Shemeska's Planescape Storyhour (Updated 29 Jan 2014)
- Thread starter Shemeska
- Start date
Burningspear
First Post
Clueless said:Yeps. Mind you - the overtime is wonderful. The stagger home, vague grunt, and pass out into bed with the shoes still on - probably hasn't helped the writing.
The way you describe this, makes me never want to get a real life like that, but money makes the world do go round so...sigh, have to comply at least in some regard, in a short while i'll be a bouncer, so, i'll get to kick ass and get payed for it.. lol.
( not really so easy, but o well, i can dream
. )Burningspear
First Post
Bump, Himalaya high dust pile needs to be swept under the rug once more by our esteemed and beloved demonic writer
Shemeska
Adventurer
“The next person who asks “Are we there yet?” gets to walk up front with me.” Toras called back to the group of tired, haggard scholars in tow behind him. They grumbled, but it was quickly silenced by another gust of bitterly cold wind, and the fact that the fighter was serious.
Clueless chuckled as he listened in on Toras and his group, able to hear them over the wind only by virtue of his fey-heritage, standing as he was a hundred feet or so ahead of them in the tunnel.
“What’s so funny?” Frollis Terpense asked as he glanced at Clueless.
“Hmm?” It took the half-fey a moment to register that he’d had said something, because till that point the man had been virtually silent, and at times Clueless had worried that he’d wandered off, but almost as soon as he did the rogue was back more or less alongside him, skirting the edges of the group’s lights.
“You were laughing at something.” The rogue said. “There something going on I should know about? Or should I just send you back to the clerics because you’ve been listening to the wind a bit too much?”
Clueless tapped his ears. “Something that the folks back behind us said. They’re not used to walking around anywhere like this, and they were complaining.”
“They’re going to be doing that quite a bit over the next few days.” Frollis shook his head and looked away, leaving Clueless with the distinct suspicion that he was rolling his eyes.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because with slim exception they’re a bunch of clueless, greener than gnomes walking into Urdlen’s domain because they think all caves hide gemstones and happy cave dwelling animals. The whole lot of them are just varying shades of liability.”
The wind picked up and forced them both to brace against the walls, briefly howling with deafening force and spattering their faces with stinging grit and foul-smelling water before ebbing and retreating back to little more than a breeze. The tunnels were winding and tangled, and the wind was just as erratic as the path.
Several shouts and curses resounded in the passage behind them as people struggled to gather up things sent flying free by the recent gust. Beyond some scattered equipment and a few bruises, everyone seemed to have survived without much harm. Still, it was going to become a regular occurrence, and over the miles to come it was going to wear them down even if they didn’t encounter anything beyond a few blind cave crickets.
“Sodding bookworms…” Frollis said with a frown as he unconsciously checked and rechecked the bindings on his own equipment.
Clueless brushed his hair back from his face and looked at the man, sharing a portion of his opinion but not the extent of his jaded outlook in the competence of their wards. “Don’t think you can handle them?”
“I didn’t say that.” Frollis replied. “It’s just going to be a pain making sure they don’t wander off, get blown away by the wind, or go insane. I’m less worried about the things that might eat them than I am about how they’ll make it more difficult on me to prevent that.”
“They’ll be in the dark, in unfamiliar territory.” Clueless interjected. “I really don’t think that they’ll be as dumb as to wander very far. The less experienced they are, the less likely they are to be a worry for you, and me.”
“I hope you’re right.” Frollis said, clambering over a ridge of dark, worn rock. “Because I’m betting we don’t go two days without some sort of incident.”
Tired and battered, the group finally emerged from the tunnels twelve hours later and staggered into the vast cavern of Howler’s Crag. The wind still screamed in their ears, and a third of the group was nearly deaf despite protections, but out of the snaking passages they no longer had to worry about falling rock and dripping Styx water. Still, the differences in surroundings were almost academic at that point given the condition of most of the group’s academic fraction.
“We should set up camp as soon as possible.” Leobtav suggested as he squinted into the gloom and conjured a globe of sunlight.
“It’s still too dark.” Ficklebarb complained from his master’s shoulder.
Though better than a simple cantrip, the spell seemed little more than a candle flame in the face of the overwhelming gloom.
“I’m in agreement with you there.” Highsilver nodded from the professor’s side. “Soon as we’re able, we need to find somewhere sheltered and defensible.”
The two scholars glanced back at their coterie of sages, most of them used to libraries or secluded locations in less hostile planes, and nodded to one another. They were dirty, tired, bruised, scuffed, and hideously tired from the forced twenty-mile trek through Cocytus; they needed a rest and they needed one soon.
Gather everyone up, centered on the light I just conjured. We’re probably just a bit too far out to tell yet, but we’re here. I’d like to speak with everyone before we head in.
Leobtav’s voice reached out as a telepathic echo into the minds of his hires, and they reacted with a prompt efficiency that made him and Highsilver smile. Whatever reservations they might have had, so far everything was working out smoothly.
“Fyrehowl?” Nisha asked as she tagged along with the lupinal behind a group of stubborn and tired scholars.
“Yes Nisha?” Fyrehowl said. “And if this is about how I look like a dog herding sheep…”
“No, not that.” The tiefling replied with a blush. “…And sorry about bleating before.”
“Then what is it?” She was trying to be patient, but between doing her job, the physical level of irritation from the plane itself, and something else that she couldn’t really define, Nisha was being a distraction.
“I don’t exactly see anything, and we’re supposed to be at the Crag. Can you tell anything?”
“We’re there.” Fyrehowl said with a tone of certainty mixed with a shade of disquiet. “I can’t see it yet either. But believe me, I know it’s there.”
Something felt off as they neared the outskirts of the Crag. The rock felt stained by past events, though the lupinal hadn’t a clue what they might have been. There was also something else, something that subtly wrenched at her stomach, and while it began with the approach to the Crag, its source was distinctly not part of the Crag. Despite being a Cipher, Fyrehowl wasn’t able to feel that second sensation as distinct from the first. There was only disquiet, but its source was murky, hidden by the gloom as much as the Crag itself.
“We’re here.” Leobtav announced as he stood before the assembled group.
A level of tension evaporated from the throng, replaced just as quickly by an equal level of anticipation. Yet despite their excitement at the approaching end of their journey, there was nothing to see beyond the two expedition leaders, only the same darkness that yawned out in welcome like some frozen wave of a black ocean. Although the darkness stretched out before them like a thick and confining wall, it carried a monstrous sense of size, depth, and vulnerable openness. The tunnels of Cocytus were deadly and confining, but the cavern that housed Howler’s Crag offered a decidedly different flavor of the same danger.
“Our campsite is about a quarter mile from here, and once we’re there we’re going to set up shelter as quickly as possible.”
“We’ll go as a group and –no one- strays.” Highsilver cautioned, backing up the professor. “We’re limited by the range of our lights, and we don’t have a clue what might be lairing in or around the Crag at present.”
Murmurs of worry and discontent simmered through the crowd. Regardless of what the darkness might hold, their imaginations were filling it with all manner of beasts.
“The main group will move slowly, and we’ll be surrounded at all times.”
Clueless smiled and raised his hand to draw the crowd’s attention. “That would be us.”
The crowd looked over to the bladesinger, flanked as he was by Toras and Fyrehowl. The trio cut an imposing figure, literally shedding light from themselves, their eyes, their wings, or items that they carried, and the beleaguered crowd seemed heartened even though they’d been with them the entire way already. Eventually the crowd’s eyes moved from them to take in Nisha, Florian, Tristol, Settys, and Frollis who seemed on some level to resent the attention.
“Save the slinking around for later.” Larill Moonshadow said, pushing him forward with the emerald scaled tip of her tail as she hovered a few inches above the ground behind him.
The rogue shot her an unappreciative look, but for the moment remained where he stood, presenting a unified and brave face for Leobtav’s scholars.
“Slow and steady everyone.” Leobtav called out as the group was quickly organized and started to move. “Once we’re there safe and sound we can set up and start getting to the work that we’re here to do.”
Ten minutes later, they’d arrived without any confrontation or hints of danger, though a few lone howlers bayed discordantly in the distance, miles away in the darkness that blanketed the Crag and the vast cavern beyond. But in the immediate area, there was nothing, oddly enough.
True to expectations, their intended camp was situated in something of a natural bowl in the landscape. On one side the ragged flank of the Crag itself loomed high above them, the ruined debris of a fallen monolith shrouded another adjacent side, and the other two sides were graced by a generally descending, boulder strewn landscape. By no means did they have perfect cover, but they were safe from the worst of the environmental hazards that Cocytus had to offer.
Beyond that shelter however, it afforded them little concealment from anything lurking in the dark. Their tents would be out in the open, nestled against and around some of the larger boulders, and the lights of their campfires and in their tents would be visible to anything on the Crag, or lurking for a mile or so around their periphery. It was a liability, but that was why they had hired security for the scholars who otherwise might end up torn to shreds by a wandering pack of howlers or worse.
"You'll want to secure that a bit more." Leobtav said, passing by a tent being shared by a pair of rather inexperienced sages. "One good wind and it's gone along with your books and other equipment."
The professor wandered the campsite, seemingly eager to be sure that everyone was readied for the days ahead, and eager to begin once they'd had a chance to rest from the journey through the layer's cold and cramped tunnels and passages. Perched on his shoulder, and occasionally his head, Ficklebarb was considerably less enthusiastic.
"It's too dark around here." The drake said, hunched over with his wings spread around himself like a cloak.
As if on cue, a small globe of light appeared over Ficklebarb’s head. He squinted and looked up at.
“Does that help any?” Toras asked with a grin.
Ficklebarb didn’t reply, at least not verbally, as he was preoccupied with making faces at his distorted reflection in the glossy, semi-transparent surface of the conjured globe of light.
“What he means to say is that he appreciates it.” Leobtav said, looking over at Toras.
The fighter stood amid a pile of large boxes that had, hitherto now, been kept inside bags of holding. However, now that they’d arrived at the Crag, they needed to be taken out and unpacked. Given their size, and the apparent lack of anything evil and/or carnivorous in the immediate vicinity, Toras had been the man of the hour.
“Not a problem at all.” Toras said. “He looked like he needed it.”
Helping with the unpacking as well, Fyrehowl looked out from behind a pile of rations. “He looked rather spooked by the dark if you ask me.”
“Sorta kinda.” The pseudodragon replied. “I can’t see past the edge of the light around here, and I’m worried about stuff happening out there.”
“You’ll be safe little guy.” Toras reassured him. “Don’t you worry.”
Ficklebarb blinked and tapped the light with his tail’s stinger. “Not me. I’m not going out there! It’s everyone else I’m worried for. Spooky stuff out there with… you know… really bad intentions.”
“You’ll be fine.” Fyrehowl said. “Clueless and Frollis are both scouting the edge of camp right now, and so far there doesn’t seem to be anything out there. It’s just us and the wind for the moment.”
“If you say so.” Ficklebarb said, only half-believing her.
Leobtav shook his head as he pitched in to open a few boxes and organize their contents. “You worry too much. Or I worry too much subconsciously. I’m not sure which is worse for me.”
Toras and Fyrehowl could only chuckle as they went back to unpacking.
Some time later, once their camp was largely set up and the immediate perimeter scouted and secured, Highsilver and Leobtav turned to planning for the next day’s activities.
Leobtav exhaled with relief and sat down on an impromptu chair of unpacked crates piled in the corner of his tent. “Well, we’re finally here.”
Highsilver nodded and finally seemed to relax as his colleague’s statement sank in and relieved his tension. The wind still whipped against the fabric of the tent, and the moving folds of cloth caused shadows to dance as the flickering light of the campfire outside and the magical light inside clashed and dueled on the canvas covering.
“That could have gone considerably worse.” The elf said. “All things considered. I was expecting packs of howlers, or worse. The place is relatively deserted.”
Leobtav uncorked a bottle of wine and poured two glasses, handing one to Highsilver.
“Cheers.” He said, toasting to their success. “I’ll admit that I’m feeling much the same level of surprise as you. No major problems so far, only a few falls; nothing that our clerics couldn’t fix.”
Highsilver quaffed his wine in a single, quick shot. He coughed slightly as the alcohol went down, his cheeks flushed, and he squinted slightly, but he was all smiles a few seconds later.
“Cheers indeed.”
“It’s still too dark and it’s still too cold,” Came a complaining, draconic voice. “Too damp too.”
Atop a glowing, two-foot high column of glass that burned with something like natural sunlight, Ficklebarb perched and curled his tail about himself, occasionally twitching the tiny barb at its base. The magical bauble, something like a fancy lantern, was fitted with a mechanical base and a glowing clock’s dial, showing the time versus the Sigilian standard even in the absence of a true night and day in such places as Pandemonium.
“You know, you can always stay inside the tent.” Leobtav said, looking up at his familiar. “It’s perfectly fine with me. Nobody says you have to come with when we start searching the Crag.”
Ficklebarb paused and seemed to consider the option for a moment, looking at his master and then looking over to the elf whose own familiar was safely ensconced inside a tiny extra-dimensional pocket.
“Nope.” He concluded, flexing and curling his barbed tail. “I think I’ll go with and make sure you don’t get into trouble out there. I get to do that like a responsible dragon, and I get to show up that feathered thingy that Doran has under his hat or something.”
“She’s not under my hat.” The elf said with mock offense. “And I don’t think she’d appreciate being called a “feathered thing” either. But being a responsible familiar has its benefits I suppose. Plus you get to complain about everything in the meantime.”
“Absolutely!” Ficklebarb bobbed his head authoritatively.
“Unfortunately.” His master said, giving a look of resignation.
Highsilver stretched and looked up at Leobtav. “So shall we discuss the plan of action?”
Leobtav nodded and hunted around for the secured, warded tube that held their maps. “We’ve had such luck already, I’m eager to begin.”
Like many of his subordinate scholars, the professor was almost giddy to begin scouring the caves that wormed through Howler’s Crag, throwing caution to the wind in the process if that or common sense proved to be in the way of discovery. Ficklebarb seemed to be soaking up and expressing most of his concerns and potential worries about their location and what might yet be discovered.
Doran held up his glass and caught Leobtav’s attention, “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to bring in Starweather on this.”
Clueless chuckled as he listened in on Toras and his group, able to hear them over the wind only by virtue of his fey-heritage, standing as he was a hundred feet or so ahead of them in the tunnel.
“What’s so funny?” Frollis Terpense asked as he glanced at Clueless.
“Hmm?” It took the half-fey a moment to register that he’d had said something, because till that point the man had been virtually silent, and at times Clueless had worried that he’d wandered off, but almost as soon as he did the rogue was back more or less alongside him, skirting the edges of the group’s lights.
“You were laughing at something.” The rogue said. “There something going on I should know about? Or should I just send you back to the clerics because you’ve been listening to the wind a bit too much?”
Clueless tapped his ears. “Something that the folks back behind us said. They’re not used to walking around anywhere like this, and they were complaining.”
“They’re going to be doing that quite a bit over the next few days.” Frollis shook his head and looked away, leaving Clueless with the distinct suspicion that he was rolling his eyes.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because with slim exception they’re a bunch of clueless, greener than gnomes walking into Urdlen’s domain because they think all caves hide gemstones and happy cave dwelling animals. The whole lot of them are just varying shades of liability.”
The wind picked up and forced them both to brace against the walls, briefly howling with deafening force and spattering their faces with stinging grit and foul-smelling water before ebbing and retreating back to little more than a breeze. The tunnels were winding and tangled, and the wind was just as erratic as the path.
Several shouts and curses resounded in the passage behind them as people struggled to gather up things sent flying free by the recent gust. Beyond some scattered equipment and a few bruises, everyone seemed to have survived without much harm. Still, it was going to become a regular occurrence, and over the miles to come it was going to wear them down even if they didn’t encounter anything beyond a few blind cave crickets.
“Sodding bookworms…” Frollis said with a frown as he unconsciously checked and rechecked the bindings on his own equipment.
Clueless brushed his hair back from his face and looked at the man, sharing a portion of his opinion but not the extent of his jaded outlook in the competence of their wards. “Don’t think you can handle them?”
“I didn’t say that.” Frollis replied. “It’s just going to be a pain making sure they don’t wander off, get blown away by the wind, or go insane. I’m less worried about the things that might eat them than I am about how they’ll make it more difficult on me to prevent that.”
“They’ll be in the dark, in unfamiliar territory.” Clueless interjected. “I really don’t think that they’ll be as dumb as to wander very far. The less experienced they are, the less likely they are to be a worry for you, and me.”
“I hope you’re right.” Frollis said, clambering over a ridge of dark, worn rock. “Because I’m betting we don’t go two days without some sort of incident.”
***
Tired and battered, the group finally emerged from the tunnels twelve hours later and staggered into the vast cavern of Howler’s Crag. The wind still screamed in their ears, and a third of the group was nearly deaf despite protections, but out of the snaking passages they no longer had to worry about falling rock and dripping Styx water. Still, the differences in surroundings were almost academic at that point given the condition of most of the group’s academic fraction.
“We should set up camp as soon as possible.” Leobtav suggested as he squinted into the gloom and conjured a globe of sunlight.
“It’s still too dark.” Ficklebarb complained from his master’s shoulder.
Though better than a simple cantrip, the spell seemed little more than a candle flame in the face of the overwhelming gloom.
“I’m in agreement with you there.” Highsilver nodded from the professor’s side. “Soon as we’re able, we need to find somewhere sheltered and defensible.”
The two scholars glanced back at their coterie of sages, most of them used to libraries or secluded locations in less hostile planes, and nodded to one another. They were dirty, tired, bruised, scuffed, and hideously tired from the forced twenty-mile trek through Cocytus; they needed a rest and they needed one soon.
Gather everyone up, centered on the light I just conjured. We’re probably just a bit too far out to tell yet, but we’re here. I’d like to speak with everyone before we head in.
Leobtav’s voice reached out as a telepathic echo into the minds of his hires, and they reacted with a prompt efficiency that made him and Highsilver smile. Whatever reservations they might have had, so far everything was working out smoothly.
“Fyrehowl?” Nisha asked as she tagged along with the lupinal behind a group of stubborn and tired scholars.
“Yes Nisha?” Fyrehowl said. “And if this is about how I look like a dog herding sheep…”
“No, not that.” The tiefling replied with a blush. “…And sorry about bleating before.”
“Then what is it?” She was trying to be patient, but between doing her job, the physical level of irritation from the plane itself, and something else that she couldn’t really define, Nisha was being a distraction.
“I don’t exactly see anything, and we’re supposed to be at the Crag. Can you tell anything?”
“We’re there.” Fyrehowl said with a tone of certainty mixed with a shade of disquiet. “I can’t see it yet either. But believe me, I know it’s there.”
Something felt off as they neared the outskirts of the Crag. The rock felt stained by past events, though the lupinal hadn’t a clue what they might have been. There was also something else, something that subtly wrenched at her stomach, and while it began with the approach to the Crag, its source was distinctly not part of the Crag. Despite being a Cipher, Fyrehowl wasn’t able to feel that second sensation as distinct from the first. There was only disquiet, but its source was murky, hidden by the gloom as much as the Crag itself.
“We’re here.” Leobtav announced as he stood before the assembled group.
A level of tension evaporated from the throng, replaced just as quickly by an equal level of anticipation. Yet despite their excitement at the approaching end of their journey, there was nothing to see beyond the two expedition leaders, only the same darkness that yawned out in welcome like some frozen wave of a black ocean. Although the darkness stretched out before them like a thick and confining wall, it carried a monstrous sense of size, depth, and vulnerable openness. The tunnels of Cocytus were deadly and confining, but the cavern that housed Howler’s Crag offered a decidedly different flavor of the same danger.
“Our campsite is about a quarter mile from here, and once we’re there we’re going to set up shelter as quickly as possible.”
“We’ll go as a group and –no one- strays.” Highsilver cautioned, backing up the professor. “We’re limited by the range of our lights, and we don’t have a clue what might be lairing in or around the Crag at present.”
Murmurs of worry and discontent simmered through the crowd. Regardless of what the darkness might hold, their imaginations were filling it with all manner of beasts.
“The main group will move slowly, and we’ll be surrounded at all times.”
Clueless smiled and raised his hand to draw the crowd’s attention. “That would be us.”
The crowd looked over to the bladesinger, flanked as he was by Toras and Fyrehowl. The trio cut an imposing figure, literally shedding light from themselves, their eyes, their wings, or items that they carried, and the beleaguered crowd seemed heartened even though they’d been with them the entire way already. Eventually the crowd’s eyes moved from them to take in Nisha, Florian, Tristol, Settys, and Frollis who seemed on some level to resent the attention.
“Save the slinking around for later.” Larill Moonshadow said, pushing him forward with the emerald scaled tip of her tail as she hovered a few inches above the ground behind him.
The rogue shot her an unappreciative look, but for the moment remained where he stood, presenting a unified and brave face for Leobtav’s scholars.
“Slow and steady everyone.” Leobtav called out as the group was quickly organized and started to move. “Once we’re there safe and sound we can set up and start getting to the work that we’re here to do.”
Ten minutes later, they’d arrived without any confrontation or hints of danger, though a few lone howlers bayed discordantly in the distance, miles away in the darkness that blanketed the Crag and the vast cavern beyond. But in the immediate area, there was nothing, oddly enough.
True to expectations, their intended camp was situated in something of a natural bowl in the landscape. On one side the ragged flank of the Crag itself loomed high above them, the ruined debris of a fallen monolith shrouded another adjacent side, and the other two sides were graced by a generally descending, boulder strewn landscape. By no means did they have perfect cover, but they were safe from the worst of the environmental hazards that Cocytus had to offer.
Beyond that shelter however, it afforded them little concealment from anything lurking in the dark. Their tents would be out in the open, nestled against and around some of the larger boulders, and the lights of their campfires and in their tents would be visible to anything on the Crag, or lurking for a mile or so around their periphery. It was a liability, but that was why they had hired security for the scholars who otherwise might end up torn to shreds by a wandering pack of howlers or worse.
"You'll want to secure that a bit more." Leobtav said, passing by a tent being shared by a pair of rather inexperienced sages. "One good wind and it's gone along with your books and other equipment."
The professor wandered the campsite, seemingly eager to be sure that everyone was readied for the days ahead, and eager to begin once they'd had a chance to rest from the journey through the layer's cold and cramped tunnels and passages. Perched on his shoulder, and occasionally his head, Ficklebarb was considerably less enthusiastic.
"It's too dark around here." The drake said, hunched over with his wings spread around himself like a cloak.
As if on cue, a small globe of light appeared over Ficklebarb’s head. He squinted and looked up at.
“Does that help any?” Toras asked with a grin.
Ficklebarb didn’t reply, at least not verbally, as he was preoccupied with making faces at his distorted reflection in the glossy, semi-transparent surface of the conjured globe of light.
“What he means to say is that he appreciates it.” Leobtav said, looking over at Toras.
The fighter stood amid a pile of large boxes that had, hitherto now, been kept inside bags of holding. However, now that they’d arrived at the Crag, they needed to be taken out and unpacked. Given their size, and the apparent lack of anything evil and/or carnivorous in the immediate vicinity, Toras had been the man of the hour.
“Not a problem at all.” Toras said. “He looked like he needed it.”
Helping with the unpacking as well, Fyrehowl looked out from behind a pile of rations. “He looked rather spooked by the dark if you ask me.”
“Sorta kinda.” The pseudodragon replied. “I can’t see past the edge of the light around here, and I’m worried about stuff happening out there.”
“You’ll be safe little guy.” Toras reassured him. “Don’t you worry.”
Ficklebarb blinked and tapped the light with his tail’s stinger. “Not me. I’m not going out there! It’s everyone else I’m worried for. Spooky stuff out there with… you know… really bad intentions.”
“You’ll be fine.” Fyrehowl said. “Clueless and Frollis are both scouting the edge of camp right now, and so far there doesn’t seem to be anything out there. It’s just us and the wind for the moment.”
“If you say so.” Ficklebarb said, only half-believing her.
Leobtav shook his head as he pitched in to open a few boxes and organize their contents. “You worry too much. Or I worry too much subconsciously. I’m not sure which is worse for me.”
Toras and Fyrehowl could only chuckle as they went back to unpacking.
***
Some time later, once their camp was largely set up and the immediate perimeter scouted and secured, Highsilver and Leobtav turned to planning for the next day’s activities.
Leobtav exhaled with relief and sat down on an impromptu chair of unpacked crates piled in the corner of his tent. “Well, we’re finally here.”
Highsilver nodded and finally seemed to relax as his colleague’s statement sank in and relieved his tension. The wind still whipped against the fabric of the tent, and the moving folds of cloth caused shadows to dance as the flickering light of the campfire outside and the magical light inside clashed and dueled on the canvas covering.
“That could have gone considerably worse.” The elf said. “All things considered. I was expecting packs of howlers, or worse. The place is relatively deserted.”
Leobtav uncorked a bottle of wine and poured two glasses, handing one to Highsilver.
“Cheers.” He said, toasting to their success. “I’ll admit that I’m feeling much the same level of surprise as you. No major problems so far, only a few falls; nothing that our clerics couldn’t fix.”
Highsilver quaffed his wine in a single, quick shot. He coughed slightly as the alcohol went down, his cheeks flushed, and he squinted slightly, but he was all smiles a few seconds later.
“Cheers indeed.”
“It’s still too dark and it’s still too cold,” Came a complaining, draconic voice. “Too damp too.”
Atop a glowing, two-foot high column of glass that burned with something like natural sunlight, Ficklebarb perched and curled his tail about himself, occasionally twitching the tiny barb at its base. The magical bauble, something like a fancy lantern, was fitted with a mechanical base and a glowing clock’s dial, showing the time versus the Sigilian standard even in the absence of a true night and day in such places as Pandemonium.
“You know, you can always stay inside the tent.” Leobtav said, looking up at his familiar. “It’s perfectly fine with me. Nobody says you have to come with when we start searching the Crag.”
Ficklebarb paused and seemed to consider the option for a moment, looking at his master and then looking over to the elf whose own familiar was safely ensconced inside a tiny extra-dimensional pocket.
“Nope.” He concluded, flexing and curling his barbed tail. “I think I’ll go with and make sure you don’t get into trouble out there. I get to do that like a responsible dragon, and I get to show up that feathered thingy that Doran has under his hat or something.”
“She’s not under my hat.” The elf said with mock offense. “And I don’t think she’d appreciate being called a “feathered thing” either. But being a responsible familiar has its benefits I suppose. Plus you get to complain about everything in the meantime.”
“Absolutely!” Ficklebarb bobbed his head authoritatively.
“Unfortunately.” His master said, giving a look of resignation.
Highsilver stretched and looked up at Leobtav. “So shall we discuss the plan of action?”
Leobtav nodded and hunted around for the secured, warded tube that held their maps. “We’ve had such luck already, I’m eager to begin.”
Like many of his subordinate scholars, the professor was almost giddy to begin scouring the caves that wormed through Howler’s Crag, throwing caution to the wind in the process if that or common sense proved to be in the way of discovery. Ficklebarb seemed to be soaking up and expressing most of his concerns and potential worries about their location and what might yet be discovered.
Doran held up his glass and caught Leobtav’s attention, “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to bring in Starweather on this.”
***
Shemeska
Adventurer
A hand pushed back the edge of the heavy burlap tent flap and Tristol peered inside. He squinted momentarily at the brighter light inside, but he was smiling as he stepped out of the wind and into something that half resembled a patch of stability and civilization amidst the plane’s chaos. “You wanted to see me?”
“Please, do come in.” Highsilver said, motioning the other wizard to take a seat on a box as Leobtav produced another glass and poured a third drink.
“Your blindfold got sidetracked by about six inches…” Ficklebarb chirped as the aasimar stepped inside and sat down.
Tristol looked confused for a moment and then blushed. “Yeah, that would be Nisha’s doing, but it’s actually practical.”
His fox’s ears were muffled a bit by a strip of cloth wrapped around his head to dampen the ambient noise of the wind. No magic involved at all, but it worked, and he was a bit more susceptible to it than the others with noticeably smaller ears.
“I can only imagine how the lupinal is handling it.” Leobtav said. “The wind, and the nature of the plane itself. That can’t feel pleasant to her.”
Ficklebarb didn’t add any choice bits of wisdom, but for the moment he’d hopped down from his perch and was playfully amusing himself by snapping at the air as Tristol’s tail twitched side to side.
“You’d be surprised.” Tristol replied. “She’s been around worse, and she wasn’t having any of wearing something around her ears. Nisha tried it on her first.”
Tristol sat down and took a sip of the wine. “This is good. Thank you.”
“I’m glad you like.” Leobtav said, raising his own glass in toast. “Doran and I were just taking a moment to celebrate our amazingly good luck so far.”
Tristol nodded. “I’ll admit that I’m surprised. I expected us to arrive here and find the place crawling with howlers, tanar’ri, and all sorts of other things.”
Both of Tristol’s employers glanced warily at one another.
“Well, to tell the truth… we’re worried about that.” Highsilver replied. “Because it either means that the site itself is warded against creatures, or they’re staying away for a specific reason.”
Tristol frowned. “I haven’t seen any indication of active wards anywhere.”
“Indeed.” Leobtav said. “Which suggests that we’re either incredibly lucky, or there’s something keeping them away that they’re afraid of.”
“We’re not –that- lucky.” The elf agreed.
“So perhaps we should start out small, and stay close to the camp till we’re sure which of those it might be.” Tristol suggested.
“That was our thought as well.” Leobtav said. “It should also give us the time to determine how much the Crag has changed since our maps were made. And if there’s something powerful lairing at the Crag proper, we’ll see the signs before we run afoul of it by accident if we search too hastily.”
Tristol nodded. “The rest of the folks you hired and I should be fine with splitting up and leading each of those smaller groups, if we go with that idea, but if you’re expecting anything larger than a howler, it might constrain how many groups can go out at once.”
“Not if you included the two of us among in there.” Highsilver said, motioning to himself and the professor.
Tristol nodded, but gave Leobtav some more skepticism than the elf. “I know you were a member of the Guvners, and with a familiar you know at least a bit of spellcraft, but how much magic do you know?”
Ficklebarb sat up on his haunches, held a hand out and pinched two fingers together with a grin. Leobtav waved away his vote of confidence with a guffaw and a quick, “Bah!”
“Your dragon’s opinion aside, how long has it been since you regularly studied a spellbook?”
Leobtav pulled out a set of well worn but old books and patted a hand on top of them. Their spines still had the symbol of the Fraternity of Order proudly emblazoned on their spines, and he hadn’t been a formal member of that faction for years, which in and of itself dated his achievements.
“I know a fair bit of magic, and at one point a bit of fighting, but I haven’t picked up a sword in years. I’ve kept up with magic, but let’s just say I haven’t managed to find the time to progress any beyond where I was back before I met Doran here.”
Highsilver inclined his head to the human, “He’s not shabby by any means.”
“Nothing beyond sixth sphere.” Leobtav admitted, which put him a notch or two below the two more dedicated wizards in his company. “Admitting my shortcomings here, I might be no match for you in a spell duel, but I’d like to think that I’m versed enough in magic to keep myself safe from most things we might find here near the crag.”
“Unless we stumble upon a Balor or a dragon.” Doran said, slapping the professor on the shoulder with a grin.
Leobtav grinned and looked past Tristol. “Well I think you’re safe from the only dragon you’re likely to find around here.”
“Mrrrpgghhhh!” Ficklebarb said unintelligibly through a mouthful of fluff on the tip of Tristol’s tail, having finally caught that ever so elusive prey.
Tristol laughed and twitched his tail free. “He’s not exactly Garyx.”
“I think he aspires more for Hlal than anything else if you ask me.” Highsilver laughed.
Ficklebarb shrugged and hopped up onto an impromptu stack of books.
“Oh, a few other questions.” Tristol added, rubbing his chin. “Now I know what my group can handle, and you’ve told me about yourselves, but I don’t want to say that I know our other three non-scholars to the same degree. Clueless seems like he’s chatted up Frollis a bit, or tried to at least, and Florian looked like she was holding a little impromptu prayer with Settys before I came in here, but I haven’t really had the opportunity or the inclination to feel them out.”
Leobtav nodded. “Settys isn’t your average priest.”
“Certainly not.” Doran agreed. “He’s deceptively skilled with that khopesh of his.”
Ficklebarb tapped his claws noisily atop one of the elf’s spellbooks. “Library fines for Thoth’s Library: veeeery steep…”
“Well that’s good to hear.” Tristol said. “What about spellcasting ability? I don’t think I’ve seen him use any clerical magic, at least anything obvious, though a few things on his person have a fairly strong glow of the divine about them.”
Doran gave a wrinkled grin and shrugged. “I’m not the person to ask. I know he’s a priest, but I couldn’t begin to tell you anything about divine magic. Cilret?”
The professor gave a shrug. “I’m no better on the topic. Laws not gods I say.”
“Ppppthhbbbttttt!” Ficklebarb blew a raspberry at his master, which was to be honest, a rather unique expression coming from a forked tongue.
Tristol chuckled and his tail twitched with amusement. “I’ll ask Florian when I’m done here.”
A sudden gust of wind rustled angrily at the tent and rattled its frame. The gale outside whistled with only somewhat muted fury, causing some of the real candle flames that dotted the room to flicker, sending the pseudodragon dashing for safety. Moments later he peeked out from over the lip of a large pot, seemingly meant for the camp cook, but conveniently for him misplaced for the moment.
Doran smiled and shook his head, glad for the moment that his own familiar had been skittish but also smart enough to hide in an extra-dimensional pocket for the time being.
“But in any event, that brings us to Frollis.” Doran continued. “And it raises the question of what all he’s capable of. For starters, he’s damn good with his swords, but he’s also not going to use them in a straight up fight, rushing head on into melee. He’s a bit like your half-fey friend in that regard, plus he’s got some magical ability to boot.”
Tristol’s ears perked. “What sort?”
The answer came quickly and was both informative and not at the same time, “Both clerical and divine.”
“Eh?” Tristol raised an eyebrow. The man was all full of surprises.
“I don’t know if he’s a cleric or a wizard of any sort, but he’s used quite a few tricks that I can’t honestly say if they’re all from scrolls, wands, or any sort of triggered trinkets. He carries all sorts of odd little things, most of them enchanted to some degree or another.”
“And all dolled up with some Nystul’s auras so you can’t truthfully tell what is magical and what isn’t. He’s the sort of skilled man that you hire knowing that he’s good for the job, but you don’t ask too much.” Leobtav explained, looked away, paused, and then looked back with a frown. “That came off as way too creepy. My apologies. Frollis has a bit of a questionable past, but while he plays his cards close to his chest, he’s not a bad person.”
Tristol nodded and made a mental note to watch the man, despite the professor’s assurances. Clueless might be the best to shadow him, and as it was they’d already put them together once, and so they’d probably have those two working together again.
“So what about the bard?” Tristol asked. “A bard in Pandemonium?”
Doran smiled and nodded. “I think Cilret might have explained back in Sigil, she wanted to come along.”
“Quite insistent actually.” The professor explained. “She had her heart set on going with us.”
“Not asking to be paid was a big help too.” Ficklebarb chirped.
“Hush you.” Leobtav retorted. “I’m not that cheap.”
The dragon giggled and ducked back inside his pot-as-fort.
Doran shook his head at the incongruity of the pair. “In any event, she’s a pleasant person to be around, and she’s good with people and smoothing over edges and tempers if they happen to flare. In Pandemonium, even if her magic is probably next to useless, she’s welcome on that alone.”
Tristol nodded. He hadn’t met a lilland before, and so he figured that over the next day or so he might chat her up.
“So does that cover your questions?” Leobtav asked.
“About the people? Yes.” He replied. “But now that we’ve got camp more or less set up, I’m curious about where we go from here, and how we’ll be handling that.”
Leobtav smiled and pulled out his map. “Get comfortable and we’ll fill you in now. You can help us organize it all once we’re done.”
Tristol inwardly sighed. There was nothing like volunteering yourself for extra work, intentionally or not.
“So we’re thinking of about three places close to camp on day one, and from there…”
Tristol lifted up the tent flap and made his exit, spilling brighter light out into the dimmer confines of the campsite. Their tents were arranged in a nested ring, two thick, surrounding a central campfire, with several smaller fires guttering and batting back the darkness at various points within the ring. Somewhere out amid the tents, he needed to find his companions and fill them in on their assignments while Highsilver and Leobtav found the others and did likewise.
Three locations, all near to the camp, and apparently they didn’t expect to find much, at least on the first full day of searching. Of course, not everyone wanted to wait a night before beginning their search of the Crag, or at least its periphery. In the morning there would be three full groups heading out to the three specific locations that Tristol had talked over with Leobtav and Highsilver, but before that there were going to be two smaller groups hunting the boulder-strewn fields of rubble leading up to those locations.
Tristol wasn’t in favor of that last idea, but some of the scholars seemed hellbent on going out and looking under rocks as soon as possible. It wasn’t going to find what they’d come for in the first place, but those same scholars wanted to use those two early searches to get a better clue of the lay of the area, and changes to it compared to their old maps, before the full searches in the morning.
“Hey Tristol.” A certain tiefling whispered into his ear a moment before she lightly hugged him around the waist. “Looking for me?”
“Everyone actually.” Tristol replied, returning the hug and giving her a kiss. “But you first.”
“Anything interesting going on?” She asked, looking back towards Leobtav’s tent curiously.
“Quite a bit actually.” He explained. “But nothing for us till the morning.”
“We get to sleep in?” Nisha teased, poking the small of Tristol’s back with the tip of her tail.
Tristol didn’t reply to the tease, but he smiled nonetheless. “We’ll be splitting up into groups then, but…”
“Am I with you?”
“Absolutely.”
“But as I was saying, some of the more impatient scholars want to go out tonight as soon as the camp is fully set up.”
Nisha nodded, “They’ll be going soon then, because we finished a few minutes ago.”
That would explain what she was wandering around looking for mischief.
“I think they’ve got Frollis set up to watch one small group, and then if Clueless doesn’t mind, they want him to watch over the other.”
Nisha shot a look at two random sages as they wandered past carrying assorted digging tools. She seemed skeptical. “You think they’ll be ok?”
Tristol nodded. “We didn’t find anything lurking out there earlier, and being so close to camp, I think they’ll be fine. Besides, if they have problems, we’ll be close by to help.”
Nisha was still giving that same look of skepticism. “They can find ancient runes, but I don’t think half of them could tie their own bootlaces without a book to give them step by step instructions.”
“Trust me.” Tristol said. “They’ll be fine.”
Several hours later once those first two groups went out into the gloom beyond the fringes of the camp’s feeble firelight, Tristol’s reassurances would be proven grossly premature.
“Please, do come in.” Highsilver said, motioning the other wizard to take a seat on a box as Leobtav produced another glass and poured a third drink.
“Your blindfold got sidetracked by about six inches…” Ficklebarb chirped as the aasimar stepped inside and sat down.
Tristol looked confused for a moment and then blushed. “Yeah, that would be Nisha’s doing, but it’s actually practical.”
His fox’s ears were muffled a bit by a strip of cloth wrapped around his head to dampen the ambient noise of the wind. No magic involved at all, but it worked, and he was a bit more susceptible to it than the others with noticeably smaller ears.
“I can only imagine how the lupinal is handling it.” Leobtav said. “The wind, and the nature of the plane itself. That can’t feel pleasant to her.”
Ficklebarb didn’t add any choice bits of wisdom, but for the moment he’d hopped down from his perch and was playfully amusing himself by snapping at the air as Tristol’s tail twitched side to side.
“You’d be surprised.” Tristol replied. “She’s been around worse, and she wasn’t having any of wearing something around her ears. Nisha tried it on her first.”
Tristol sat down and took a sip of the wine. “This is good. Thank you.”
“I’m glad you like.” Leobtav said, raising his own glass in toast. “Doran and I were just taking a moment to celebrate our amazingly good luck so far.”
Tristol nodded. “I’ll admit that I’m surprised. I expected us to arrive here and find the place crawling with howlers, tanar’ri, and all sorts of other things.”
Both of Tristol’s employers glanced warily at one another.
“Well, to tell the truth… we’re worried about that.” Highsilver replied. “Because it either means that the site itself is warded against creatures, or they’re staying away for a specific reason.”
Tristol frowned. “I haven’t seen any indication of active wards anywhere.”
“Indeed.” Leobtav said. “Which suggests that we’re either incredibly lucky, or there’s something keeping them away that they’re afraid of.”
“We’re not –that- lucky.” The elf agreed.
“So perhaps we should start out small, and stay close to the camp till we’re sure which of those it might be.” Tristol suggested.
“That was our thought as well.” Leobtav said. “It should also give us the time to determine how much the Crag has changed since our maps were made. And if there’s something powerful lairing at the Crag proper, we’ll see the signs before we run afoul of it by accident if we search too hastily.”
Tristol nodded. “The rest of the folks you hired and I should be fine with splitting up and leading each of those smaller groups, if we go with that idea, but if you’re expecting anything larger than a howler, it might constrain how many groups can go out at once.”
“Not if you included the two of us among in there.” Highsilver said, motioning to himself and the professor.
Tristol nodded, but gave Leobtav some more skepticism than the elf. “I know you were a member of the Guvners, and with a familiar you know at least a bit of spellcraft, but how much magic do you know?”
Ficklebarb sat up on his haunches, held a hand out and pinched two fingers together with a grin. Leobtav waved away his vote of confidence with a guffaw and a quick, “Bah!”
“Your dragon’s opinion aside, how long has it been since you regularly studied a spellbook?”
Leobtav pulled out a set of well worn but old books and patted a hand on top of them. Their spines still had the symbol of the Fraternity of Order proudly emblazoned on their spines, and he hadn’t been a formal member of that faction for years, which in and of itself dated his achievements.
“I know a fair bit of magic, and at one point a bit of fighting, but I haven’t picked up a sword in years. I’ve kept up with magic, but let’s just say I haven’t managed to find the time to progress any beyond where I was back before I met Doran here.”
Highsilver inclined his head to the human, “He’s not shabby by any means.”
“Nothing beyond sixth sphere.” Leobtav admitted, which put him a notch or two below the two more dedicated wizards in his company. “Admitting my shortcomings here, I might be no match for you in a spell duel, but I’d like to think that I’m versed enough in magic to keep myself safe from most things we might find here near the crag.”
“Unless we stumble upon a Balor or a dragon.” Doran said, slapping the professor on the shoulder with a grin.
Leobtav grinned and looked past Tristol. “Well I think you’re safe from the only dragon you’re likely to find around here.”
“Mrrrpgghhhh!” Ficklebarb said unintelligibly through a mouthful of fluff on the tip of Tristol’s tail, having finally caught that ever so elusive prey.
Tristol laughed and twitched his tail free. “He’s not exactly Garyx.”
“I think he aspires more for Hlal than anything else if you ask me.” Highsilver laughed.
Ficklebarb shrugged and hopped up onto an impromptu stack of books.
“Oh, a few other questions.” Tristol added, rubbing his chin. “Now I know what my group can handle, and you’ve told me about yourselves, but I don’t want to say that I know our other three non-scholars to the same degree. Clueless seems like he’s chatted up Frollis a bit, or tried to at least, and Florian looked like she was holding a little impromptu prayer with Settys before I came in here, but I haven’t really had the opportunity or the inclination to feel them out.”
Leobtav nodded. “Settys isn’t your average priest.”
“Certainly not.” Doran agreed. “He’s deceptively skilled with that khopesh of his.”
Ficklebarb tapped his claws noisily atop one of the elf’s spellbooks. “Library fines for Thoth’s Library: veeeery steep…”
“Well that’s good to hear.” Tristol said. “What about spellcasting ability? I don’t think I’ve seen him use any clerical magic, at least anything obvious, though a few things on his person have a fairly strong glow of the divine about them.”
Doran gave a wrinkled grin and shrugged. “I’m not the person to ask. I know he’s a priest, but I couldn’t begin to tell you anything about divine magic. Cilret?”
The professor gave a shrug. “I’m no better on the topic. Laws not gods I say.”
“Ppppthhbbbttttt!” Ficklebarb blew a raspberry at his master, which was to be honest, a rather unique expression coming from a forked tongue.
Tristol chuckled and his tail twitched with amusement. “I’ll ask Florian when I’m done here.”
A sudden gust of wind rustled angrily at the tent and rattled its frame. The gale outside whistled with only somewhat muted fury, causing some of the real candle flames that dotted the room to flicker, sending the pseudodragon dashing for safety. Moments later he peeked out from over the lip of a large pot, seemingly meant for the camp cook, but conveniently for him misplaced for the moment.
Doran smiled and shook his head, glad for the moment that his own familiar had been skittish but also smart enough to hide in an extra-dimensional pocket for the time being.
“But in any event, that brings us to Frollis.” Doran continued. “And it raises the question of what all he’s capable of. For starters, he’s damn good with his swords, but he’s also not going to use them in a straight up fight, rushing head on into melee. He’s a bit like your half-fey friend in that regard, plus he’s got some magical ability to boot.”
Tristol’s ears perked. “What sort?”
The answer came quickly and was both informative and not at the same time, “Both clerical and divine.”
“Eh?” Tristol raised an eyebrow. The man was all full of surprises.
“I don’t know if he’s a cleric or a wizard of any sort, but he’s used quite a few tricks that I can’t honestly say if they’re all from scrolls, wands, or any sort of triggered trinkets. He carries all sorts of odd little things, most of them enchanted to some degree or another.”
“And all dolled up with some Nystul’s auras so you can’t truthfully tell what is magical and what isn’t. He’s the sort of skilled man that you hire knowing that he’s good for the job, but you don’t ask too much.” Leobtav explained, looked away, paused, and then looked back with a frown. “That came off as way too creepy. My apologies. Frollis has a bit of a questionable past, but while he plays his cards close to his chest, he’s not a bad person.”
Tristol nodded and made a mental note to watch the man, despite the professor’s assurances. Clueless might be the best to shadow him, and as it was they’d already put them together once, and so they’d probably have those two working together again.
“So what about the bard?” Tristol asked. “A bard in Pandemonium?”
Doran smiled and nodded. “I think Cilret might have explained back in Sigil, she wanted to come along.”
“Quite insistent actually.” The professor explained. “She had her heart set on going with us.”
“Not asking to be paid was a big help too.” Ficklebarb chirped.
“Hush you.” Leobtav retorted. “I’m not that cheap.”
The dragon giggled and ducked back inside his pot-as-fort.
Doran shook his head at the incongruity of the pair. “In any event, she’s a pleasant person to be around, and she’s good with people and smoothing over edges and tempers if they happen to flare. In Pandemonium, even if her magic is probably next to useless, she’s welcome on that alone.”
Tristol nodded. He hadn’t met a lilland before, and so he figured that over the next day or so he might chat her up.
“So does that cover your questions?” Leobtav asked.
“About the people? Yes.” He replied. “But now that we’ve got camp more or less set up, I’m curious about where we go from here, and how we’ll be handling that.”
Leobtav smiled and pulled out his map. “Get comfortable and we’ll fill you in now. You can help us organize it all once we’re done.”
Tristol inwardly sighed. There was nothing like volunteering yourself for extra work, intentionally or not.
“So we’re thinking of about three places close to camp on day one, and from there…”
***
Tristol lifted up the tent flap and made his exit, spilling brighter light out into the dimmer confines of the campsite. Their tents were arranged in a nested ring, two thick, surrounding a central campfire, with several smaller fires guttering and batting back the darkness at various points within the ring. Somewhere out amid the tents, he needed to find his companions and fill them in on their assignments while Highsilver and Leobtav found the others and did likewise.
Three locations, all near to the camp, and apparently they didn’t expect to find much, at least on the first full day of searching. Of course, not everyone wanted to wait a night before beginning their search of the Crag, or at least its periphery. In the morning there would be three full groups heading out to the three specific locations that Tristol had talked over with Leobtav and Highsilver, but before that there were going to be two smaller groups hunting the boulder-strewn fields of rubble leading up to those locations.
Tristol wasn’t in favor of that last idea, but some of the scholars seemed hellbent on going out and looking under rocks as soon as possible. It wasn’t going to find what they’d come for in the first place, but those same scholars wanted to use those two early searches to get a better clue of the lay of the area, and changes to it compared to their old maps, before the full searches in the morning.
“Hey Tristol.” A certain tiefling whispered into his ear a moment before she lightly hugged him around the waist. “Looking for me?”
“Everyone actually.” Tristol replied, returning the hug and giving her a kiss. “But you first.”
“Anything interesting going on?” She asked, looking back towards Leobtav’s tent curiously.
“Quite a bit actually.” He explained. “But nothing for us till the morning.”
“We get to sleep in?” Nisha teased, poking the small of Tristol’s back with the tip of her tail.
Tristol didn’t reply to the tease, but he smiled nonetheless. “We’ll be splitting up into groups then, but…”
“Am I with you?”
“Absolutely.”
“But as I was saying, some of the more impatient scholars want to go out tonight as soon as the camp is fully set up.”
Nisha nodded, “They’ll be going soon then, because we finished a few minutes ago.”
That would explain what she was wandering around looking for mischief.
“I think they’ve got Frollis set up to watch one small group, and then if Clueless doesn’t mind, they want him to watch over the other.”
Nisha shot a look at two random sages as they wandered past carrying assorted digging tools. She seemed skeptical. “You think they’ll be ok?”
Tristol nodded. “We didn’t find anything lurking out there earlier, and being so close to camp, I think they’ll be fine. Besides, if they have problems, we’ll be close by to help.”
Nisha was still giving that same look of skepticism. “They can find ancient runes, but I don’t think half of them could tie their own bootlaces without a book to give them step by step instructions.”
“Trust me.” Tristol said. “They’ll be fine.”
Several hours later once those first two groups went out into the gloom beyond the fringes of the camp’s feeble firelight, Tristol’s reassurances would be proven grossly premature.
***
Shemeska
Adventurer
***
“Doesn’t it make you nervous out here?” Corwin Briggs asked as he looked up from his map and out at the field of shadow-frocked boulders. The wind tousled his hair and threatened to knock the parchment from his hands.
“It gives me the creeps out here.” His companion put down his lamp and looked over his shoulder. “I think I preferred Carceri. At least there you could see the things that wanted to eat you before they tried to do so. Out here? Pitch black and you can’t hear a thing over the wind.”
“What’s up with you?” Corwin asked.
The other man, a fellow archaeologist out of Silvania by the name of Logan the Persistent, looked up and frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You’re scared of the dark.” Corwin said. “Aren’t you?”
Logan scoffed a bit too much. “Of course not!”
“There’s nothing out there man.”
The sudden voice startled them both and they looked up at its source. Despite laughing at his friend, Corwin nearly leapt out of his skin.
“Where the hell did you sneak out from?” Logan asked, catching his breath as he picked the lantern back up.
Frollis chuckled and took a seat atop a flat-topped boulder, calmly and effortlessly jumping the distance from the bottom. Well, that wasn’t quite right. He didn’t so much leap the distance as leap and then seem to just appear at the top of the rock, skipping the transitory distance like he’d walked into one patch of darkness and stepped out of another a yard or two higher.
“That’s why they pay me to watch you and not the other way around.” He smirked as he drew a dagger and lazily balanced the blade in the palm of one hand.
“Well that’s ever so helpful.” Logan complained. “You didn’t answer my question at all.”
“Quite true.” The response still didn’t answer the question.
Corwin frowned. “So just how long have you been lurking about listening in on us?”
“For some time now.” He grinned. “I’m paid to follow you around and watch. There’s nothing in anything I signed that said I have to let you know I’m here while I’m doing that. Don’t mind me at all.”
The first scholar shrugged and went back to his work, not wanting to waste his breath with a sell-sword. The man was probably illiterate anyways, so even if he’d been listening in on their conversation, fat chance of him being able to contribute to it.
“In any event, the answer to your friend’s question is no.” Frollis said out of the blue.
“Eh?” Corwin asked, confused.
“No.” The rogue reiterated. “There isn’t anything out there. We’ve scouted the immediate area around here for anything lurking beneath a rock or in your shadow. There’s nothing out there moving, just rocks and inscriptions which is for you to deal with. And they don’t bite, not unless they’re symbols or explosive runes, and I’d have found those if there were any to be found because I’m good like that.”
“We’re a bit busy here.” Corwin said, politely dismissing the rogue. “I appreciate you doing your job, but we’re fine here. If you’re so inclined, you might even go tell the others in the group that we’ve found a few inscriptions on some of the larger rocks that fell from somewhere up on the south slope. With any luck we can match them to a spot and investigate it once we move on to that area.”
The rogue looked at him like a man who didn’t have any sense of what he was talking about, or a man who really didn’t care and wanted to deflate the scholar’s ego.
“Most of them have moved on to the next section of the grid, it’ll take me a few minutes to reach them. Besides, they won’t have found anything by the time I get there. They might have started, but they won’t have found much of importance if there’s anything to be found. Besides, I felt it best to check up on you two. Don’t mind me.”
Somewhat humbled, Corwin shrugged and turned back to his work, though he felt the rogue’s eyes on his back a bit too much. A few uncomfortable minutes later and a rock distracted him, taking his mind off of the rogue and whatever social unpleasantness he’d brought in tow. Frollis sat quietly and watched without comment.
Several minutes stretched onwards to thirty, and the scholars continued to catalog rocks amid the wind-whipped gloom. They were mapping and making comparisons to older maps and old accounts of the site’s terrain, but to a layman they were cataloging rocks, and it seemed rather droll and boring. Faced with such enrapturing activities by a pair of not so socially brilliant men, eventually their watch grew bored atop his perch, not that he’d interrupted them, and not that they’d paid him much attention in return.
“Have fun scraping around the dirt like a pair of hungry hens.” Frollis said as he stood up and stretched, seemingly bored with the men. “I’ve got another dozen bits of mutton to follow around. See you later.”
“Whatever…” Corwin didn’t bother looking up to see if he’d left or not, and his companion was too absorbed looking at a curious rock formation to care one way or the other.
Without bracing himself, Frollis fell backwards off of the boulder. They might have expected a heavy thump and some cursing had they been paying him any attention, but no sound of a landing was apparent. It was as if the gloom had swallowed him up whole, or he’d landed in the waiting gullet of some hungry beast that he’d woefully failed to notice. His dancing with shadows went without view or notice though, not that he’d particularly done it out of a wish to impress them; it was simply his style.
Ten more minutes passed and the two scholars fell into their element, insulated from their cold and the dark surroundings by professional curiosity. A herd of Arborean bison set on fire and driven on by cackling fire mephitis could have snuck past them at full gallop had they been there to make the attempt. Minutes passed on to an hour and the men lost all track of time as they wandered deeper from where they’d begun.
“Did you hear that?” Logan asked, peering out into the gloom. It had sounded like footsteps, or something scraping against one of the stone piles that littered the area.
“It’s probably just Frollis again.” Corwin said.
Logan looked at his companion. “Do you think he’s still around somewhere?”
“That cagey bastard?” Corwin asked. “Probably.”
“Hey! Frollis!” Logan called out. “You out there?”
The wind whistled and the gloom ate impotently at the edge of their magical illumination, but the shouted questioned garnered no reply.
“Guess not.” Logan shrugged. “I don’t think he’s out there.”
“He wouldn’t show himself if he was.” Corwin scoffed. “He’s just going to let you yell your lungs sore, or make you jump at nothing by kicking a rock around when you’re already jumpy.”
“Hey! Frollis!” Logan waited and heard only the wind in reply. He frowned and picked up the lantern. “I’ll be right back.”
Corwin rolled his eyes as his companion walked off still calling the mercenary’s name. His footsteps receded till they were swallowed up by the wind, and his light vanished down into a dim glow, tossing shadows from behind a dozen spires and crags of rock. Twenty seconds and he was out of contact and Corwin was left alone with his work and a lantern for a bubble of protection from the gloom.
A minute passed before the light came bobbing back out of the gloom, pushing Corwin’s shadow long and thin.
“Did you find him?” He called out above the wind, not turning around.
Footsteps echoed behind him, crunching lightly on the loose gravel.
“I take it that’s a no?” He asked, still concentrating on the edges of a broken rock that might have held a weathered, worn down symbol. Logan had been rather quick about coming back after all. “What? Got scared of the dark?”
“Hello.” The voice was cold and devoid of inflection, with the odd, off-putting tremble of a person mentally coaching himself before an uncertain action.
The wind roared again and the lamplight caused his shadow to writhe and dance.
“Oh!” He said as he turned around, startled slightly. “I didn’t expect you to be standing there. Did you see Corwin? I think he went looking for…”
Cast against the illumination, fleeing for the edges of the light that its owner could not, Corwin’s shadow writhed for another reason entirely.
The scholar’s eyes went wide as the blade punctured his ribcage and punched a hole in his diaphragm with a single, smooth, quick motion. He screamed soundlessly, giving only a hoarse, caustic rattle from his voice box, unable to force a breath past his lips. His eyes bulged as his killer grabbed and supported his slumping body, whispering something to himself over and over again like a prayer or ritualized chant.
Abruptly another light bobbed out of the darkness and boots crunched on the gravel. His hand trembling with sudden nervousness, the killer shut his eyes tight and silently cursed to himself. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
“I couldn’t find…” Logan’s voice died with an inarticulate croak as he saw Corwin covered in blood, gasping for breath and heard the low whistle of a punctured lung as the other man’s sword slipped free of the dying man’s chest with a wet hiss.
“I only wanted one of you.” The killer’s voice was cold, devoid of inflection, and awkward with an odd, off-putting tremble like a schoolboy caught kissing with a young woman by their teacher.
Logan recognized that voice immediately, even if he’d yet to see its owner’s face, and stood shocked and dumbfounded. What use would running be now?
The killer turned around with eyes clenched tight and mouth pursed, almost as if he were trying to find something to say that would explain it all, make it all better. He never had the chance though, as the scholar turned and ran. Of course, just like Corwin, Logan never had a chance either.
Everything happened in an instant, purely by reflex as he raised his right arm and held his sword parallel to the ground, but it could have been that something was guiding his actions more overtly rather than just giving him purpose and inspiration. The words to the invocation came quick to his lips, soundless as the spell had been prepared to operate within Cocytus, and the telekinetic grasp on the fleeing man’s body was instantaneous. Had the winds not drowned the sounds in a sea of white noise, he would have heard the peculiar wet slice and the sudden release of air, rather than just feeling the sudden, jarring impact on his sword-arm when the man’s neck slammed into his waiting blade and was neatly, deftly decapitated.
The body collapsed with gravity’s pull and awkwardly slid a few inches across the gravel, finally stopping, slumped on its knees with arms slack and limps in a perverse semblance of prayer. Blood spurted from the carotid in several quick, rapidly failing pulses, mixing with clear spinal fluid on the artist’s pallet of the severed stump as the head rolled end over end to finally smack into a boulder and come to a halt, ending up facing his killer, eyes glazed over but still showing a sense of utter surprise and shock.
“I’m sorry.” He said, almost with a hint of contrition.
They were only men, and they had done him no wrong, but that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Blood taken in justified rage or in cold, insensate dispassion was blood spilt in His name nonetheless. It wasn’t always this difficult, but it had been some time since the Voice had beckoned and called him to action.
“I obey my Lord.” His voice was a whisper, slightly trembling as he looked at the blood on the blade and on his hands.
He shouldn’t have felt remorse, but the nagging voice of conscience was still present like a deep and unhealed wound. The first killing a moment before had been awkward and stilted, without any grace or artistry. Without surprise the man might have even cried out and alerted one of his fellows further out within the gloom. That would have been a mistake, and that was also the reason for the second killing.
He hadn’t intended to take two lives. Before the first he wasn’t even sure if he would have been capable of it on the first attempt. Between nerves and the worrying irritation of the other voice -the one from within rather than without-, between those two things he’d almost sat in silence from the shadows and just watched the man who now lay dead before him, running over in his mind the ways that he might have killed him, practicing mentally for when he felt his unholy confidence rise to the occasion.
By comparison the second death had been much easier. His conscience had squealed with the blade’s first bite and taste of blood, but at the second that tugging at his mind turned frantic. Humanity was losing to the touch of the Other that called. Altriusm was dying one deathrattle at a time. Death by death, he was reaching towards the goal that the Waste had whispered to him paradoxically years earlier in that tiny, frozen vale on Mungoth’s slopes.
He smiled, hands trembling less now as he cleaned the blade and prepared to dispose of the bodies. “Glory be to the Ashsinger. This is how it begins.”
This is how it begins.
This is how it happens once again.
This is how it happens just like it did before.
This is the first of the signs.
***
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