Lars Frehse
First Post
Well, no comment on that, but on to the next update instead! 
Struggle and Strife- A scarred lands storyhour
- Thread starter Lars Frehse
- Start date
Lars Frehse
First Post
Battle for Scorched Rock - part 3 of 4
There was something like a soft laughter in Ben's head before the voice answered:" I am the Warden and I have been here for all eternity. Once, there was a city of orcs on top of this rock up there, but it was destroyed by humans, since even though I was their warden, there is only so much I can do above the surface."
"When was that? And what was your relationship with those orcs?", Ben asked.
"I was their friend and protector. They gave me gifts- jewels, gold and other sacrifices and I would grant them wishes if I felt like that. I was the kind spirit of their city. But then humans came and destroyed the city and since this place held no special meaning for them, they never settled down on the rock."
The voice paused shortly: „For you humanoids, expect for incarnates like you, of course, it was long ago. Long before what you call the titans war."
"And I was there, too?"
There was something like the telepathic equivalent of a nodding:" Yes, when the city fell, you were here and we talked. And you said that one of these days you would return and lead orcs back to the rock."
Ben was surprised. He had indeed come here with thousands of orcs, yet he had never seen it as part of a mission. In a strange way, he seemed to have been destined to come here with orcs... Or was it just a strange accident? That seemed unlikely in a world so full of destiny shaping powers.
For now, Ben pushed the thought of the reason of his presence aside. He communicated further with the being that called itself the warden, and he promised it to bring Donnangar close to the water site, since the warden had a little surprise. The Warden was looking forward to new sacrifices, however this time, he told Ben, he wanted none of this sacrifice of sentient beings. After all, all they did was rot here in the water, and what was the point of that?
Before Ben went back up to the surface, he asked the Warden for one look at it, and the tentacle gently lead the shark down to where his body was. There, Ben looked into an eye that was bigger than himself and a beak that could swallow whales whole. The Warden was an octopus the size of a mountain.
Back on the surface, Ben told Donnangar and his friends about his encounter, and suddenly they all heard the voice in their heads.
"DONNANGAR", it boomed, apparently aiming for effect. "DONNANGAR, NOBLE LEADER OF THE GRAVELFISTS! STEP UP TO RECEIVE A GIFT WORTHY OF A LEADER LIKE YOU!“
Donnangar stepped to the waterhole and just then a head-sized object shot out of the water, which Donnangar, with his well-trained reflexes, caught immediately.
It was a long helmet, which seemed to be made of platinum. It had no visor and the only protection for the face was a ridge that went down between the eyes. It was long and over the top of the skull, there was a sharp edge and at its neck, there was a mesh of mithril chain.
Donnangar put it on, and for all those around him, there was an immediate effect. Donnangar had always been unique because of his majestic posture and his magnetic personality. Now, however, he looked like one of the heroes of old: much larger than life.
At the same time Donnangar felt a strange connection to all his subjects and his officers. He knew where all of his officers were and he even had a feeling for the general mood among his followers (which was excellent). When he had recovered from the surprise of the feeling, he looked around and mirrored in the eyes of his followers he saw the majestic figure that he was now.
And then the Warden explained the other powers of the helmet to him.
The next few days, the weather improved remarkably. Throughout the day, the sun kept shining, offering a first taste of its summertime splendour. As the warriors relaxed and waited, enjoying the sun on their fur like body hair, their bodies weren't the only things affected by the change of season. Just like the sun was heating up the people during the day, it did the same to the plains- turning the frozen earth into mud.
Soon, mosquitoes and other insects were bothering the soldiers who grew more and more restless. For five days they had been waiting now, and still there was no sign of the enemy. But then, on the afternoon, the scouts returned, reporting that the army of the Scorchskulls was approaching, and that in spite of the heavy losses they had sustained, they still had twice as many warriors as the Gravelfists.
When the army came into sight, it was truly mortifying to behold. The Scorchskulls marched in close ranks, making it lock like one huge monolithic block of flesh and steel, and the lances and banners stood out like a leafless forest.
As the defenders prepared themselves for battle, the army kept on marching evenly until they had gotten almost close enough to get hit by arrows. Then the one army split up into four evenly sized portions which then proceeded to build up camps about five hundred yards from each of the pathways that lead up the scorched rock.
There was a general feeling of nervousness among the defenders. It was clear to them, that Shikh Yarr, the leader of the Scorchskulls had his people well under control. Normally, the orcs would have simply charged up the hill, oblivious of the dangers of such a course. Yet now, all the Scorchskulls did was building up small camps while their drums were beating a slow but steady rhythm.
Hours went by while four small forts went up in the plains. Then, as the sun was setting, torches and fires lit up the night at each of the camps, and the volume and speed of the drumbeat was slowly rising. Belsameth's moon was a cold sickle in the sky and the countless stars were mirrored by the countless fires lit by the armies on the ground.
Since they were not hampered by the lack of light, like human armies would be, all four armies advanced as one towards the Scorched Rock. Their war drums were hammering a frenzied beat now, and the defenders almost felt how the earth was trembling as the enemy ran towards them.
Arrows, rocks or spells like Trepat’s lightning felled many of the attacking orcs, but that didn't slow the Scorchskulls down. After all, for each one who fell, two would fill up his spot and even though dozens died, they hardly mattered among the thousands who came through.
When they reached the fortifications, those Scorchskulls who weren't killed by the defenders tore down the feeble fortifications. Still, they were limited to the small spaces of the paths that lead up, and so they weren't able to apply their superior number. Instead, one-on-one melee ensued.
There was something like a soft laughter in Ben's head before the voice answered:" I am the Warden and I have been here for all eternity. Once, there was a city of orcs on top of this rock up there, but it was destroyed by humans, since even though I was their warden, there is only so much I can do above the surface."
"When was that? And what was your relationship with those orcs?", Ben asked.
"I was their friend and protector. They gave me gifts- jewels, gold and other sacrifices and I would grant them wishes if I felt like that. I was the kind spirit of their city. But then humans came and destroyed the city and since this place held no special meaning for them, they never settled down on the rock."
The voice paused shortly: „For you humanoids, expect for incarnates like you, of course, it was long ago. Long before what you call the titans war."
"And I was there, too?"
There was something like the telepathic equivalent of a nodding:" Yes, when the city fell, you were here and we talked. And you said that one of these days you would return and lead orcs back to the rock."
Ben was surprised. He had indeed come here with thousands of orcs, yet he had never seen it as part of a mission. In a strange way, he seemed to have been destined to come here with orcs... Or was it just a strange accident? That seemed unlikely in a world so full of destiny shaping powers.
For now, Ben pushed the thought of the reason of his presence aside. He communicated further with the being that called itself the warden, and he promised it to bring Donnangar close to the water site, since the warden had a little surprise. The Warden was looking forward to new sacrifices, however this time, he told Ben, he wanted none of this sacrifice of sentient beings. After all, all they did was rot here in the water, and what was the point of that?
Before Ben went back up to the surface, he asked the Warden for one look at it, and the tentacle gently lead the shark down to where his body was. There, Ben looked into an eye that was bigger than himself and a beak that could swallow whales whole. The Warden was an octopus the size of a mountain.
Back on the surface, Ben told Donnangar and his friends about his encounter, and suddenly they all heard the voice in their heads.
"DONNANGAR", it boomed, apparently aiming for effect. "DONNANGAR, NOBLE LEADER OF THE GRAVELFISTS! STEP UP TO RECEIVE A GIFT WORTHY OF A LEADER LIKE YOU!“
Donnangar stepped to the waterhole and just then a head-sized object shot out of the water, which Donnangar, with his well-trained reflexes, caught immediately.
It was a long helmet, which seemed to be made of platinum. It had no visor and the only protection for the face was a ridge that went down between the eyes. It was long and over the top of the skull, there was a sharp edge and at its neck, there was a mesh of mithril chain.
Donnangar put it on, and for all those around him, there was an immediate effect. Donnangar had always been unique because of his majestic posture and his magnetic personality. Now, however, he looked like one of the heroes of old: much larger than life.
At the same time Donnangar felt a strange connection to all his subjects and his officers. He knew where all of his officers were and he even had a feeling for the general mood among his followers (which was excellent). When he had recovered from the surprise of the feeling, he looked around and mirrored in the eyes of his followers he saw the majestic figure that he was now.
And then the Warden explained the other powers of the helmet to him.
The next few days, the weather improved remarkably. Throughout the day, the sun kept shining, offering a first taste of its summertime splendour. As the warriors relaxed and waited, enjoying the sun on their fur like body hair, their bodies weren't the only things affected by the change of season. Just like the sun was heating up the people during the day, it did the same to the plains- turning the frozen earth into mud.
Soon, mosquitoes and other insects were bothering the soldiers who grew more and more restless. For five days they had been waiting now, and still there was no sign of the enemy. But then, on the afternoon, the scouts returned, reporting that the army of the Scorchskulls was approaching, and that in spite of the heavy losses they had sustained, they still had twice as many warriors as the Gravelfists.
When the army came into sight, it was truly mortifying to behold. The Scorchskulls marched in close ranks, making it lock like one huge monolithic block of flesh and steel, and the lances and banners stood out like a leafless forest.
As the defenders prepared themselves for battle, the army kept on marching evenly until they had gotten almost close enough to get hit by arrows. Then the one army split up into four evenly sized portions which then proceeded to build up camps about five hundred yards from each of the pathways that lead up the scorched rock.
There was a general feeling of nervousness among the defenders. It was clear to them, that Shikh Yarr, the leader of the Scorchskulls had his people well under control. Normally, the orcs would have simply charged up the hill, oblivious of the dangers of such a course. Yet now, all the Scorchskulls did was building up small camps while their drums were beating a slow but steady rhythm.
Hours went by while four small forts went up in the plains. Then, as the sun was setting, torches and fires lit up the night at each of the camps, and the volume and speed of the drumbeat was slowly rising. Belsameth's moon was a cold sickle in the sky and the countless stars were mirrored by the countless fires lit by the armies on the ground.
Since they were not hampered by the lack of light, like human armies would be, all four armies advanced as one towards the Scorched Rock. Their war drums were hammering a frenzied beat now, and the defenders almost felt how the earth was trembling as the enemy ran towards them.
Arrows, rocks or spells like Trepat’s lightning felled many of the attacking orcs, but that didn't slow the Scorchskulls down. After all, for each one who fell, two would fill up his spot and even though dozens died, they hardly mattered among the thousands who came through.
When they reached the fortifications, those Scorchskulls who weren't killed by the defenders tore down the feeble fortifications. Still, they were limited to the small spaces of the paths that lead up, and so they weren't able to apply their superior number. Instead, one-on-one melee ensued.
I have to say that I like this more epic questing (to help rebuild a once proud nation) much more than the amaphore stuff. The amaphore story arcs are ok but I would much rather be a part of a something epic is scale, or at least something that will last (like a nation). All that to say, great story Lars!!
Luke
Luke
Nightfall
Sage of the Scarred Lands
Obviously I don't have the last third but I have feeling that something involving Dar Al Annot isn't exactly something you sweep under the floor. I just guess we have different definitions of what counts as epic. (Gee an nation of orcs. Sure they might make it...if another Blood Monsoon doesn't come along and Pisceans come along.) This not to say I don't like it Lars. It's good. I like it. I guess for me, nations come and go. They don't last. Part of the point I suppose.
Lars Frehse
First Post
Well, first I would like to thank you for your comments.
It is like Lrathbun said: there is a special attraction to being an active part in shaping a newborn nation. Of course the things that the Amphora trilogy (which I like a lot) are about are very important for the future of Ghelspad. Yet, the possible outcomes are limited. I guess you simply can't write an adventure in which you shape the form of a new culture, a nation, maybe an empire eventually. It is done differently. But for the characters, this offers a lot of opportunities to bring in their ideas and really shape things according to their wishes. In an adventure like the trilogy, the characters have to react mostly- to orders from above, to threats, etc., but they are not the ones who shape and build. The trilogy is the best adventure I had seen for 3e so far, but there are other things I like about Roleplaying as well. Things a computer game couldn't do, for instance.
(Incidentally, this gave me the opportunity to dig out the massbattle system from OD&D as well.
)
When this chapter is done, I will write down the third part of the trilogy, so everybody should be happy then.
It is like Lrathbun said: there is a special attraction to being an active part in shaping a newborn nation. Of course the things that the Amphora trilogy (which I like a lot) are about are very important for the future of Ghelspad. Yet, the possible outcomes are limited. I guess you simply can't write an adventure in which you shape the form of a new culture, a nation, maybe an empire eventually. It is done differently. But for the characters, this offers a lot of opportunities to bring in their ideas and really shape things according to their wishes. In an adventure like the trilogy, the characters have to react mostly- to orders from above, to threats, etc., but they are not the ones who shape and build. The trilogy is the best adventure I had seen for 3e so far, but there are other things I like about Roleplaying as well. Things a computer game couldn't do, for instance.
(Incidentally, this gave me the opportunity to dig out the massbattle system from OD&D as well.
)When this chapter is done, I will write down the third part of the trilogy, so everybody should be happy then.
Lars Frehse
First Post
Battle of Scorched Rock- part 4 of 4
In the beginning, the squads of Jan, Niklas, Ben and Trepat held one pass each. Those squads consisted mostly of Gravelfist-barbarians, but were supported by druids and sorcerers as well. After a while, though, their numbers were getting smaller and smaller, and the heroes themselves were wounded as well. As they retreated, leaving behind piles of bodies, new units filled the gaps and battled on.
After they had tended to their basest needs, they took up administrative work and deployed the new troops. Donnangar and his elite soldiers, however, stayed behind. The plan was that he would get into action in case any of the four defensive positions should break. Then it would be their job to push the attackers back and resecure the pathway.
The battle raged for many hours. Even though the attackers were receiving heavy losses, and their corpses were littering the side of the scorched rock, they kept on coming. Of course they were driven by their untameable lust for battle, but there was more to it as well. After all the Scorchskullleaders knew that even though their losses were higher than those of their enemies, they were able to compensate that by their superior number
After midnight, the constant noise of battle was still drowning out the moans and cries of the wounded and dying. For the heroes it was clear that their numbers were about to run thin. They had lost many soldiers, and just as many were wounded. And even those who were still standing, about one third of their army, were severely fatigued and weary.
It was then that there was a commotion at the northern flank- at last the Scorchskulls had broken through. Immediately, Donnangar set out with his hand-picked barbarians, rangers, druids and sorcerers, and they soundly defeated the already weakened attackers, killing them and driving them back until the path was secure.
For a little while longer, the attackers pressed on, but without success. Eventually, when the first stars where fading from the sky and the first hint of the coming morning was in the sky, the drums fell silent and by and by, the Scorchskulls fell away from all four paths. The first wave had been thrown back.
There was muted cheering among the defenders. Even though they had won this battle, they had suffered severe losses, and many of the orcs who had fought bravely that night were now either too wounded or too tired to celebrate. The druids and shamans were busy taking care of the wounded and as the sun rose up, it became clear that the Scorchskulls weren't about to give up just yet.
The slopes and the plains around the rock were littered with bodies, and both sides weren't able to retrieve their bodies, fearing the archers of the enemy. By noon, when the sun was burning down from the clear blue sky, the air was filled with the sweet odour of the corpses. The only relief came at night, when the cold stopped the rotting process, but on the next morning, it got even worse.
No one knew where they had come from, but millions of flies appeared. It almost looked as if they had been hiding somewhere, waiting for this extraordinary feast, and the healers had another problem. Not only did they take care of the wounded, but they had to keep the flies from the open wounds as well. Where they couldn't prevent it, the flies placed their eggs into the festering wounds, and when new flies hatched, they caused limitless agony to their victims.
Fortunately for the Gravelfists, the Scorchskulls in their camps below seemed to be encountering similar problems. At least they didn't attack that day either.
Another night and another day passed, and even for the savage orcs the stench of the thousands of rotting bodies became unbearable. At the following night Enkili had mercy with them, and the winds picked up, bringing clear and fresh air to them. It was then that the drums started beating again.
Once again four columns of orcs were running up the paths, trampling over the decomposing bodies under them, and again they battered against the defences. Both sides fought fiercely, but even though most of the Gravelfist warriors were wounded, the confidence that their previous victories had given them gave them an additional edge, and after a few hours, after a new layer of fresh corpses had covered the rotting bodies, the Scorchskulls retreated again.
This time however, they packed up their camps and retreated completely, as every surviving Gravelfist cheered and hooted. At last, the battle of Scorched Rock was won.
Throughout the night, they celebrated, drinking ale and spirits and singing and dancing. They lit up huge bonfires and never had life tasted so sweet to them.
At some point, Ben left the celebrating orcs behind and went to the central water hole. He pulled out his moneybag and poured the golden and silver coins in it into the water. Immediately, he heard the voice of the warden's voice in his head:" Ah, the first sacrifice. Very well, Incarnate. Bring some orcs for a miracle.“
That wasn't what he had intended, but since it couldn't hurt, Ben picked up Donnangar, his friends, and all officers and warriors he could find who weren't too injured or too drunk to walk. Back at the waterhole, a small iron cube appeared in front of him and he heard the voice again, ordering him to put the cube at one of the pathways.
There, the cube changed and, to the wonder of those who watched, turned into a solid tower with a protective layer of adamantium. Then, Ben explained that Donnangar and those he designated could enter and leave the tower, and it would be the first defensive structure of their new town.
On the next day, the corpses were pillaged and then burned in huge bonfires. Jan found a plate mail that absorbed all light, making it hardly visible in the dark and which seemed to absorb sounds as well. When Jan left, intending to join the rank of the Mithril knights, Chirra and two friends came along. The three orcs were devoted to Corean and intended to become paladins in Corean's own city. If they would pass the tests, they would be the first full-blooded orcs who became paladins.
In the next weeks, after Jan, his apprentices and his friends had left after having been named nobles of the Gravelfists, Donnangar laid down the sword and picked up the pen of diplomacy. More than one third of the tribes that had been part of the Scorchskulls changed allegiance in the following weeks, and their chiefs acknowledged Donnangar as their supreme leader. Over night, the Gravelfist had become the dominant tribe in the plains, and as they started to build up their new capitol on Scorched rock, the dream of an orcish nation became more and more tangible.
However, there was still a long way to go until they could claim the plains. The path in front of Donnangar and his people was still a stony one, to say the least, but another major step had been taken.
In Mithril, after some debate, the three young orcs were given a chance and in a solemn ceremony, Jan became a member of the Mithril Knights, the most august order of servants of Corean. One of the guests was Eochaid, the young Vigilante whom they had met during their first encounter with the serpent amphora. He congratulated Jan, and then he told the Paladin and his friends that he wasn't merely in Mithril to celebrate with him.
Home commander Kelemis Durm had sent him- there were news about the amphora.
In the beginning, the squads of Jan, Niklas, Ben and Trepat held one pass each. Those squads consisted mostly of Gravelfist-barbarians, but were supported by druids and sorcerers as well. After a while, though, their numbers were getting smaller and smaller, and the heroes themselves were wounded as well. As they retreated, leaving behind piles of bodies, new units filled the gaps and battled on.
After they had tended to their basest needs, they took up administrative work and deployed the new troops. Donnangar and his elite soldiers, however, stayed behind. The plan was that he would get into action in case any of the four defensive positions should break. Then it would be their job to push the attackers back and resecure the pathway.
The battle raged for many hours. Even though the attackers were receiving heavy losses, and their corpses were littering the side of the scorched rock, they kept on coming. Of course they were driven by their untameable lust for battle, but there was more to it as well. After all the Scorchskullleaders knew that even though their losses were higher than those of their enemies, they were able to compensate that by their superior number
After midnight, the constant noise of battle was still drowning out the moans and cries of the wounded and dying. For the heroes it was clear that their numbers were about to run thin. They had lost many soldiers, and just as many were wounded. And even those who were still standing, about one third of their army, were severely fatigued and weary.
It was then that there was a commotion at the northern flank- at last the Scorchskulls had broken through. Immediately, Donnangar set out with his hand-picked barbarians, rangers, druids and sorcerers, and they soundly defeated the already weakened attackers, killing them and driving them back until the path was secure.
For a little while longer, the attackers pressed on, but without success. Eventually, when the first stars where fading from the sky and the first hint of the coming morning was in the sky, the drums fell silent and by and by, the Scorchskulls fell away from all four paths. The first wave had been thrown back.
There was muted cheering among the defenders. Even though they had won this battle, they had suffered severe losses, and many of the orcs who had fought bravely that night were now either too wounded or too tired to celebrate. The druids and shamans were busy taking care of the wounded and as the sun rose up, it became clear that the Scorchskulls weren't about to give up just yet.
The slopes and the plains around the rock were littered with bodies, and both sides weren't able to retrieve their bodies, fearing the archers of the enemy. By noon, when the sun was burning down from the clear blue sky, the air was filled with the sweet odour of the corpses. The only relief came at night, when the cold stopped the rotting process, but on the next morning, it got even worse.
No one knew where they had come from, but millions of flies appeared. It almost looked as if they had been hiding somewhere, waiting for this extraordinary feast, and the healers had another problem. Not only did they take care of the wounded, but they had to keep the flies from the open wounds as well. Where they couldn't prevent it, the flies placed their eggs into the festering wounds, and when new flies hatched, they caused limitless agony to their victims.
Fortunately for the Gravelfists, the Scorchskulls in their camps below seemed to be encountering similar problems. At least they didn't attack that day either.
Another night and another day passed, and even for the savage orcs the stench of the thousands of rotting bodies became unbearable. At the following night Enkili had mercy with them, and the winds picked up, bringing clear and fresh air to them. It was then that the drums started beating again.
Once again four columns of orcs were running up the paths, trampling over the decomposing bodies under them, and again they battered against the defences. Both sides fought fiercely, but even though most of the Gravelfist warriors were wounded, the confidence that their previous victories had given them gave them an additional edge, and after a few hours, after a new layer of fresh corpses had covered the rotting bodies, the Scorchskulls retreated again.
This time however, they packed up their camps and retreated completely, as every surviving Gravelfist cheered and hooted. At last, the battle of Scorched Rock was won.
Throughout the night, they celebrated, drinking ale and spirits and singing and dancing. They lit up huge bonfires and never had life tasted so sweet to them.
At some point, Ben left the celebrating orcs behind and went to the central water hole. He pulled out his moneybag and poured the golden and silver coins in it into the water. Immediately, he heard the voice of the warden's voice in his head:" Ah, the first sacrifice. Very well, Incarnate. Bring some orcs for a miracle.“
That wasn't what he had intended, but since it couldn't hurt, Ben picked up Donnangar, his friends, and all officers and warriors he could find who weren't too injured or too drunk to walk. Back at the waterhole, a small iron cube appeared in front of him and he heard the voice again, ordering him to put the cube at one of the pathways.
There, the cube changed and, to the wonder of those who watched, turned into a solid tower with a protective layer of adamantium. Then, Ben explained that Donnangar and those he designated could enter and leave the tower, and it would be the first defensive structure of their new town.
On the next day, the corpses were pillaged and then burned in huge bonfires. Jan found a plate mail that absorbed all light, making it hardly visible in the dark and which seemed to absorb sounds as well. When Jan left, intending to join the rank of the Mithril knights, Chirra and two friends came along. The three orcs were devoted to Corean and intended to become paladins in Corean's own city. If they would pass the tests, they would be the first full-blooded orcs who became paladins.
In the next weeks, after Jan, his apprentices and his friends had left after having been named nobles of the Gravelfists, Donnangar laid down the sword and picked up the pen of diplomacy. More than one third of the tribes that had been part of the Scorchskulls changed allegiance in the following weeks, and their chiefs acknowledged Donnangar as their supreme leader. Over night, the Gravelfist had become the dominant tribe in the plains, and as they started to build up their new capitol on Scorched rock, the dream of an orcish nation became more and more tangible.
However, there was still a long way to go until they could claim the plains. The path in front of Donnangar and his people was still a stony one, to say the least, but another major step had been taken.
In Mithril, after some debate, the three young orcs were given a chance and in a solemn ceremony, Jan became a member of the Mithril Knights, the most august order of servants of Corean. One of the guests was Eochaid, the young Vigilante whom they had met during their first encounter with the serpent amphora. He congratulated Jan, and then he told the Paladin and his friends that he wasn't merely in Mithril to celebrate with him.
Home commander Kelemis Durm had sent him- there were news about the amphora.
Lars Frehse
First Post
Bosom of the Mother- part 1
Once again, Kelemis Durn welcomed them in the sunroom.
For a moment, while they were exchanging pleasantries, Jan's mind wandered back to their trip to Lave. They had travelled down the corridor, where Vengauraks had ambushed them. When afterwards Jan had used his powered of healing to heal himself first, he had felt how his connection to Corean had wavered...
As Kelemis started briefing them, the paladin was suddenly jerked back into the presence. "... so your previous mission has turned out to have formidable results" the home commander said ". However, we cannot simply perform the ritual here in Lave. We need a place of power, and the nearest such place is in the Ganjus Forest. There the Amphora can be destroyed- and we will be rid of that damned thing once and for all."
He continued to tell them about the elves of the Ganjus, and once again, Jan felt how his mind left the lecture and wondered away. It was just the same as in the times of his training, when he had often spent the endless lectures about religion and history dreaming about his future heroics.
When the connection had failed him, he had lost the ability to heal and cure, among other things. Even though Jan was far from being book smart and it often took him a long time to understand complex issues, he nonetheless realized that Corean had left him because he wanted no selfish servants.
So, for the rest of the trip, he had stopped whenever he could to help out farmers, using his powers to cure livestock or forging small items when needed. By the time they had reached Lave, he was back in Corean's grace.
But now, in the sun-room, Jan focused his attention back to Kelemis Durn's speech:"... but you shouldn't worry about the Jordeh. One of the men who will come with you has had experiences with them and he had gained their thrust. Furthermore, they will certainly respect an incarnate and a fellow elf."
He personally refilled their glasses with the light wine the steward had served upon the heroes' arrival, and then continued:" To make a long story short, I would like you to accompany the Amphora and the True Ritual to the Ganjus. The route itself isn't precisely hostile territory, but of course it can be dangerous and we're all but certain that someone will make a play for the Amphora along the way. So be wary."
All of the friends agreed to go on that journey without thinking twice about it. After all, they had been involved with the Amphora for so long now, and they wanted to see this threat gone. Kelemis Durn told them to meet with a dozen handpicked soldiers and Vian Piridur, the officer who had dealt with the Jordeh, the keepers of the Ganjus, in the morning and begin their trek then.
Their two weeks journey through Vesh was pleasantly uneventful. They travelled on horseback, and the amphora was kept in a heavy, magically sealed chest, which was kept in an oaken wagon. Everywhere in Vesh, the farmers were planting and sowing. Shepherds were lazily sleeping next to their flocks of sheep and spring lambs while the bees were busy buzzing from flower to flower.
Still, the friends and the soldiers kept their guard up. After all, the friends knew that agents of Mormo could be anywhere, just like they had in the past. Even the friendliest farmer boy could be a sinister agent of the witch queen, and so they never dared to let the idyllic surroundings lull them into a false sense of security.
Still, after two weeks they saw the kelders towering in front of them, and nothing exciting had happened to them until this point. At the foot of the mountains, near a path that lead downwards into a deep and rocky gorge, they came across an encampment. The bulk of the camp was formed by tents, which were solidly staked to resist the gust of wind that blew up from the valley and there was a handful of wooden buildings as well.
The men and women were Ontenazans, the people who had found a way to live in and between those mountains, in spite of the unpredictable and often-lethal winds that were blowing there. They were dark skinned and both men and women wore the same loose tunics and leggings.
Trepat had been briefed by Piridur before on how to behave towards the Ontenazans, and he approached one windwalker, a young dark-skinned woman called Aisha. Since Ontenzans didn't haggle and considered the whole procedure to be uncouth, the negotiations were short, and after one hundred gold had changed hands, she lead them to some tents.
"Make yourselves as comfortable as you can, and try to sleep," she said her melodic voice tingling slightly with with the accent of her people. "We'll set out first thing in the morning.“
Shortly before dawn, Aisha and the soldiers got up. Niklas, who hardly ever slept anymore ever since he had acquired a technique that allowed the monks of Hedrada to stay awake all day, woke up his friends, and by the first light of dawn, they were ready to go.
The path ahead of them looked daunting. The earth was hard and rocky and the footing was so precarious that the horses had to be walked, not ridden. The walls of the canyon were rough and unyielding, and as the sun rose up, they reflected the heat downward, heating up the surface and the air and blinding the eyes.
The next days were a miserable experience. The winds turned out to be truly hideous, making speech nearly impossible, and only by screaming at the top of their lungs could they shout over the constant noise. The direction of the winds changed randomly, and it often happened that a hero or a soldier who was leaning heavily into the wind fell flat on the face when suddenly the wind changed direction and pushed them to the ground.
Split lips, chipped teeth and bloody noses became a universal part of the soldiers' uniforms. Even though the horses were well trained, they nonetheless pulled and strained against their halters, with their eyes rolling in constant panic.
Since no tents could stand against the wind, night-camps consisted mostly of sleeping bags stuffed behind rocky outcroppings. And since the winds never ceased, sleep was hard to get, and they were constantly woken up whenever they had drifted into the deeper regions of their dreams.
Even more frustrating, Aisha refused to a straight course. Often, she doubled back, paused for hours on end and made turns that took the expedition into what looked like the wrong direction. The heroes knew that all windwalkers worked like that, avoiding the worst of the winds this way, but still it didn't make the trip any either, especially since they wanted to spend as little time in this hell made of rock and winds as possible.
Then, on the fourth day, disaster struck in form of an avalanche.
Once again, Kelemis Durn welcomed them in the sunroom.
For a moment, while they were exchanging pleasantries, Jan's mind wandered back to their trip to Lave. They had travelled down the corridor, where Vengauraks had ambushed them. When afterwards Jan had used his powered of healing to heal himself first, he had felt how his connection to Corean had wavered...
As Kelemis started briefing them, the paladin was suddenly jerked back into the presence. "... so your previous mission has turned out to have formidable results" the home commander said ". However, we cannot simply perform the ritual here in Lave. We need a place of power, and the nearest such place is in the Ganjus Forest. There the Amphora can be destroyed- and we will be rid of that damned thing once and for all."
He continued to tell them about the elves of the Ganjus, and once again, Jan felt how his mind left the lecture and wondered away. It was just the same as in the times of his training, when he had often spent the endless lectures about religion and history dreaming about his future heroics.
When the connection had failed him, he had lost the ability to heal and cure, among other things. Even though Jan was far from being book smart and it often took him a long time to understand complex issues, he nonetheless realized that Corean had left him because he wanted no selfish servants.
So, for the rest of the trip, he had stopped whenever he could to help out farmers, using his powers to cure livestock or forging small items when needed. By the time they had reached Lave, he was back in Corean's grace.
But now, in the sun-room, Jan focused his attention back to Kelemis Durn's speech:"... but you shouldn't worry about the Jordeh. One of the men who will come with you has had experiences with them and he had gained their thrust. Furthermore, they will certainly respect an incarnate and a fellow elf."
He personally refilled their glasses with the light wine the steward had served upon the heroes' arrival, and then continued:" To make a long story short, I would like you to accompany the Amphora and the True Ritual to the Ganjus. The route itself isn't precisely hostile territory, but of course it can be dangerous and we're all but certain that someone will make a play for the Amphora along the way. So be wary."
All of the friends agreed to go on that journey without thinking twice about it. After all, they had been involved with the Amphora for so long now, and they wanted to see this threat gone. Kelemis Durn told them to meet with a dozen handpicked soldiers and Vian Piridur, the officer who had dealt with the Jordeh, the keepers of the Ganjus, in the morning and begin their trek then.
Their two weeks journey through Vesh was pleasantly uneventful. They travelled on horseback, and the amphora was kept in a heavy, magically sealed chest, which was kept in an oaken wagon. Everywhere in Vesh, the farmers were planting and sowing. Shepherds were lazily sleeping next to their flocks of sheep and spring lambs while the bees were busy buzzing from flower to flower.
Still, the friends and the soldiers kept their guard up. After all, the friends knew that agents of Mormo could be anywhere, just like they had in the past. Even the friendliest farmer boy could be a sinister agent of the witch queen, and so they never dared to let the idyllic surroundings lull them into a false sense of security.
Still, after two weeks they saw the kelders towering in front of them, and nothing exciting had happened to them until this point. At the foot of the mountains, near a path that lead downwards into a deep and rocky gorge, they came across an encampment. The bulk of the camp was formed by tents, which were solidly staked to resist the gust of wind that blew up from the valley and there was a handful of wooden buildings as well.
The men and women were Ontenazans, the people who had found a way to live in and between those mountains, in spite of the unpredictable and often-lethal winds that were blowing there. They were dark skinned and both men and women wore the same loose tunics and leggings.
Trepat had been briefed by Piridur before on how to behave towards the Ontenazans, and he approached one windwalker, a young dark-skinned woman called Aisha. Since Ontenzans didn't haggle and considered the whole procedure to be uncouth, the negotiations were short, and after one hundred gold had changed hands, she lead them to some tents.
"Make yourselves as comfortable as you can, and try to sleep," she said her melodic voice tingling slightly with with the accent of her people. "We'll set out first thing in the morning.“
Shortly before dawn, Aisha and the soldiers got up. Niklas, who hardly ever slept anymore ever since he had acquired a technique that allowed the monks of Hedrada to stay awake all day, woke up his friends, and by the first light of dawn, they were ready to go.
The path ahead of them looked daunting. The earth was hard and rocky and the footing was so precarious that the horses had to be walked, not ridden. The walls of the canyon were rough and unyielding, and as the sun rose up, they reflected the heat downward, heating up the surface and the air and blinding the eyes.
The next days were a miserable experience. The winds turned out to be truly hideous, making speech nearly impossible, and only by screaming at the top of their lungs could they shout over the constant noise. The direction of the winds changed randomly, and it often happened that a hero or a soldier who was leaning heavily into the wind fell flat on the face when suddenly the wind changed direction and pushed them to the ground.
Split lips, chipped teeth and bloody noses became a universal part of the soldiers' uniforms. Even though the horses were well trained, they nonetheless pulled and strained against their halters, with their eyes rolling in constant panic.
Since no tents could stand against the wind, night-camps consisted mostly of sleeping bags stuffed behind rocky outcroppings. And since the winds never ceased, sleep was hard to get, and they were constantly woken up whenever they had drifted into the deeper regions of their dreams.
Even more frustrating, Aisha refused to a straight course. Often, she doubled back, paused for hours on end and made turns that took the expedition into what looked like the wrong direction. The heroes knew that all windwalkers worked like that, avoiding the worst of the winds this way, but still it didn't make the trip any either, especially since they wanted to spend as little time in this hell made of rock and winds as possible.
Then, on the fourth day, disaster struck in form of an avalanche.
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