a ship from Dunsaine to the Waullen Isles, and from there to the south. The will call on the Fairbairns in Cyrwith. Hobb speculates that they may be able to enlist the deposed noble family in the next stage of his father’s plan. He does not elaborate on what that next phase is, but assures them that the help may well be needed. Dyed and shorn, Alton curls up on a cot in the corner of the cellar. He falls into a restless slumber, preparing for their flight from the north the next day. ----- A cold wind can be heard through the stone walls of the Priories infirmary. The storm that bore down on the company the previous day has not abated. The snow continues to pile up and drift outside this stone sanctuary in the rough northern hills of Mercia. Lucan lies in a pallet that has been stuffed with fresh straw to increase his comfort. The wound of the goblinkin’s blade has continued to fester, and the priests are speculating that the blade was poisoned. He is feverish and has had horrific dreams, a cold sweat soaking the linens and his clothes. The others had come to check on him in the early hours of the morning but were quickly sent away by Sister Doria. She will not allow any to approach him and chastises them for barging in and disturbing the other patient. In another pallet rests another man, who also appears to be stricken with a fever. Wild tattoos can be seen twisting up and down his bare arms and his hair and beard have many random braids embellished with golden wire and other odd baubles. His visage a stark contrast to the fine features of Lucan next to him. They are left to the care of the Sister for the remainder of the day. Beric returns at midday to have the dressing changed on his leg wound, but otherwise the patients rest undisturbed. ----- After the morning prayers, Weyland returns to the study of Curate Ruan. They had a short discussion the night before when Weyland had arrived back at the priory out of the storm. Ruan invites Weyland to sit and the two resume their conversation of the night before. “This disk, it has grooves on the back as though it should fit into a niche or something.” Ruan points to the evil amulet resting on a low table between them. “And I have detected some taint about the item. We should all avoid touching it with our bare skin.” “I had figured as much, Father,” Weyland replies. “I am ill at ease in its presence, and was tormented with visions of shadows out of the corners of my eye as I carried it here. This might have been an effect of the storm and lack of sleep, but something tells me it was more than that.” “I dare say it was probably your stress that allowed it to work on you. Whoever of your company carries it should also carry one of the protection charms that we use when accessing the Black Vault.” “I understand, Father, your wisdom in this is without reproach.” “I have also reconsidered your request to search the Black Vault for information about these scrolls the madman spoke of.” “Father, thank you for this boon.” “I had a dream last night. I was alighted on the back of a great eagle and we flew off over the lake. As we approached the other side and entered the airs over the Sunderlands I perceived of a shadow on the horizon. It grew steadily and smokes and mists began to roll about me as the eagle twirled and dove. We then ascended up through a torrent of flame and ash, breaking out over a land scorched and scarred. In a flash, I was back in the priory, standing in the gloom outside the Black Vault, and the door heaved and cracked with the sound of thunder.” A few beads of sweat break on the brow of the aged Curate as he relays this tale. “Blessings of Atar!” Weyland exclaims. “I take this as a sign that we are to unseal the vault. I shall allow you and the scholar Errol to enter the vault and examine the manuscripts. You will both wear the charms and in addition I will pray for some miracles to further ward you against the taint in that room. You will be allowed to enter tomorrow.” “Thank you, Father. You are most kind.” “Before then, however, I would like to take advantage of you and your friend’s presence. There are some mundane tasks that could use the help of some extra hands.” The Curate pauses, looking about his study uneasily. “And there is another matter that will require some discretion. It is a blessing that you have arrived at this time as I need fresh eyes to explore a mystery here in the priory. Some odd things have been happening of late.” “Odd, how do you mean odd?” Weyland seems puzzled at the look of the old man as he speaks. He has always known Father Ruan to be a man of calm and composure. “It would be better if we discussed this with everyone,” He replies. “There are many who have tales to tell and I would like many eyes on the room as one among us may know more than they are letting on. Some of the other priests think this is some sort of curse, but I suspect it is of a much more mundane origin.” “Yes, of course. Whatever you think best.” “I would ask that you keep your eyes open for anything amiss today as you go about your tasks. We will discuss everything over the evening meal.” “Very well, Father. I will take my leave.” “Yes, please see Melvanos. He will assign some tasks to you and your companions. Something that fits their skills,” the Curate finishes. Weyland rises and bows. He quietly leaves the Curate’s chambers and returns to the others. [/QUOTE]
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