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The Realms of Enlightenment: The Grey Companions
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<blockquote data-quote="Jon Potter" data-source="post: 1313247" data-attributes="member: 2323"><p><strong>[PLAIN][Realms #252b] Even More About Town[/PLAIN]</strong></p><p></p><p>Lord Arundel looked much the worse for wear. The man's face sagged. His eyes were ringed by the dark circles of sleeplessness, his cheeks and jowls bristling with a night's growth of beard as he descended from his chamber. His clothes, however, were impeccable, and his hair was held in place by a polished circlet of gold that was the symbol of his office. And he didn't let the heaviness in his heart deter him from his duties as lord.</p><p></p><p>His steward, a shrewd-eyed man who seemed wed to his ledger, outlined Lord Arundel's day while the older man picked at his breakfast. Ledare had witnessed such interaction many times during her stays at the manor house and she knew that matters of manorial law would be first on her great uncle's agenda. It had long been her habit as a child to sit in on the hallmote when her uncle managed disputes. It was assumed that she would continue to do so, and so she joined him as he dispensed justice.</p><p></p><p>Justice almost always involved paying amercement to the court which Lord Arundel would benevolently roll into the guilty party's yearly chevage rather than demand payment in minted coin.</p><p></p><p>When the hallmote was over, and the steward brought in the grangers and the haywards to give an accounting before his lordship, Ledare excused herself and went off to look over the book that they had recovered from the rat-headed giant's lair. The tome, grimly entitled "The Trials of Decay", was of simple construction: rough parchment pages stitched to a black leather binding. The symbol of Aphyx emblazoned in iron on the cover gave little doubt as to what subjects would be covered in the text.</p><p></p><p>The writing within was spidery and cramped, obviously penned by a zealot to Aphyx's cause. As such it read more like a religious text than an historical document and after spending a goodly amount of time reading it, Ledare had culled only a few tidbits from the rhetoric. She estimated that it would take her the better part of a week to sort through the book in its entirety.</p><p></p><p>What little she learned amounted to the following:</p><p></p><p><em>"Centuries ago, during the Age of Pestilence, the lands that now make up the great kingdom of Pellham were divided. The rulers of the land held their position not through law, but through strength of arms and war between the city-states was common. One of the strongest of these warlords was Greurd Wulfhun who ruled a territory known as Erlacor. Lord Wulfhun's army was the largest and best trained fighting force in all the lands and few would dare challenge his troops on the field of battle."</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>"It was during this age that Aphyx, goddess of decay, reached the pinnacle of her power on the face of Oerune. Famine and plagues that devastated the people as much as the weapons of war followed in the wake of the ever-present conflicts. Flor, goddess of health and fertility - and Aphyx's antithesis among the gods - had been severely weakened by a confrontation with Graath, god of chaos and murder, and Aphyx saw in this her opportunity to gain the upper hand over her eternal adversary. With dreams, visions, sendings and omens, Aphyx directed her worshippers to take up arms against the followers of Flor. The campaign of horror that ensued was gruesome to behold, and the followers of Flor were unable to hold back the tide of undead that Aphyx's Plaguebringers unleashed against them. Their patron goddess, in her weakened state was unable to grant them the divine support they needed, and so most perished at the hands of Aphyx's minions."</em></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>"Lord Sato, Patron of Enlightenment, King of the Gods, grant thy humble servant the power to set right that which was made crooked by the unclean touch of chaos!" Maerwynn said and laid her hand upon Feln's forehead.</p><p></p><p>For a moment. the half-orc felt only the cool touch of the woman's hand. Then there was a slow building of crystalline light within his mind's eye. It unfolded with steady and orderly precision filling more and more of his mind until light seemed to force out all thought. The cleric's hand grew chill with the cold power of absolute Law and, with a flash of white so dazzling that Feln reeled away from Maerwynn, the darkness fell away from Feln's eyes.</p><p></p><p>"I can see!" he cried out, in spite of himself.</p><p></p><p>"Good," said Vade. "Can we go now?" The little halfling felt discomforted by the stark symmetry of Sato's shrine. He squirmed in his seat and found his eyes drawn frequently up the mirrored ceiling where he could see himself staring down. To him, it was just plain creepy.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>"I believe that the common name for such an item is a Ring of Climbing," ap-Llewellyn announced, holding the leather circlet between the forefinger and thumb of his left hand. With his right he slipped the pearl spell focus back into a pouch at his hip. "Personally, I have little use for such an item. But I'll take the two spellbooks off your hands."</p><p></p><p>Ixin looked at the two volumes - one had been among the mysterious Kirnoth's belongings and the other was from the bug men cave - and shrugged. Her own magic came from the draconic blood that flowed through her veins so she had little use for book magic. Ur-Skrazargul's son, Drake Irthos, would burn spellbooks to release their magic, she knew, but the results were far from stable. There had been a few spectacular successes and a few equally spectacular failures, but most of the stolen spellbooks turned to ash without incident. To him, burning spellbooks was an end unto itself as it represented one less avenue for any upstart wizard to tread toward power. As a sorcerer, Irthos saw wizardry as inferior and he chafed under the lordship of the Wizard Council in Highgate.</p><p></p><p>"I'm not sure that these books can truly be called mine to sell, good sir," Ixin said, standing up. Her wings stretched and flexed behind her involuntarily. "Allow me to go into town and confer with my companions. I will have an answer for you then, one way or another."</p><p></p><p>"I've got a few old items leftover from my adventuring days that might be of use to a spellcaster such as yourself," the wizard told her. "I would offer them in fair trade for the spellbooks."</p><p></p><p>"I understand. But I must consult with my friends," Ixin repeated with a smile. "Now if you'll excuse me. I must get dressed. I can't very well go into town in this." She had put on a strapped undertunic that hung to mid-thigh and allowed her wings to move freely while she got used to them. It hardly made for appropriate public attire.</p><p></p><p>Once she was out of earshot Morier shook his head at the old man. "You shouldn't pressure her so, father," the albino said. "Either she'll sell the books or she won't. I haven't known her long, but I know her enough to tell you that pushing won't sway her."</p><p></p><p>The old wizard snorted and moved over to another of his workbenches. "I just wanted her to know that I was interested in helping her get rid of books that have little value to her," ap-Llewellyn said as he picked up a smallish package wrapped in colorful paper. "And I have something for you, son."</p><p></p><p>"What's this?" Morier asked as he accepted the package. It was fairly light for its size.</p><p></p><p>"Open it," the mage insisted with a grin. "Today is your birthday is it not?"</p><p></p><p>Morier thought back. It wasn't the actual day of his birth - he didn't truly know when that was - but it was 40 years ago today that Angwyn ap-Llewellyn had found the young Morier near death in the benighted tunnels of the Underdark. Morier smiled and tore open the package. "Parchment..," he said with a note of confusion. "Thank you..."</p><p></p><p>"It's for scribing scrolls, Morier," ap-Llewellyn explained. "It's one of the few lessons I taught you that actually stuck and I thought that if you had the proper supplies you might do it more often." Morier smiled and stood.</p><p></p><p>"Thank you , father," he said and embraced the man warmly. When he looked up, he saw Ixin standing nearby. She had slipped on her leather pants but still had the undertunic on.</p><p></p><p>"I can't go into town," she cursed and stretched her wings. "I can't go anywhere. Neither my shirt nor my leather armor fits anymore."</p><p></p><p>"Perhaps we could cut it," Morier suggested but his father shook his head.</p><p></p><p>"Don't be foolish. Must you always think of sharp objects first, Morier?" he moved over to an old trunk under a crowded bench and rummaged through it briefly. "Ah. Here we go. I took this off of a dark elven witch-priestess on one of my last adventures. It's got a fair bit of protective magic on it, but it's not quite my style."</p><p></p><p>He turned around and held up a chainmail bikini.</p><p></p><p>"That covers less than the undertunic!" Ixin exclaimed with a shake of her head.</p><p></p><p>"But'll it'll protect you better than that silly leather armor and leave your wings free," the wizard told her with a grin as he pressed the abbreviated garment into her hands. "Besides that's part of its charm."</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Jon Potter, post: 1313247, member: 2323"] [b][PLAIN][Realms #252b] Even More About Town[/PLAIN][/b] Lord Arundel looked much the worse for wear. The man's face sagged. His eyes were ringed by the dark circles of sleeplessness, his cheeks and jowls bristling with a night's growth of beard as he descended from his chamber. His clothes, however, were impeccable, and his hair was held in place by a polished circlet of gold that was the symbol of his office. And he didn't let the heaviness in his heart deter him from his duties as lord. His steward, a shrewd-eyed man who seemed wed to his ledger, outlined Lord Arundel's day while the older man picked at his breakfast. Ledare had witnessed such interaction many times during her stays at the manor house and she knew that matters of manorial law would be first on her great uncle's agenda. It had long been her habit as a child to sit in on the hallmote when her uncle managed disputes. It was assumed that she would continue to do so, and so she joined him as he dispensed justice. Justice almost always involved paying amercement to the court which Lord Arundel would benevolently roll into the guilty party's yearly chevage rather than demand payment in minted coin. When the hallmote was over, and the steward brought in the grangers and the haywards to give an accounting before his lordship, Ledare excused herself and went off to look over the book that they had recovered from the rat-headed giant's lair. The tome, grimly entitled "The Trials of Decay", was of simple construction: rough parchment pages stitched to a black leather binding. The symbol of Aphyx emblazoned in iron on the cover gave little doubt as to what subjects would be covered in the text. The writing within was spidery and cramped, obviously penned by a zealot to Aphyx's cause. As such it read more like a religious text than an historical document and after spending a goodly amount of time reading it, Ledare had culled only a few tidbits from the rhetoric. She estimated that it would take her the better part of a week to sort through the book in its entirety. What little she learned amounted to the following: [i]"Centuries ago, during the Age of Pestilence, the lands that now make up the great kingdom of Pellham were divided. The rulers of the land held their position not through law, but through strength of arms and war between the city-states was common. One of the strongest of these warlords was Greurd Wulfhun who ruled a territory known as Erlacor. Lord Wulfhun's army was the largest and best trained fighting force in all the lands and few would dare challenge his troops on the field of battle." "It was during this age that Aphyx, goddess of decay, reached the pinnacle of her power on the face of Oerune. Famine and plagues that devastated the people as much as the weapons of war followed in the wake of the ever-present conflicts. Flor, goddess of health and fertility - and Aphyx's antithesis among the gods - had been severely weakened by a confrontation with Graath, god of chaos and murder, and Aphyx saw in this her opportunity to gain the upper hand over her eternal adversary. With dreams, visions, sendings and omens, Aphyx directed her worshippers to take up arms against the followers of Flor. The campaign of horror that ensued was gruesome to behold, and the followers of Flor were unable to hold back the tide of undead that Aphyx's Plaguebringers unleashed against them. Their patron goddess, in her weakened state was unable to grant them the divine support they needed, and so most perished at the hands of Aphyx's minions."[/i] "Lord Sato, Patron of Enlightenment, King of the Gods, grant thy humble servant the power to set right that which was made crooked by the unclean touch of chaos!" Maerwynn said and laid her hand upon Feln's forehead. For a moment. the half-orc felt only the cool touch of the woman's hand. Then there was a slow building of crystalline light within his mind's eye. It unfolded with steady and orderly precision filling more and more of his mind until light seemed to force out all thought. The cleric's hand grew chill with the cold power of absolute Law and, with a flash of white so dazzling that Feln reeled away from Maerwynn, the darkness fell away from Feln's eyes. "I can see!" he cried out, in spite of himself. "Good," said Vade. "Can we go now?" The little halfling felt discomforted by the stark symmetry of Sato's shrine. He squirmed in his seat and found his eyes drawn frequently up the mirrored ceiling where he could see himself staring down. To him, it was just plain creepy. "I believe that the common name for such an item is a Ring of Climbing," ap-Llewellyn announced, holding the leather circlet between the forefinger and thumb of his left hand. With his right he slipped the pearl spell focus back into a pouch at his hip. "Personally, I have little use for such an item. But I'll take the two spellbooks off your hands." Ixin looked at the two volumes - one had been among the mysterious Kirnoth's belongings and the other was from the bug men cave - and shrugged. Her own magic came from the draconic blood that flowed through her veins so she had little use for book magic. Ur-Skrazargul's son, Drake Irthos, would burn spellbooks to release their magic, she knew, but the results were far from stable. There had been a few spectacular successes and a few equally spectacular failures, but most of the stolen spellbooks turned to ash without incident. To him, burning spellbooks was an end unto itself as it represented one less avenue for any upstart wizard to tread toward power. As a sorcerer, Irthos saw wizardry as inferior and he chafed under the lordship of the Wizard Council in Highgate. "I'm not sure that these books can truly be called mine to sell, good sir," Ixin said, standing up. Her wings stretched and flexed behind her involuntarily. "Allow me to go into town and confer with my companions. I will have an answer for you then, one way or another." "I've got a few old items leftover from my adventuring days that might be of use to a spellcaster such as yourself," the wizard told her. "I would offer them in fair trade for the spellbooks." "I understand. But I must consult with my friends," Ixin repeated with a smile. "Now if you'll excuse me. I must get dressed. I can't very well go into town in this." She had put on a strapped undertunic that hung to mid-thigh and allowed her wings to move freely while she got used to them. It hardly made for appropriate public attire. Once she was out of earshot Morier shook his head at the old man. "You shouldn't pressure her so, father," the albino said. "Either she'll sell the books or she won't. I haven't known her long, but I know her enough to tell you that pushing won't sway her." The old wizard snorted and moved over to another of his workbenches. "I just wanted her to know that I was interested in helping her get rid of books that have little value to her," ap-Llewellyn said as he picked up a smallish package wrapped in colorful paper. "And I have something for you, son." "What's this?" Morier asked as he accepted the package. It was fairly light for its size. "Open it," the mage insisted with a grin. "Today is your birthday is it not?" Morier thought back. It wasn't the actual day of his birth - he didn't truly know when that was - but it was 40 years ago today that Angwyn ap-Llewellyn had found the young Morier near death in the benighted tunnels of the Underdark. Morier smiled and tore open the package. "Parchment..," he said with a note of confusion. "Thank you..." "It's for scribing scrolls, Morier," ap-Llewellyn explained. "It's one of the few lessons I taught you that actually stuck and I thought that if you had the proper supplies you might do it more often." Morier smiled and stood. "Thank you , father," he said and embraced the man warmly. When he looked up, he saw Ixin standing nearby. She had slipped on her leather pants but still had the undertunic on. "I can't go into town," she cursed and stretched her wings. "I can't go anywhere. Neither my shirt nor my leather armor fits anymore." "Perhaps we could cut it," Morier suggested but his father shook his head. "Don't be foolish. Must you always think of sharp objects first, Morier?" he moved over to an old trunk under a crowded bench and rummaged through it briefly. "Ah. Here we go. I took this off of a dark elven witch-priestess on one of my last adventures. It's got a fair bit of protective magic on it, but it's not quite my style." He turned around and held up a chainmail bikini. "That covers less than the undertunic!" Ixin exclaimed with a shake of her head. "But'll it'll protect you better than that silly leather armor and leave your wings free," the wizard told her with a grin as he pressed the abbreviated garment into her hands. "Besides that's part of its charm." [/QUOTE]
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