The Rape of Morne [Final Update]

[Darklone]

Happy birthday!

 

[madriel]

Happy birthday!

 

[Sepulchrave II]

(Couldn't find a 'Bad Hangover' Smiley...)

 

[Suldulin]

happy birthday

 

[Ruined]

Okay, so it took me a while to get around to it. Horacio pointed me towards the first Despina's virtue thread, and I've been savoring them for about a week-and-a-half.

This is such solid writing. Every update was thoroughly enjoyable and crafted to precision, leaving me eager for the next one. I'm actually very sad to be up-to-date.

Thanks, Sepulchrave! And happy late B-Day.

 

[Warrior Poet]

Happy Birthday, Sepulchrave!

Thanks again for all your hard work, the hard work of your players, and your storytelling. This campaign ... so good ...

Warrior Poet

P.S.

I am a fan of Blake. I love his work, but I am certainly not a scholar.

Yep, me, too.

 

[grodog]

Hey, I missed the whole b-day thing. When was it Sep?

Happy Belated (?) Birthday As a birthday gift, I'd be happy to send you a pen and paper, and an inkjet cartridge, and some friends' names at Tor, and .... ;->

 

[Sepulchrave II]

Hey, I missed the whole b-day thing. When was it Sep?

It was Sunday - but don't worry, I'm having another party tonight I'm stringing this one out for as long as possible...

This update is the second half of the previous post - as I said, I wanted to do a 1 update = 1 session thing, but it's just too much. When taken with the last post, you'll probably realise just how much happened during that session - it was a very intense, 6-hour affair.

So, without further ado...



*****


By the time that Nwm and Eadric reached Gibilrazen – a mere two hours after leaving Hullu - events had already moved quickly.

They were not to the Paladin’s liking. Knights and soldiers were mustering both inside and outside of the gates.

Eadric remained airborne and vaporous above the Prince’s palace, whilst the Druid descended into the courtyards in the form of a crow in order to glean what information he could. When he returned, an hour later, he related his findings to the Paladin.

"News of your claim of the Temple leadership is already current amongst the aristocracy," Nwm explained. "There are several Wizards present – one is called Dauntun. He has been engaged by Tagur to act as a messenger between here and Morne. I suspect that he is acting in the same ‘auxiliary capacity’ as Mostin is. Apparently, he is a Diviner of high credentials."

"Where is Tagur?" Eadric asked.

"He is already en route to Morne," the Druid replied. "But even at his best speed, he can hardly come there in less than a week."

"I’m an idiot," Eadric groaned. "I should have suspected that the nobility had access to Divination magic – what’s good for the goose, and all that. Aristocrats – especially the more secular ones like Tagur – certainly aren’t going to balk at using Wizards in the same way that the Temple itself might. Every nobleman in Wyre is probably apprised of the situation by now."

"What next?" Nwm asked.

"We locate Tagur," Eadric replied. "When did he leave?"

"Yesterday morning," Nwm answered. "He shouldn’t be too hard to find."

So the duo sped eastwards again, although this time they stayed above the road, their eyes alert for signs of the Prince’s passage. Another hour passed, before they finally caught up with him. Only twenty knights rode with Tagur – all were lightly armed and riding coursers of great stamina in order to make the best time possible to Morne. The Prince’s device – a Golden Boar – floated in the wind above the troupe.

Eadric descended to the road ahead of them, rematerialized, and stood squarely in their path as they thundered towards him. He held up his hands in a gesture designed to make them arrest their gallop.

Tagur barked an order, and horses were spurred to greater speed. Swords sprang from scabbards, and lances were levelled: it was likely that at this distance that they hadn’t, in fact, recognized the Paladin. And they were taking no chances.

Oh, sh*t, Eadric thought. Still, he didn’t move. He made another gesture in the air with his hands, communicating with his ethereal guardian.

Abruptly, fifty yards ahead of him on the road, Zhuel manifested. The knights immediately became disordered: some veered away, some reigned in their horses, others - including Tagur – continued onwards.

The Archon sounded his trumpet. A single note of piercing clarity rang out.

Horses collapsed and men fell from their steeds – many struck with paralyzing awe. Tagur dropped to the ground, his bay courser overwhelmed by the sound. He landed unceremoniously in a puddle of mud.

Eadric walked forwards slowly, his armour bright in the afternoon sun. He spoke in a clear voice.

"I apologize for the demonstration, Prince Tagur. I hope neither you nor your men are too badly bruised. I need you to hear me out."

Nwm, perched nearby in the form of a hawk, shifted on his branch. Apparently, Ed wasn’t pulling any punches this time.

Tagur staggered to his feet. Over half of his men and around two thirds of the horses were immobilized, and of those six riders who remained in control of their faculties and their steeds, none were pressing forwards towards where Zhuel hovered in front of the Paladin. Several had expressions of either disbelief or religious terror upon their faces – it was difficult to determine which. Tagur himself, however, evinced no such awe.

"Deorham!" he thundered. "I am not impressed by your attempts to intimidate me. I don’t give a damn whether you invoke the entire celestial host in this matter. You are not marching into Morne without a fight."

Eadric remembered Tagur’s secular perspective, and wondered how best to proceed. The Prince was not an atheist – he simply did not recognize the overwhelming imperative of Oronthon’s will. It was not relevant to his political viewpoint.

"What can I say, your Highness? I wish to minimize or avoid unnecessary bloodshed in this matter. I would have you return to Gibilrazen and demobilize your troops."

"How dare you?" Tagur asked, walking forwards. "You have no authority over me in this. You will not dictate to me how I should best determine the defense of Wyre. There is more at stake here than an internecine squabble in the Temple. Listen well: I will not allow thousands of armed men to enter Morne unopposed. Your religious agenda does not move me. That is not negotiable."

"I don’t want to kill you, Prince Tagur," Eadric sighed. "And I don’t want to see innocents needlessly suffer."

"Then back off," the Prince retorted. "Return to Trempa. Do not prosecute this aggression. Sue for peace – perhaps the King will be lenient."

Eadric read Tagur’s expression, and although he did not say as much, the Prince was offering to intercede; to speak on Trempa’s behalf on the royal council. Eadric felt that he had not misread Tagur’s attitude towards him in their initial encounter: the Prince actually liked him. The Paladin almost wept.

"I cannot," Eadric groaned. "This is not my choice."

"It is absolutely your choice," Tagur said grimly. "Deorham, I am going to mount my horse again. Then I am going to Morne. I will advise the king to call a general muster unless you indicate to me now that you will not pursue this folly."

The Paladin inwardly heaved. Another concession from the Prince, because implicit in his statement, Tagur had just said: I trust your word, Deorham.

The hawk, who had been sitting on a nearby bough, and watching the exchange with interest, flew over and shifted into the shape of the Druid.

"I am Nwm, the Preceptor," he said.

"I know who you are," the Prince replied, walking away.

"Listen to me, Tagur. Change is coming. Upheaval. Maybe death and misery. But hope for something better. It is inevitable. You have to decide what your role in it will be, and why."

"I also know my role. I need no counsel from you."

"You knew your role. It is time to reappraise."

Prince Tagur returned to his mount, and attempted to revive her. Several of the other stricken knights and horses were now beginning to regain their senses. The bay staggered up, shaking, and Tagur calmed her. He retrieved his own banner, handed it to his herald, and climbed into the saddle.

"Unless you purpose to kill me now, or at least attempt to, I suggest you move aside."

Reluctantly, Eadric backed off of the greensward. As the riders made ready to move on, he spoke once again.

"Listen to me, Tagur. I am the Ahma. I am the Breath of Oronthon made manifest in the world. You must understand that, whatever logic dictates, you cannot withstand that. It is an irresistible force." His tone was imploring rather than assertive, but carried more conviction than any present had ever heard before.

Prince Tagur swallowed, turned, spurred his mount, and rode on towards Morne.

Dammit, Eadric thought.


**


Magathei had utterly beguiled Ortwin. Its intricate, carved marble reliefs. Its archways, buttresses, courtyards, winding streets, alleyways and markets. Its orchards of apricots, dates, pomegranates, oranges, figs and almonds. The music of water everywhere, carried to gardens, gathering in still pools, or welling up from fountains in the bedrock.

The inn chosen by Mostin, the Bard, and his prospective (lover? mate? fiancée? concubine? wife?) – well, whatever Iua was – was in the most fashionable and expensive district of the city. A city which was, by its very nature, fashionable and expensive.

Ortwin goggled at the price quoted to him by a languorous djinn smoking a hookah. It translated to around two hundred crowns per night. The suite included a bedchamber, a lounge, a steam bath, a private terraced garden, and two mephit servants, named Thispin and Goil. Mostin had elected to take more modest chambers.

The Bard inquired regarding the hookah which the djinn seemed to be enjoying immensely, wondering whether it contained a substance similar to kschiff, used in the country of Shûth.

The genie laughed, and muttered an unintelligible string of syllables in Auran.

"What did he say?" He asked Iua.

"He regrets that the sublime airy vapours of which he is partaking would prove far too volatile for your gross physical body, and would likely result in some kind of seizure, followed by death."

Ortwin grunted, and retired to his chambers, where he began working on an ode for the glorification of Ulao. According to Iua, the only thing larger than her father’s treasury was the size of his ego. Deciding that this might be the place to start, the Bard dispatched Thispin to procure a lyre of the finest quality.

"Cost is no consideration," he grandly (and stupidly) announced.

The Mephit clapped her hands gleefully, curtsied, and returned fifteen minutes later.

"On second thoughts," Ortwin said, "overt gaudiness is not entirely necessary. You may limit your transaction to five hundred gold pieces."

She sniffed, and disappeared again. Ortwin wasn’t sure whether he heard her mutter the word ‘cheapskate’ as she flew off. The Bard groaned. This was likely to be an expensive outing. He hoped that Mostin had some spare cash, and was feeling more generous than usual.

He shrugged, and grinned. It didn’t matter. He had no doubts that he would wow the locals. He was, after all, Ortwin.

*

"Er, how much have you got, Mostin?" Ortwin asked. "Just curious, that’s all."

"Why?" The Alienist asked suspiciously. "How much have you got?"

"Around two thousand left," he confessed.

Mostin laughed.

"What?" Ortwin asked.

"You have yet to find a suitable gift for Ulao. It needs to be something unique."

"I am composing an ode in his honour," Ortwin reminded him.

"I suspect that he would prefer something more tangible."

"Is it true that magic can be openly purchased here?" Ortwin asked.

"Certainly," Mostin replied. "Although it is still hard to find, and the prices are rather inflated."

"Will you accompany me to find such a gift? I would appreciate your discerning eye."

"You mean you don’t want to be ripped off?"

"Yes," Ortwin said. "Precisely."

"Two thousand isn’t going to buy you much," Mostin sniped.

"No," Ortwin agreed. "But this will." He held his pick up.

Mostin shook his head. After all of the time, effort and trouble – not to mention the compensation paid to Troap – that the Bard had gone through to acquire the pick, he seemed remarkably keen to part with it.

"I thought that it was a style thing," Mostin said, pointing at the weapon.

"Honestly, Mostin. Fashion does change, you know. How much gold did you say that you had with you again?"

"I didn’t," the Alienist replied.


**


Three days after the ceremony in which Tahl had sworn Eadric in as First Magnate, and he had assumed control of Trempa’s forces, Ryth’s guerilla fighters arrived upon the Blackwater Meadow, exhausted after a forced march from the northern marches of the Duchy.

Six hundred battle-hardened, dirty and confident Uediians suddenly jostled for space along with Trempa’s aristocracy, men-at-arms, Ardanese mercenaries and levies from across the fief. After nearly three hard months in the field, Ryth’s men – consisting primarily of archers – naturally considered themselves somewhat superior to those who had been drilling in the pastures which abutted the Nund.

Eadric knew that he must move. Maintaining the cohesion of the forces thus far had been an act of supreme diplomacy on the part of himself, Tahl and Soraine: the more remarkable, because the Paladin had engendered a sense of camaraderie amongst the disparate troops which he would have considered impossible only twelve weeks before. But if they stayed where they were now, then the impetus would be lost, and the sectarian tendencies amongst those present would begin to reassert themselves again. After he had finalized the plans for provisioning the army – something which was already beginning to heavily afflict the economy of Trempa itself – he called a meeting of his captains and lieutenants.

Soraine, Tahl, Ekkert, Streek, Ryth, Togull and Banding of Gamall were present. Breama, the Countess of Thokastrond in the far East of Trempa, who, despite her age, still lusted for battle. Olann, the de facto leader of the Ardanese contingent, whose preeminence amongst the mercenaries was maintained more by his brawling ability than by his strategic competence. Jorde, his bannerbearer. And Nehael, whose mysterious presence still unnerved many of those there. Details for the effective deployment of troops were thrashed out into the early hours of the morning.

The main thrust would take place at Moath Gairdan – the span of the bridge was shorter than at Hartha Keep, and its girth would allow three knights to ride abreast upon it. Eadric himself would lead the main assault at this point – although it was still unclear whether Brey would attempt to hold the bridge, or allow passage and defend his bulwarks upon the far side of the river as necessitated by assault. Trenches and dikes protected over a dozen Temple enclaves, spread over an area of fifty square miles.

A smaller group would attempt to win Aaki’s bridge – although the length of the crossing, combined with its narrowness and the causeways which led up to it, made this a much more difficult prospect. They would be supported by many of Ryth’s archers, who would use small rafts and air-bladders to cross the Nund and harry Temple outriders south of the bridge, before attempting to secure its western end. It was a tactic which the Thane had used on several occasions in the north, but near Hartha Keep the river was both wider and deeper, swollen by tributaries which flowed down from the hills – the largest and the closest of which was the Blackwater itself. Most of the Uediians were capable swimmers, but Ryth was worried about wet bows and ammunition. Oilskins were not entirely reliable.

Togull, Laird of Rauth Sutting and a man advanced in years, was astonished by Eadric’s proposed course of action at the northern bridge.

"You plan to simply cut your way across?" he asked.

"Yes," the Paladin replied.

"You will be at the forefront?"

"Yes. I will not lead from the rear."

"Are you really that confident? That good? This is no tourney."

"I am aware of that," Eadric responded.

"But if you fell one, then another will appear, and another. The crossing will become jammed with corpses of men and horses in no time. Passage will be close to impossible, in either direction."

"We will bring ropes, to drag them off the bridge into the river."

"But the momentum…"

"Will be sustained," Eadric finished for him.

"And in the event that you should perish?"

"Then Tahl will lead," Eadric said. "And if he dies, then Jorde will lead. And so on, until we make the crossing."

Togull scratched his head. "You admit the possibility of death – how can this be, if you are the Ahma?"

"I am merely a conduit," the Paladin replied simply. "If I die, then Oronthon will choose another."

"Do you not fear death? The man who doesn’t is a fool."

"Then I am a fool," Eadric smiled.

"A holy fool, but a fool nonetheless," Togull sighed.


**

"Are they real?" Ortwin asked.

Mostin nodded. "At least, the vendor is not thinking about lying, and the dweomer checks out as being of the right variety."

The duo stood at a market stall, where a djinn of immense proportions touted his wares, flanked by two jann of dour aspect. Ortwin had been surprised to note that the elemental trader possessed feet, but decided it might be impolite to mention the fact – he had always assumed that genies were somehow nebulous below the waist. He had even pondered on the mechanics of Iua’s conception, given that false premise.

Having found a suitable broker for his magical pick – an item which he found, in the event, he was loathe to part with – the Bard had sold the weapon for a good deal of money. Its thundering electrical dweomer was, after all, an attractive selling point given their location. He had immediately invested in silk pantaloons and shirts, several velvet waistcoats of varying colours, sashes, earrings and bracelets of gold, and a new scabbard of inlayed cherrywood for his scimitar. His purse bulged with precious gems. He looked, and felt, extremely wealthy.

In his hands, he held a pair of Golden Lions – figurines of power. He was tempted to purchase them – despite the prohibitive cost – until he considered his situation.

The djinn grunted unappreciatively as Ortwin handed back the figurines and shook his head.

"I need something unique," he muttered to Mostin as they walked away. "And buying something from someone here is not going to fit the bill – I mean, think about it: even if Ulao is ignorant of many of those who pass through his city – which he may or may not be – it’s likely that he is aware of things sold by members of his own people in his own city."

"Other extraplanar entities frequent Magathei," the Alienist reminded him. "It is merely a question of locating a vendor and a gift. It will take time, patience and diligent inquiry."


**


Eadric mounted Contundor. The dawn glow was muted by mists which clung to the ground in the wide Nund valley, muffling the sounds of armour and harness. The fog was a parting gift from Nwm, before he had flown northwards to displace the skirmishers who had crossed into northern Trempa from Thahan.

The core of those who would lead the assault with him were, to a man, religious fanatics who had no doubts about the divine nature of the Paladin’s mission. Their zeal was a tangible force, and no notion of failure was entertained by any of them. Horses – both celestial and mundane – champed restlessly, eager to be underway.

At six o’clock, Earic’s outriders returned with the news that both bridges were held: Brey, aware of the arrival of Ryth’s troops the previous day, had immediately taken precautions. Temple engineers had set emplacements of stakes across the western ends of both spans, and Ryth’s scouts had already shot dozens of men who had been undermining the pylons on the bridges, in the event that they would need to be collapsed. On the far bank, teams of draft horses stood ready to draw great chains which had been looped around the stone butresses and supports.

Eadric quickly redeployed his troops, and called a hundred of Trempa’s most able knights to himself. He assumed a position on the eastern bank, halfway between the two bridges, and waited for Tahl to arrive: the Inquisitor was presently closeted in intense prayer.

The Paladin smiled grimly. He had hated to do it – to dissemble to his own captains regarding his plans – but it had been entirely necessary. He had no doubt that Temple spies were present in his ranks, and neither the time nor the inclination to weed them out: the fear and mistrust engendered would have been too high a price to pay. And the possibility of magical eavesdropping had also made him cautious. It was easier this way.

Tahl presented himself, and drew a scroll – one of those confiscated from the Penitents at Deorham – from his belt. He incanted briefly, and gestured.

Rapidly, a broad swathe of water began to drain away into the bedrock. A section of the river forty yards wide, stretching from bank to bank, vanished.

Trumpets brayed, and Eadric led the charge across the dry bed of the Nund. In the van were Tahl, and Jorde with the standard, renegade Templars, Paladins and Penitents. They screamed, and the cry was taken up by the host which rode hard on their tails.

Ahma!

 

[jzashaedra]

simply glorious. i get goosebumps just thinking about being there when you guys play.

 

[Broccli_Head]

so Sep...did Eadric's player catch you off guard or had you prepared for a water parting?

Did you have Tagur's response pre-concieved or were you reacting to the arguments that Eadric brought forward?

I guess I want a little bit of what goes on Behind the Screen since my players are now crossing over into events that can have dire consequences, I wanted to get a handle on how a DM deals with such situations. The above are just two examples....

thanks