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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Jon Potter" data-source="post: 2748765" data-attributes="member: 2323">[PLAIN][Realms #328] From Relfren, With Love[/PLAIN]Karak walked out of the chill mist of early morning with a large bundle wrapped in an oiled tarp slung easily over one shoulder. He paid little mind to the odd looks he received from the nurses and initiates who moved about the temple attending to their many duties. And for their part, the Florians paid him little more than a passing interest; over the last week, they had grown accustomed to the dwarf's comings and goings and, despite the fact that most had never seen one of his kind before, the novelty of his presence had worn off"I be lookin' for Shamalin!" Karak barked at the nearest of the faithful and the girl pointed to the door set to the left of the statue of Flor that dominated the rear wall."She's in the rectory," the girl told him. "It's just through-""I know where it be!" Karak growled and stamped off, his iron-shod boots echoing through the healing hall as he went.He found her sitting alone in a small room. She was dressed in a simple white robe decorated across the breast with a sky blue teardrop design. She seemed deep in thought, her coppery eyes staring fixedly at the tiled floor. A vast leather-bound tome sat unopened on her lap."Well, lass, it seems you be now part of this party," Karak said by way of greeting. The half-elf looked up at the sound of his voice, but it took a few moments for any recognition to show in her eyes. The dwarf didn't notice or didn't care. "It is still a wee bit strange to me that Ledare be dead - 'Shaharizod protect her'. I can nae explain it, but it seems to me that she be gone so that you could live and be here."Shamalin flinched at that as if Karak had raised a fist to her. The very same thought had been wrapping itself around her guts since her rescue; two had died so that she could live. The idea filled her with self-loathing."You both bein' from the same faith, an' all. It seemed as soon as she turned to the path of the holy warrior, she met her death," Karak went on, oblivious to the turmoil his words were causing in Shamalin. He was waxing introspective. "It be strange. I been tryin' to meet my death since me chalak was killed by the filth of chaos, in true Slayer fashion. It seems that Shaharizod be nae through with me yet."Shamalin grimaced wondering which god it was that had further use for her on the mortal plane."Oi, it seems the more I travel among faeries and ogres, the more I ramble on and on and on. My point, is this lass." And saying thus Karak unshouldered the bundle and placed it at Shamalin's feet. He then squated down over the tarp and unfurled it, revealing its glistening contents. Shamalin recoiled from the heavy plate armor within as if it were a nest of vipers, but again Karak didn't notice. He had his eyes down admiring the armor for what it was: a solidly-crafted, heavily-reinforced boon on the battlefield."This 'ere be Blackheart's armor. It is extremely well made and of better protection than even my own," he said as he picked up the breastplate. It oozed protective oil, gleaming in the torchlight as he turned it. "Now I have personally cleaned and cleansed if from any taint in true dwarven fashion and had Balazaar check it for cursedness. He assures me it is clean." He then set down the breastplate and got to his feet. Shamalin was staring at the armor with a curious look on her face."I want you to have it," Karak said bluntly. "It seems fittin' to me, that Ledare lost her life comin' to my rescue when I was battlin' the Chaos Knight. And since I see a bit o' her in you, I think it only be fittin' for you to have it."Shamalin looked up at Karak, trying to make sense of what he was saying. Was he really suggesting that SHE wear Blackheart's armor? Was he mad? The very thought was perverse!"It will also serve to protect you. Because as I am sure you can see,  in what our little band be doin', death is as real an entity as this stone here beneath our feet," Karak explained, his scowl deepening as he went on. "For me, it all started out as a missive for the King of Barnacus. You may not know this but me and me chalak be the ones that delivered the scrolls of message to Ledare when she started on this path. Now it has grown bigger than that. It is plain to me that this taint be spreadin'. That the powers of Aphyx be growin' stronger." He paused to spit on the floor in disgust and Shamalin thought she understood Karak's reasoning for giving her the armor. It made sense in a way and the irony of it was certainly not lost on her."It be up to us and others like us to stop the tide of chaos. I tell ya this, by takin' that mace and infiltratin' that manor we be in the right direction!" Karak continued and Shamalin forced a smile onto her face as she looked at him."You have my thanks, my lord," she murmured and hurriedly folded the tarp back over the bulk of the armor. Karak smiled."Ye're welcome, lass," the dwarf said. Gesturing at the armor, he added, "Are ye wantin' help gettin' into it?" Shamalin shook her head quickly."No!" she said, with a little more vehemence than was absolutely necessary. She changed her tone to a more gracious one and explained, "I've a few things that I need to attend to first. But, again, I thank you.""As ye wish," Karak shrugged. "We'll be leavin' tomorrow or the next day at the latest. Me axe'll be ready by then and Morier's gettin' his baldric in a twist o'er that head o' his. The work settin' up the manor is keepin' him occupied, but I can't imagine him lettin' us wait around much longer.""About the manor," Shamalin said tentatively at first, but gaining in strength as she went. "It is fitting that a place which housed evil beyond measure might grow to be instrumental in its own demise. You give homage to the memory of my slain companions in a way which I could never have dreamed. I thank you for that.""Do nae go thankin' me, lass," Karak told her. "This was the white elf and the ogre's idea, nae mine. I'm just helpin' 'em sell off some o' our loot to help get it stocked up.""Have you managed to sell all of the swords and such that were recovered?" the priestess asked."Not yet," the dwarf admitted. "Floxen be nae big enough for us to sell the lot. We've managed to barter a few o' them in trade for greatswords, but that's a losin' game for us. The swords we're tryin' to be rid of are better quality by half than what we're able to get in return. It rubs we the wrong way to make such a deal, but accordin' to Wyverneye, it's gotta be greatswords. So I guess we've got little choice." Karak shook his shaggy head in disgust."I might be able to help you," she said. "I know a master smith named Crofton Mallare. His forge is located off the market square a bit, near the well. My... my friend... used to deal with him when he needed something custom made. He should be able to help you." Karak grinned."Aye. That would be a help, lass," he told her. "I was plannin' to get a bit o' food in me belly o'er at the Lantern and then shoppin' a few o' the swords around the market. I'd like it if ye'd join me." Shamalin looked at him and smiled wistfully."It'll be good to get out in the world again," she said, not realizing just what the world had waiting for her...The wall around Floxen had served as a last line of defense against humanoid invaders on several occasions since the town's founding. The tide of both orcish and gnollish armies had crashed against that barricade and been turned aside seeking easier prey and plunder elsewhere. Yes, the wall had served long and well, but it had been many years since any sizable force had set its covetous eyes on Floxen, and no living guardsman had ever had to defend the town.So it is perhaps forgivable that the guard on duty allowed the coach through the gate.It came fast across the steppe, too fast, Culun thought to himself. He recognized the vehicle, of course; the Forgeway Company regularly passed through Floxen ferrying the wealthy  from one point to another in Pellham. Mostly it was some minor lord's steward or a rich merchant's representative riding within the body of the coach. Anyone with more coin would just use the Wayfarers' Union to teleport where they wished to go, and those with less could scarcely afford the Forgeway Company's rates, which were very steep.  They could afford to charge nearly enough gold for their customers to buy their own coach because they provided security in dangerous frontier environments. The coaches themselves were stoutly built and the team that drove them trained in the arts of battle. Short of the Wayfarers there was no safer way to travel across the untamed wilderness of Pellham.Usually, at least... Today seemed different.The coach came along the little-road leading northeast out of Floxen toward insignificant settlements like Bereford and Cutter Jack's. And it came fast. As Culun had observed already it was traveling too fast, and while he watched, the coach shuddered over a rut in the trail and careened dangerously to the left. For a heart-stopping moment, the young guardsman was certain that the vehicle was going to overturn, but the horses ran on, dragging it back onto all four wheels.Culun shielded his eyes against the early morning glare of Orin's Shield and squinted at the approaching Forgeway Company transport. As it drew closer it quickly became apparent that the coachman wasn't in control of the team; he sat askew atop the wagon, dead or unconscious, his body whipsawing wildly with every jerk of the coach. The horses were running hard of their own volition, hides slick with sweat, mouths trailing foam as they came. By the time Culun could see the whites of their panicked eyes rolling madly in their heads, it was too late.An instant later, they thundered past him through the gate and into the town proper. In their wake followed an unwholesome stench, like dead things left to bloat in the sun. The guardsman darted belated out into the road and watched as the coach rushed into Floxen, making it almost to the river bridge before slamming into a slow-moving cart laden with cut hay.The sound of screaming horses was horrible to hear and it drew people out of their homes and businesses to view the carnage. Culun rushed away from his post and had to fight his way through a crowd of ghoulish townsfolk in order to approach the wreck. By the time he reached the scene, Mobham Horn Star, one of Crofton Mallare's apprentices, had already come out of the nearby smithy and dispatched the stricken horses with a maul. Blood was flecked on his face and soot-stained leather apron and he looked pained when he glanced up to see the guardsman."I had to put them down," he told Culun, pointing to the animal's mangled limbs. Culun nodded and clapped a reassuring hand on the youth's broad shoulder."What happened here?" asked a woman clutching a wailing child to her breast. Culun recognized her as Goodwife Nedhne and her comments seemed to break the unnatural silence that had settled over the crowd. There were murmurs from the mob and Culun was thinking how best to handle the situation when another voice cut through the growing din."Flor have mercy!" Edwidan Seeblak wailed, drawing sharply back. His hand was slick with dark blood and Culun saw that he had been examining the body of the coachman. The driver had been thrown clear of the crash and landed against the base of the well. One glance told the guardsman that he was well and truly dead; blood soaked his clothes, and his flesh hung loosely from his bones as if all the meat of his body had been turned to pudding. His lifeless face was crusted with boils."Plague!" a woman near Edwidan shouted. It was Galaida Sigwyn, always eager to spread the latest rumor of doom. "They've brought plague to Floxen!" The crowd shuddered in preparation for a panicked stampede and Culun quickly found his voice."Don't panic!!" he shouted, raising his longspear over his head and shaking it. "We don't know what's happened here. This isn't plague!""Then what is it?" Goodwife Nedhne asked. "My baby-" That's all the farther she got before she was cut off by the sound of splintering wood. The door of the overturned coach that faced up to the sky burst from within, exploding outward in a shower of splinters. Before the wood had fallen to the ground, a figure moved gracelessly out from within.It was dressed in clothes that might have been fine at one point but they were stained beyond repair with blood and other fluids that defied identification. His skin was purple like a livid bruise and it  hung loose on his frame, seeming more liquid than solid. He moved with an awkward, shuffling gate, his left leg shriveled almost to half the size of his right. Three fingers on the figure's right hand trailed off into ropy tentacles that flailed sinuously at the air. A mewling cry of madness and pain split the air as the thing lurched forward, thick cables of saliva hanging from its unkempt beard. Even his closest friends would have been hard-pressed to recognize Constable Taunen-baum beneath the layer of pustulating blisters.He lashed out with his right arm and the tentacles on his hand stretched out, wrapping around Goodwife Nedhne and drawing her effortlessly toward his gap-toothed maw. Her screams heralded the arrival of Aphyx's hand in Floxen.</blockquote>

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