The Heroes of Icemist (SmallBeginnings 2)- Interlude update 2/21/2008!
- Thread starter Enk&D'Shai
- Start date
Enk&D'Shai
First Post
You know, every time I think to myself, "Self, this can't get any better," I prove myself a liar.
That's because you are a liar. Liar.
Only on alternate Thursdays and bank holidays. But I digress. Today's whirlwind of matches just about proved too much for D'Shai and I to judge.
Luckily, tomorrow should be much easier on theeyes judging.
But we'll get to that in a minute. First, let's talk about how the dust settled on today's standings! We started things off with a slobberknocker of a match between OaxacanWarrior and Jon Potter.
Slobberknocker is right. I felt like I was at a Gallagher show.
Those two lucha libre fanatics had been chomping at the bit for that moment since they've been born, and when that moment came... well let's just say that I have no idea what some of those holds were called.
I don't want to know what they're called.
Anyway in the end, Jon Potter finally understood the difficulties oftyping wrestling with boxing gloves, and OaxacanWarrior advanced.
I did notice that at the end, the 'Warrior had a sudden burst of energy. if that was the last of Rel's extra half an entry, then the luchadore might have trouble in the finals.
You said it, D'Shai. In other matches, Tamlyn forfeited to Dungannon.
Wasn't that nice? I mean, sure, the judges might have been a bit late in granting Tamlyn such a point of honor, but in the end, I think it all worked out for the best.
I'm not so sure it was completely altruistic, though. Tamlyn was in the middle of tying himself up. But we appreciate the gesture anyway, Tamlyn. That's why we've saved a special "huzzah!" for you. We'll keep it right next to D'Shai's 8-track collection until you can pick it up.
But back to the action! Down in Fresno, Spider_Jerusalem was a very, very busy fellow, winning back to back against first Dungannon and then Rel.
Too bad for Rel that his dirty, underhanded, yet almost always effective tactics failed this time around. When Spider revealed that his cup imparts DR 5/-, I think I was almost as surprised as Rel.
But not nearly as surprised as when Rel found out exactly what a bowel disruptor does.
That also explains why Dungannon immediately forfeited the next match.
But the fun didn't stop there. Since there really isn't anything to do in Fresno, we decided to have another round of matchups, and here too Spider was da man.
That he was, D'Shai. SJ started off with a match against Dr. Bruce Banner. Now you know that the Spider was just itching to give back some of what he got back in the opening rounds, but luckily for the Spider, he had watched enough early 80's television to know that he wouldn't like the good doctor when he was angry.
So in a surprise move, he simply talked with the doctor a while, packed him a backpack full of peanut butter sandwiches, and cued some theme music. In the time it takes to roll the credits, Banner had been counted out of the ring, and Spider moved on.
That left only the much awaited "Curds and Whey" bout between Dawn and Spider_Jerusalem.
This one started in textbook fashion, with the Spider setting down next to Dawn and saying "Hey, baby."
It ended that way too, with Spider Jerusalem winning the match in yet another count out. And that wraps up another day of the tournament.
Good. Now we can get to the swimsuit competition.
You heard the man. Tomorrow's rounds will be determined the same way the Ms. America pageant is.
By sleeping with the judges?
And with that, we leave you with both an update (and a big one!) and the Tip of the Day:
TotD: This contest is not a way to deflect attention away from late posting story hour authors.
And they lived happily ever after...
*****
Pack fidgeted in his chair, picking at his food and trying to ignore the awkward silence. The bard stared at his plate for a while, as the pall in the air grew heavier with each quiet breath. This hush is worse than after that fight when Worm hid my backpack for two whole days! The halfling glanced at his friend: the feloine’s only response to the horrible news had been to gouge the antique table. Finally, the bard broke the stillness.
"Would somebody please pass the peas?"
Pack peeked at the rest of the table, feeling more than seeing Ander’s glare. Well someone’s got to do it! "Sir Brandimere?” he started. “Icemist is sort of small, see? And our only news comes from the criers who come to Festival and they only talk about the courts and such unless you want gossip about Icemist and that comes from Gross Gretta, she's Mr. Trappers wife and she got the nickname because of this thing she does when she eats soup…”
The knight interrupted Pack mid-ramble. "I take it, Master Tosscobble, that you would like more details about the incident."
"Yes!" Ashrem hissed before Pack had a chance to respond. The feloine still stared straight down at the table, but Pack noticed that his claws were no longer extended. I hope Sir Brandimere can find some southern oak to get this Indressieu table fixed properly. At least it’s Ashrem and not Worm doing the damage.
The knight looked thoughtfully at the feloine for a moment. "Let me first refill your goblets. I have always found good wine to be a poultice for ill news." Sir Brandimere gestured, and several servants entered and began offering various wines to the ensemble. Pack allowed his own small glass to be filled, but frowned when his brother yanked the whole bottle from the attendant’s hands, wobbling slightly in his chair as he poured. After his own goblet had been refilled, the knight continued.
"I suppose I should start with the Demon Wars, as our esteemed Brother is the only one of you that looks old enough to truly remember those evil days. As you have no doubt been told, the war was very costly for to all the kingdoms involved. The demons’ army was simple massive, and it was only by combining forces that Tor, Ion, Valencia, Arboria, and the Free Cities still stand; however, even the collected might of the heartlands would have fallen to the otherworldly host if it had not been for the Feloines.”
“Why?” asked Pack.
“A good question, Master Tosscobble,” said Sir Brandimere. The knight seemed to be warming to the story as he continued, as if it had been rehearsed. “Make no mistake, the Feloines are few in number, but when they fight they fight to win. So, when they committed to the war they held nothing back. I was there when we first saw the ships, their decks full of soldiers, and it would not surprise me to learn that they had sent every able body in the whole of the Mist Isles.” The knight gave an appraising look at Ashrem, but the scout did not meet his gaze. What is he hoping to see, I wonder?
“The Feloine army was enough to break the enemy’s lines. Rumors ran on the battlefield that while the demons laughed at the forces of men, the fled in the face of the armies of the Mist Isles. And after the last great battle, the Feloines took upon themselves the task of rooting out the remnants of the demons’ splintered army. They really were the heroes in those last days, which made it all the more sad when the Vampyres attacked from the Rift Isles.”
"Vampyres?" Pack gasped. The bard felt a chill shoot up his spine at the mention of the name. He had heard myths of the creatures of the Rift Isles, a place where even the bravest feared to tread. “You mean they’re real?”
"Vampires?" Worm sloshed "Why is there an island of vampires?"
"Not vampires, Vampyres!" Ashrem growled. Pack again heard the scrape of claws on wood.
"I have to side with Worm on this," Ander said quietly. "I've never even heard of Vampyres or the Rift Isles."
"That is exactly as they wish," Sir Brandimere answered. "The Rift Isles are small set of islands about the same size as the Feloine's Mist Isles, but located a bit south and east in the great sea. Many a sailor has mistaken the Rift Isle’s craggy rocks for those of its northern neighbor, which is just what the Vampyres want."
"Why?" said Ander.
"Master Tosscobble?" the knight said with a slight smirk.
“They’re cannibals!” Pack peeped.
"What kind of evil…" Theo rumbled, “What are they, savages?”
"They are as civilized as you or I, Brother," said the knight. "However, their ruling class believes that they are descendants of the first vampire, Count Veronous the Vicious. As such they have rather… unusual culinary habits."
"Barbaric!" the cleric thundered. Pack bobbed his head in agreement.
"Why has no one put a stop to this?" asked Ander. The woodsman’s voice was even, but Pack could see his face had grown pale a drawn, as if he were ready to gag.
"Oh, there have been attempts. Yet assaulting an island is not as easy as it seems, more so when the fighting men arrive on the battlefield with a deathly fear of the enemy. Master Tosscobble, do you know the story of Hektor’s Folly?”
“But, that’s an old wives’…” Pack’s voice faltered. “That’s true too, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so, my talented little friend,” said the knight. His voice was not unkind. “Would you like to…” Pack shook his head. “Very well. Many years ago, in what is now Pirate’s Cove, there was a great sea captain named Hektor. Some claimed he was the greatest pirate to ever live, while some thought him a sort of hero. But all agreed that his skill at sea was nothing short of magical.”
Pack nodded. Sir Brandimere was a gifted storyteller, even if he had skipped all of the pirate king’s earlier adventures.
“But, right about that time, the Prince of Ion, the Emperor’s first born son, had taken sail in a ship bound for the Mist Isles. That ship never made it to harbor: its crew was taken by vampyres, and the Prince was the guest of honor at a grand dinner that he did not survive. When news of the tragedy reached the Emperor’s ears, he swore revenge and built a great fleet of one hundred ships. All he then needed was someone to captain the fleet.”
“So he called on this Hektor?” asked Ander.
“He did. And Hektor, in a fit of pride, boasted that he would pluck the hair from the head of the vampyre’s king and weave a great sash of it for the Emperor.” The knight paused for a minute, as if enjoying the tale.
“Yet out of the thousand men that set sail that day, only a handful lived to tell the tale. The Feloines picked the survivors out of the sea, clinging to bits of wood and raving about the mist, and fog, and evil in the shadows. And when the Feloines found the remains of the fleet, they found the ships unharmed, yet completely empty, save for a long sash of human hair with Hektor’s bloodless head dangling from it.”
The story hung in the air for a moment, and Pack felt the chill in his back again. Then Worm broke the silence with a roar. "Bah!" he bellowed. "Men don't jusht dishappear!"
"I didn’t think so either, Worm,” said Pack. “Until today.”
"I think we are off the topic," Ander said.
Sir Brandimere smiled, “You are, of course, correct. Allow me to continue.” The knight raised his hand again and gave a little wave, and servants appeared to refill empty cups. Pack watched as both Ander and Theo shooed the attendant away and he followed suit, but Worm grabbed another full bottle, not even bothering to fill his cup before drinking straight from the jug’s mouth. “Now to be fair, I am not entirely sure that Hektor’s tale is completely true, but whatever its veracity it was – is – effective. Fear can be a powerful shield.”
The knight took a sip from his goblet. “As can discretion. In all the histories that I know, there has never been a concerted Vampyre attack on the mainland. Truthfully, I believe their safety, as much as it is bolstered by myth, is more due to the fact that they seldom stray from their island kingdom.”
“Except?” Theo rumbled.
“Very perceptive, Brother! Except to wage war on the Mist Isles. According to my research, Feloine and Vampyre have waged a private war for as long as histories have been recorded, neither able to gain advantage over the other."
“Only because King Jerlemaine refuses to risk the lives of his people and mount the expedition to wipe their evil from Gea’s surface!” Ashrem hissed. Pack could almost feel the anger in his voice, though the scout’s tone was even more measured than it usually was. “The Vampyres are no threat to the mainland because we choose to stand guard!”
“Perhaps,” said the knight as he leaned back into his seat. “But is it possible there is something more to it? A secret, perhaps? The Feloines have had a Jerlemaine, the Lion of the Isles, on the throne for a thousand years. When one passes, another is born. But what if this was not the case? What if there were simply a single King…”
Sir Brandimere stopped as a deep throated growl filled the room. Pack glanced at the source of the sound to see Ashrem’s narrowed eyes. The scout looked ready to leap over the table.
“Oh well,” said the knight, “It is just a theory, and not a very well thought out one at that. But again I digress.” Sir Brandimere leaned back toward the table and spread his fingers across the smooth wood. “Approximately two summers after the end of the demon wars, the Vampyres attacked the Feloines. Word went out immediately that King Jerlemaine called his people home.”
"What about Tor? Surely they would send reinforcements." asked Theo.
"Sadly, help was neither requested nor sent. Though many were willing to go, despite the fact that the rebuilding had not yet been finished."
"So what happened?" squeaked Pack, in the same voice he used on his birthday right before opening his presents.
"They left. Warriors, merchants, politicians; all of them. Even the women and children."
"And then?" Pack almost slipped off his seat as he edged forward, gripping the table edge as if he had Ashrem's claws.
Sir Brandimere smiled slightly as he glanced at the halfling. "Merchant sailors headed for the Mist Isles say that a sudden fog rose up, covering the coastline and that the sounds of battle could be heard for leagues. Then through the fog they saw a flash of blinding light and heard a crack of thunder so loud it cracked a mast. The water swirled and crashed as if there were a storm. And then… nothing.”
"Nothing?"
"Nothing. It is as if both the Rift and Mist Isles vanished and never were."
The awkward silence settled back over the dinning room like a too heavy quilt. Pack looked at his companions. Theo had settled back into his seat, his eyes closed and a hand to his forehead. Ander stared at his goblet, slowly spinning it back and forth between his fingers. Worm seemed content to drink the dregs of yet another bottle of wine. Finally, Pack braved a glance at Ashrem. The scout’s face was a mask, but his stone dead eyes told Pack that his friend needed a break from bad news.
“Um...” Pack started, wondering how best to change the subject. “Sir Brandimere? We came here tonight to ask about some of the items you acquired in Highmaster Schok’s estate. We are the actual owners of some of those items. We had them on loan to Master Schok while he did some research work for us. There was, let’s see, a few scrolls and books, one glove – I know its strange to only have one glove but you should hear the story about how we got it! It was after the attack in the village square…”
“Master Tosscobble, I am already aware of the items of which you speak. A list was given when this meeting was requested, and I have already perused it.” The knight swished his near empty goblet for a moment, letting his gaze linger over Ashrem. Then he set down the cup and stood.
“I fear I have failed as a host this evening,” he said, “and that my earlier news has dampened the spirit of this room. Let us retire to the library so that we may discuss these objects and conclude our business.” He clapped twice, and an old yet still stout servant appeared. Without shifting his eyes from Ashrem, he commanded the aging attendant, “Show our guests back to the eastern library, Victor. And bring up a bottle of Ironwrought from the racks.”
“Which cask, sir?”
“The Mithral.” The servant raised an eyebrow at the words and gave a disapproving glance at the companions. Sir Brandimere must have noticed the stillness of his man, for he continued. “I have offered our guests news of an unsettling sort, and I think it fitting that the best of my spirits should raise theirs.” Pack caught the glimpse of a twinkle in the knight’s eye. “Please follow Victor. I will retrieve the items in question and meet you in the room presently.” With that, he exited the room.
* * *
Pack soon found himself back in the library, sitting heavily on the couch he had bounced on only a few hours earlier. His friends had likewise taken up their previous positions. Except for their mood, and the winded look on Theo’s and Ander’s faces from carrying Worm from the dining hall to the library, Pack couldn’t help but think it was if they had never left.
Victor had left them as soon as they arrived, returning with a small cask under his arm after what seemed to Pack like a silent eternity. Then the old servant had offered them each a tiny crystal cup filled with the casks black liqueur. When Pack sniffed it, he thought the inside of his nose had caught fire – the drink smelled of flame and stone and things precious.
“I hadn’t thought to ever taste this again,” said Ander quietly.
“What is it?” asked Pack.
“Ironwrought,” he answered. “The finest drink ever made in Daltower. Maybe the best by dwarves period. They make it in kegs made of precious metals deep in the heat of their forges. No one knows what they make it from, but its fit for the Emperor’s table. Just not in large amounts. It’s meant to be sipped, not…”
“It’sh good!” Worm said, upending the cask directly into his mouth.
“… meant to be guzzled.” The woodsman gave Pack a conspiratorial smile, “It’s potent too. Your brother will probably not be very happy in the morning.”
Pack gave a grin and started to respond only to be interrupted by Sir Brandimere striding through the doors without pomp, a single servant laden with a covered platter in tow. “I see you are enjoying the Ironwrought. Good. Now to business.” The knight spoke without the warmth he had exhibited during dinner. Something’s not right.
“I will make this as straightforward and short as I can,” he started. “After purchasing Highmaster Schok’s estate, I took the time to read some of his works. While much of his magical text was beyond me, his personal journals were not. As such, I had a very good idea of who, and what, you were before you set foot in my house.”
Pack saw Ander shift in his seat. The bard felt the ranger’s discomfort.
“However, I find myself in a quandary. The Highmaster’s murder was one of many, but it was also the first. And as the first, suspicion naturally fell on Highmaster Schok’s apprentice. It has been known to happen, you know; apprentices have been seeking advancement through the death of their masters since the master-student relationship began.”
Pack heard Ander grumble almost inaudibly at the suggestion. Sir Brandimere must have heard it too, because he turned toward the warrior and continued. “But in the end, the young woman was cleared of the charges against her, as more of the council fell to this murderer. Which brings us to my quandary.” The knight paused as he regarded the woodsman. “Why should I believe you are who you claim to be?”
“You’ll just have to, Sir,” said Ander. The way he said it made the title sound like an insult.
“So I should just believe that this is all a coincidence? That the men who arrive at my doorstep asking not for the goods of the master, but those of the apprentice, have no ulterior motive? Men who do not fit the description of those they claim to be? One of which bears striking similarity to the description of the real murderer, still at large.”
“That’s…”
“Ridiculous? Come now, you did not expect that a few days growth would hide your identity, did you?”
“I did not kill those mages!”
“So you say, but would you be willing to prove it?”
“Yes!” Pack watched helplessly as Ander shot out of his chair to face the knight. Please don’t do anything foolish ohpleaseohpleaseohplease!
Instead of meeting his challenger head on, the knight smiled. “I thought as much. That is why I have already arranged for a simple test.”
Sir Brandimere gestured upward toward the ceiling and Pack followed the movement. When his gaze reached the landings, he nearly fell over. On each landing stood a dozen soldiers in tight formation, each holding a crossbow trained on the companions. “Please, my friends,” said the knight, “do not be alarmed. These men are simply here for all of our protection. To keep the peace, as it were.”
“This is your test?” thundered Theo.
“Not at all,” replied the knight with a clap of his hands. Pack saw one of the crossbowmen fall back to be replaced by a man in simple white robes holding a long staff topped with a ball of smoky blue crystal. “This is.”
“A man wif a scht… hic… schtick?” slurred Worm.
“Not entirely,” chuckled Sir Brandimere. “The man you see on the landing is one of the laypriests of one of the local temples in Tor: a temple to which I am quite generous. And so, when the occasion arises, they are somewhat amenable to my requests for assistance. In this case, I have asked for a method to suss out truths.”
“You plan on invoking a zone?” said Theo. Pack thought he heard a note of distaste in the priest’s voice.
“Nothing quite so grand, I assure you. Instead, well perhaps I should demonstrate.” The knight craned his neck and called up to the laypriest, “You may begin now!” In answer, the man held the staff over the room, suspending its tip directly over the companions. Then Sir Brandimere called out in an authoritative voice.
“I am a very poor man!”
Pack watched as the globe of crystal darkened, turning purple and then red. “It’s a crystal ball!” the bard shouted involuntarily.
“Not quite,” said the knight, “though close enough for our purposes. Now on to the test. If you pass this test, I will be satisfied with your identities and your innocence of these crimes, and you will have what you came for. If not, then you will either return empty handed to whence you came, or be subject to a worse fate.”
“Explain,” commanded Ander.
“My dear boy, you will simply answer two questions. Who are you, and are you a murderer?”
“That’s it?” said Pack. “Well that’s easy! I’m Roscoe P Tosscobble, but my friends call me Pack, and I am definitely not a murderer.”
“You see?” said Sir Brandimere, pointing to the globe shining blue. “Was that so difficult? Who will be next?”
“Th’ only name that mattersh to me ish Wyrm!” said Worm. “And th’ firsht time I killed someone in Tor was jusht yeshterday.” Pack glanced up at the globe, aside from a slight flicker when Worm started speaking it glowed blue. That doesn’t make sense, he thought. Worm’s just his nickname…
Pack continued staring at the globe as Theo thundered, “I am Theobald Hillshire, and I am no murderer.” The old priest’s voice seemed to shake the walls. Pack thought he saw the globe glow even more clearly than before.
Ashrem’s voice cut cleanly through the air, “Among men I am called Ashrem, and now that my people are gone that is all I am. And while I have been party to many deaths, I am not the murderer you seek.”
This answer seemed to perturb Sir Brandimere, but the knight turned to Ander. “That leaves you, my untrusting friend.”
Ander paused for a moment. “I am Ander Tobin, and…” Pack gasped as the ball turned crimson. He jerked his head towards the woodsman to see a tear run down his olive cheek.
“I am Andru Pindanon, and I am a murderer.”
Pack slowly looked up toward the globe, only to be nearly blinded by its azure glow.
That's because you are a liar. Liar.
Only on alternate Thursdays and bank holidays. But I digress. Today's whirlwind of matches just about proved too much for D'Shai and I to judge.
Luckily, tomorrow should be much easier on the
But we'll get to that in a minute. First, let's talk about how the dust settled on today's standings! We started things off with a slobberknocker of a match between OaxacanWarrior and Jon Potter.
Slobberknocker is right. I felt like I was at a Gallagher show.
Those two lucha libre fanatics had been chomping at the bit for that moment since they've been born, and when that moment came... well let's just say that I have no idea what some of those holds were called.
I don't want to know what they're called.
Anyway in the end, Jon Potter finally understood the difficulties of
I did notice that at the end, the 'Warrior had a sudden burst of energy. if that was the last of Rel's extra half an entry, then the luchadore might have trouble in the finals.
You said it, D'Shai. In other matches, Tamlyn forfeited to Dungannon.
Wasn't that nice? I mean, sure, the judges might have been a bit late in granting Tamlyn such a point of honor, but in the end, I think it all worked out for the best.
I'm not so sure it was completely altruistic, though. Tamlyn was in the middle of tying himself up. But we appreciate the gesture anyway, Tamlyn. That's why we've saved a special "huzzah!" for you. We'll keep it right next to D'Shai's 8-track collection until you can pick it up.
But back to the action! Down in Fresno, Spider_Jerusalem was a very, very busy fellow, winning back to back against first Dungannon and then Rel.
Too bad for Rel that his dirty, underhanded, yet almost always effective tactics failed this time around. When Spider revealed that his cup imparts DR 5/-, I think I was almost as surprised as Rel.
But not nearly as surprised as when Rel found out exactly what a bowel disruptor does.
That also explains why Dungannon immediately forfeited the next match.
But the fun didn't stop there. Since there really isn't anything to do in Fresno, we decided to have another round of matchups, and here too Spider was da man.
That he was, D'Shai. SJ started off with a match against Dr. Bruce Banner. Now you know that the Spider was just itching to give back some of what he got back in the opening rounds, but luckily for the Spider, he had watched enough early 80's television to know that he wouldn't like the good doctor when he was angry.
So in a surprise move, he simply talked with the doctor a while, packed him a backpack full of peanut butter sandwiches, and cued some theme music. In the time it takes to roll the credits, Banner had been counted out of the ring, and Spider moved on.
That left only the much awaited "Curds and Whey" bout between Dawn and Spider_Jerusalem.
This one started in textbook fashion, with the Spider setting down next to Dawn and saying "Hey, baby."
It ended that way too, with Spider Jerusalem winning the match in yet another count out. And that wraps up another day of the tournament.
Good. Now we can get to the swimsuit competition.
You heard the man. Tomorrow's rounds will be determined the same way the Ms. America pageant is.
By sleeping with the judges?
And with that, we leave you with both an update (and a big one!) and the Tip of the Day:
TotD: This contest is not a way to deflect attention away from late posting story hour authors.
And they lived happily ever after...
*****
Pack fidgeted in his chair, picking at his food and trying to ignore the awkward silence. The bard stared at his plate for a while, as the pall in the air grew heavier with each quiet breath. This hush is worse than after that fight when Worm hid my backpack for two whole days! The halfling glanced at his friend: the feloine’s only response to the horrible news had been to gouge the antique table. Finally, the bard broke the stillness.
"Would somebody please pass the peas?"
Pack peeked at the rest of the table, feeling more than seeing Ander’s glare. Well someone’s got to do it! "Sir Brandimere?” he started. “Icemist is sort of small, see? And our only news comes from the criers who come to Festival and they only talk about the courts and such unless you want gossip about Icemist and that comes from Gross Gretta, she's Mr. Trappers wife and she got the nickname because of this thing she does when she eats soup…”
The knight interrupted Pack mid-ramble. "I take it, Master Tosscobble, that you would like more details about the incident."
"Yes!" Ashrem hissed before Pack had a chance to respond. The feloine still stared straight down at the table, but Pack noticed that his claws were no longer extended. I hope Sir Brandimere can find some southern oak to get this Indressieu table fixed properly. At least it’s Ashrem and not Worm doing the damage.
The knight looked thoughtfully at the feloine for a moment. "Let me first refill your goblets. I have always found good wine to be a poultice for ill news." Sir Brandimere gestured, and several servants entered and began offering various wines to the ensemble. Pack allowed his own small glass to be filled, but frowned when his brother yanked the whole bottle from the attendant’s hands, wobbling slightly in his chair as he poured. After his own goblet had been refilled, the knight continued.
"I suppose I should start with the Demon Wars, as our esteemed Brother is the only one of you that looks old enough to truly remember those evil days. As you have no doubt been told, the war was very costly for to all the kingdoms involved. The demons’ army was simple massive, and it was only by combining forces that Tor, Ion, Valencia, Arboria, and the Free Cities still stand; however, even the collected might of the heartlands would have fallen to the otherworldly host if it had not been for the Feloines.”
“Why?” asked Pack.
“A good question, Master Tosscobble,” said Sir Brandimere. The knight seemed to be warming to the story as he continued, as if it had been rehearsed. “Make no mistake, the Feloines are few in number, but when they fight they fight to win. So, when they committed to the war they held nothing back. I was there when we first saw the ships, their decks full of soldiers, and it would not surprise me to learn that they had sent every able body in the whole of the Mist Isles.” The knight gave an appraising look at Ashrem, but the scout did not meet his gaze. What is he hoping to see, I wonder?
“The Feloine army was enough to break the enemy’s lines. Rumors ran on the battlefield that while the demons laughed at the forces of men, the fled in the face of the armies of the Mist Isles. And after the last great battle, the Feloines took upon themselves the task of rooting out the remnants of the demons’ splintered army. They really were the heroes in those last days, which made it all the more sad when the Vampyres attacked from the Rift Isles.”
"Vampyres?" Pack gasped. The bard felt a chill shoot up his spine at the mention of the name. He had heard myths of the creatures of the Rift Isles, a place where even the bravest feared to tread. “You mean they’re real?”
"Vampires?" Worm sloshed "Why is there an island of vampires?"
"Not vampires, Vampyres!" Ashrem growled. Pack again heard the scrape of claws on wood.
"I have to side with Worm on this," Ander said quietly. "I've never even heard of Vampyres or the Rift Isles."
"That is exactly as they wish," Sir Brandimere answered. "The Rift Isles are small set of islands about the same size as the Feloine's Mist Isles, but located a bit south and east in the great sea. Many a sailor has mistaken the Rift Isle’s craggy rocks for those of its northern neighbor, which is just what the Vampyres want."
"Why?" said Ander.
"Master Tosscobble?" the knight said with a slight smirk.
“They’re cannibals!” Pack peeped.
"What kind of evil…" Theo rumbled, “What are they, savages?”
"They are as civilized as you or I, Brother," said the knight. "However, their ruling class believes that they are descendants of the first vampire, Count Veronous the Vicious. As such they have rather… unusual culinary habits."
"Barbaric!" the cleric thundered. Pack bobbed his head in agreement.
"Why has no one put a stop to this?" asked Ander. The woodsman’s voice was even, but Pack could see his face had grown pale a drawn, as if he were ready to gag.
"Oh, there have been attempts. Yet assaulting an island is not as easy as it seems, more so when the fighting men arrive on the battlefield with a deathly fear of the enemy. Master Tosscobble, do you know the story of Hektor’s Folly?”
“But, that’s an old wives’…” Pack’s voice faltered. “That’s true too, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so, my talented little friend,” said the knight. His voice was not unkind. “Would you like to…” Pack shook his head. “Very well. Many years ago, in what is now Pirate’s Cove, there was a great sea captain named Hektor. Some claimed he was the greatest pirate to ever live, while some thought him a sort of hero. But all agreed that his skill at sea was nothing short of magical.”
Pack nodded. Sir Brandimere was a gifted storyteller, even if he had skipped all of the pirate king’s earlier adventures.
“But, right about that time, the Prince of Ion, the Emperor’s first born son, had taken sail in a ship bound for the Mist Isles. That ship never made it to harbor: its crew was taken by vampyres, and the Prince was the guest of honor at a grand dinner that he did not survive. When news of the tragedy reached the Emperor’s ears, he swore revenge and built a great fleet of one hundred ships. All he then needed was someone to captain the fleet.”
“So he called on this Hektor?” asked Ander.
“He did. And Hektor, in a fit of pride, boasted that he would pluck the hair from the head of the vampyre’s king and weave a great sash of it for the Emperor.” The knight paused for a minute, as if enjoying the tale.
“Yet out of the thousand men that set sail that day, only a handful lived to tell the tale. The Feloines picked the survivors out of the sea, clinging to bits of wood and raving about the mist, and fog, and evil in the shadows. And when the Feloines found the remains of the fleet, they found the ships unharmed, yet completely empty, save for a long sash of human hair with Hektor’s bloodless head dangling from it.”
The story hung in the air for a moment, and Pack felt the chill in his back again. Then Worm broke the silence with a roar. "Bah!" he bellowed. "Men don't jusht dishappear!"
"I didn’t think so either, Worm,” said Pack. “Until today.”
"I think we are off the topic," Ander said.
Sir Brandimere smiled, “You are, of course, correct. Allow me to continue.” The knight raised his hand again and gave a little wave, and servants appeared to refill empty cups. Pack watched as both Ander and Theo shooed the attendant away and he followed suit, but Worm grabbed another full bottle, not even bothering to fill his cup before drinking straight from the jug’s mouth. “Now to be fair, I am not entirely sure that Hektor’s tale is completely true, but whatever its veracity it was – is – effective. Fear can be a powerful shield.”
The knight took a sip from his goblet. “As can discretion. In all the histories that I know, there has never been a concerted Vampyre attack on the mainland. Truthfully, I believe their safety, as much as it is bolstered by myth, is more due to the fact that they seldom stray from their island kingdom.”
“Except?” Theo rumbled.
“Very perceptive, Brother! Except to wage war on the Mist Isles. According to my research, Feloine and Vampyre have waged a private war for as long as histories have been recorded, neither able to gain advantage over the other."
“Only because King Jerlemaine refuses to risk the lives of his people and mount the expedition to wipe their evil from Gea’s surface!” Ashrem hissed. Pack could almost feel the anger in his voice, though the scout’s tone was even more measured than it usually was. “The Vampyres are no threat to the mainland because we choose to stand guard!”
“Perhaps,” said the knight as he leaned back into his seat. “But is it possible there is something more to it? A secret, perhaps? The Feloines have had a Jerlemaine, the Lion of the Isles, on the throne for a thousand years. When one passes, another is born. But what if this was not the case? What if there were simply a single King…”
Sir Brandimere stopped as a deep throated growl filled the room. Pack glanced at the source of the sound to see Ashrem’s narrowed eyes. The scout looked ready to leap over the table.
“Oh well,” said the knight, “It is just a theory, and not a very well thought out one at that. But again I digress.” Sir Brandimere leaned back toward the table and spread his fingers across the smooth wood. “Approximately two summers after the end of the demon wars, the Vampyres attacked the Feloines. Word went out immediately that King Jerlemaine called his people home.”
"What about Tor? Surely they would send reinforcements." asked Theo.
"Sadly, help was neither requested nor sent. Though many were willing to go, despite the fact that the rebuilding had not yet been finished."
"So what happened?" squeaked Pack, in the same voice he used on his birthday right before opening his presents.
"They left. Warriors, merchants, politicians; all of them. Even the women and children."
"And then?" Pack almost slipped off his seat as he edged forward, gripping the table edge as if he had Ashrem's claws.
Sir Brandimere smiled slightly as he glanced at the halfling. "Merchant sailors headed for the Mist Isles say that a sudden fog rose up, covering the coastline and that the sounds of battle could be heard for leagues. Then through the fog they saw a flash of blinding light and heard a crack of thunder so loud it cracked a mast. The water swirled and crashed as if there were a storm. And then… nothing.”
"Nothing?"
"Nothing. It is as if both the Rift and Mist Isles vanished and never were."
The awkward silence settled back over the dinning room like a too heavy quilt. Pack looked at his companions. Theo had settled back into his seat, his eyes closed and a hand to his forehead. Ander stared at his goblet, slowly spinning it back and forth between his fingers. Worm seemed content to drink the dregs of yet another bottle of wine. Finally, Pack braved a glance at Ashrem. The scout’s face was a mask, but his stone dead eyes told Pack that his friend needed a break from bad news.
“Um...” Pack started, wondering how best to change the subject. “Sir Brandimere? We came here tonight to ask about some of the items you acquired in Highmaster Schok’s estate. We are the actual owners of some of those items. We had them on loan to Master Schok while he did some research work for us. There was, let’s see, a few scrolls and books, one glove – I know its strange to only have one glove but you should hear the story about how we got it! It was after the attack in the village square…”
“Master Tosscobble, I am already aware of the items of which you speak. A list was given when this meeting was requested, and I have already perused it.” The knight swished his near empty goblet for a moment, letting his gaze linger over Ashrem. Then he set down the cup and stood.
“I fear I have failed as a host this evening,” he said, “and that my earlier news has dampened the spirit of this room. Let us retire to the library so that we may discuss these objects and conclude our business.” He clapped twice, and an old yet still stout servant appeared. Without shifting his eyes from Ashrem, he commanded the aging attendant, “Show our guests back to the eastern library, Victor. And bring up a bottle of Ironwrought from the racks.”
“Which cask, sir?”
“The Mithral.” The servant raised an eyebrow at the words and gave a disapproving glance at the companions. Sir Brandimere must have noticed the stillness of his man, for he continued. “I have offered our guests news of an unsettling sort, and I think it fitting that the best of my spirits should raise theirs.” Pack caught the glimpse of a twinkle in the knight’s eye. “Please follow Victor. I will retrieve the items in question and meet you in the room presently.” With that, he exited the room.
* * *
Pack soon found himself back in the library, sitting heavily on the couch he had bounced on only a few hours earlier. His friends had likewise taken up their previous positions. Except for their mood, and the winded look on Theo’s and Ander’s faces from carrying Worm from the dining hall to the library, Pack couldn’t help but think it was if they had never left.
Victor had left them as soon as they arrived, returning with a small cask under his arm after what seemed to Pack like a silent eternity. Then the old servant had offered them each a tiny crystal cup filled with the casks black liqueur. When Pack sniffed it, he thought the inside of his nose had caught fire – the drink smelled of flame and stone and things precious.
“I hadn’t thought to ever taste this again,” said Ander quietly.
“What is it?” asked Pack.
“Ironwrought,” he answered. “The finest drink ever made in Daltower. Maybe the best by dwarves period. They make it in kegs made of precious metals deep in the heat of their forges. No one knows what they make it from, but its fit for the Emperor’s table. Just not in large amounts. It’s meant to be sipped, not…”
“It’sh good!” Worm said, upending the cask directly into his mouth.
“… meant to be guzzled.” The woodsman gave Pack a conspiratorial smile, “It’s potent too. Your brother will probably not be very happy in the morning.”
Pack gave a grin and started to respond only to be interrupted by Sir Brandimere striding through the doors without pomp, a single servant laden with a covered platter in tow. “I see you are enjoying the Ironwrought. Good. Now to business.” The knight spoke without the warmth he had exhibited during dinner. Something’s not right.
“I will make this as straightforward and short as I can,” he started. “After purchasing Highmaster Schok’s estate, I took the time to read some of his works. While much of his magical text was beyond me, his personal journals were not. As such, I had a very good idea of who, and what, you were before you set foot in my house.”
Pack saw Ander shift in his seat. The bard felt the ranger’s discomfort.
“However, I find myself in a quandary. The Highmaster’s murder was one of many, but it was also the first. And as the first, suspicion naturally fell on Highmaster Schok’s apprentice. It has been known to happen, you know; apprentices have been seeking advancement through the death of their masters since the master-student relationship began.”
Pack heard Ander grumble almost inaudibly at the suggestion. Sir Brandimere must have heard it too, because he turned toward the warrior and continued. “But in the end, the young woman was cleared of the charges against her, as more of the council fell to this murderer. Which brings us to my quandary.” The knight paused as he regarded the woodsman. “Why should I believe you are who you claim to be?”
“You’ll just have to, Sir,” said Ander. The way he said it made the title sound like an insult.
“So I should just believe that this is all a coincidence? That the men who arrive at my doorstep asking not for the goods of the master, but those of the apprentice, have no ulterior motive? Men who do not fit the description of those they claim to be? One of which bears striking similarity to the description of the real murderer, still at large.”
“That’s…”
“Ridiculous? Come now, you did not expect that a few days growth would hide your identity, did you?”
“I did not kill those mages!”
“So you say, but would you be willing to prove it?”
“Yes!” Pack watched helplessly as Ander shot out of his chair to face the knight. Please don’t do anything foolish ohpleaseohpleaseohplease!
Instead of meeting his challenger head on, the knight smiled. “I thought as much. That is why I have already arranged for a simple test.”
Sir Brandimere gestured upward toward the ceiling and Pack followed the movement. When his gaze reached the landings, he nearly fell over. On each landing stood a dozen soldiers in tight formation, each holding a crossbow trained on the companions. “Please, my friends,” said the knight, “do not be alarmed. These men are simply here for all of our protection. To keep the peace, as it were.”
“This is your test?” thundered Theo.
“Not at all,” replied the knight with a clap of his hands. Pack saw one of the crossbowmen fall back to be replaced by a man in simple white robes holding a long staff topped with a ball of smoky blue crystal. “This is.”
“A man wif a scht… hic… schtick?” slurred Worm.
“Not entirely,” chuckled Sir Brandimere. “The man you see on the landing is one of the laypriests of one of the local temples in Tor: a temple to which I am quite generous. And so, when the occasion arises, they are somewhat amenable to my requests for assistance. In this case, I have asked for a method to suss out truths.”
“You plan on invoking a zone?” said Theo. Pack thought he heard a note of distaste in the priest’s voice.
“Nothing quite so grand, I assure you. Instead, well perhaps I should demonstrate.” The knight craned his neck and called up to the laypriest, “You may begin now!” In answer, the man held the staff over the room, suspending its tip directly over the companions. Then Sir Brandimere called out in an authoritative voice.
“I am a very poor man!”
Pack watched as the globe of crystal darkened, turning purple and then red. “It’s a crystal ball!” the bard shouted involuntarily.
“Not quite,” said the knight, “though close enough for our purposes. Now on to the test. If you pass this test, I will be satisfied with your identities and your innocence of these crimes, and you will have what you came for. If not, then you will either return empty handed to whence you came, or be subject to a worse fate.”
“Explain,” commanded Ander.
“My dear boy, you will simply answer two questions. Who are you, and are you a murderer?”
“That’s it?” said Pack. “Well that’s easy! I’m Roscoe P Tosscobble, but my friends call me Pack, and I am definitely not a murderer.”
“You see?” said Sir Brandimere, pointing to the globe shining blue. “Was that so difficult? Who will be next?”
“Th’ only name that mattersh to me ish Wyrm!” said Worm. “And th’ firsht time I killed someone in Tor was jusht yeshterday.” Pack glanced up at the globe, aside from a slight flicker when Worm started speaking it glowed blue. That doesn’t make sense, he thought. Worm’s just his nickname…
Pack continued staring at the globe as Theo thundered, “I am Theobald Hillshire, and I am no murderer.” The old priest’s voice seemed to shake the walls. Pack thought he saw the globe glow even more clearly than before.
Ashrem’s voice cut cleanly through the air, “Among men I am called Ashrem, and now that my people are gone that is all I am. And while I have been party to many deaths, I am not the murderer you seek.”
This answer seemed to perturb Sir Brandimere, but the knight turned to Ander. “That leaves you, my untrusting friend.”
Ander paused for a moment. “I am Ander Tobin, and…” Pack gasped as the ball turned crimson. He jerked his head towards the woodsman to see a tear run down his olive cheek.
“I am Andru Pindanon, and I am a murderer.”
Pack slowly looked up toward the globe, only to be nearly blinded by its azure glow.
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Rel
Liquid Awesome
First of all, stunningly great update. I'm becoming afraid that my superlatives for this story hour are growing dull and common from overuse but this last update was the shizznit, so to speak.
As to the contest, while losing is seldom fun (unless one is wrestled to defeat in the sweaty, virtual grasp of the lovely Dawn - a fate that I unfortunately avoided), I'm just as happy for someone else to win this one. As I stated from the outset, part of the prize was something that I already had. And to be perfectly honest, I was a bit afraid that I would win again. The first time was good fortune and the second coincidence. A third consecutive win of the contests in this Story Hour was undoubtedly going to start smelling suspiciously like a conspiricy.
So no that I'm out of it, I throw my support solidly behind Dawn and hope to read more about her exploits (in GRAPHIC detail) on her march to victory.
As to the contest, while losing is seldom fun (unless one is wrestled to defeat in the sweaty, virtual grasp of the lovely Dawn - a fate that I unfortunately avoided), I'm just as happy for someone else to win this one. As I stated from the outset, part of the prize was something that I already had. And to be perfectly honest, I was a bit afraid that I would win again. The first time was good fortune and the second coincidence. A third consecutive win of the contests in this Story Hour was undoubtedly going to start smelling suspiciously like a conspiricy.
So no that I'm out of it, I throw my support solidly behind Dawn and hope to read more about her exploits (in GRAPHIC detail) on her march to victory.
Rel
Liquid Awesome
dshai527 said:
Oh, crap you're right. Um well, GO DAWN anyway!
I'm still trying to figure out what happens if Spider wins both of his current matches and has to go up against himself.
Ah HA! So I've still got a shot at pulling off the hat trick, eh? I'll believe it when I see it.
Dawn
First Post
Yes! Swimsuit competition! Now I should be able to take on Spider. Rematch!
<While in swimsuit form, Dawn has a hidden feat from the Nymphs - Endless Beauty. Actually, when my 7 year old encounted a nymph and she used Endless Beauty to stun his character, he called it "endless booty" for days. Guess that description works too.>
<While in swimsuit form, Dawn has a hidden feat from the Nymphs - Endless Beauty. Actually, when my 7 year old encounted a nymph and she used Endless Beauty to stun his character, he called it "endless booty" for days. Guess that description works too.>
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