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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Jon Potter" data-source="post: 2808127" data-attributes="member: 2323">[PLAIN][Realms #332] On the Road Again[/PLAIN]It took little convincing for the group to decide that reaching the shrine in Rhadcliffe was in everyone's best interest. Not even Morier argued against the detour, which was a small miracle in and of itself. When he and Karak agreed on a course of action, Feln fully expected fish to fall from the sky or some other end-of-the-world events."Lookie here, Morier. The poor, wee lass is ill, and the cure may lay in Rhadcliffe. I say we off to Rhadcliffe. We need to restock supplies of healing draughts too and charges for this 'ere wand," the dwarf explained, patting at the two healing sticks he had stuffed in his belt. "I know we have Shamalin now and, believe me, I know the power of a full fledged cleric, but she can nae do it all. Plus if'n I do remember proper, there be an apprentice or two that was heading to Rhadcliffe, mayhaps we will find out about that old note we found back in Hillville Junction.""I agree that we need to get Lela cured," said Morier with a nod. "Rhadcliffe is where we need to go, and fast.""Now do nae get me wrong, I can see the merit in chasing down those keys with a singular purpose. But I think there be more to it than that. I mean look at the harm we could have stopped if'n we had stayed in Relfren to figure out the goings on with the Constable," Karak continued. "I agree that the way to kill a Medusa is to lop off her head. The problem bein' the snakes will keep bitin' you on the way in." The eldritch warrior sighed."Karak, we could chase the evil out of every village and every town and every city from now to eternity, and never even leave so much as a mark for anyone to notice what we've done," Morier explained for what seemed like the millionth time. "A hundred of us couldn't stop every plague and every disease and every sickness brought on by the rot queen, a thousand couldn't... ten thousand couldn't. But maybe, just maybe, this small group of us can find a way to bring down the cause of the whole thing. But if we stand any chance at all, it will be because we hold the four keys the guardians spoke of." Karak harrumphed."Aye. We be only one group and we can nae be in all places at once, but that be why we be settin' up the Manor house, no?" the dwarf argued, gesturing at Demetrius. "Then we can add to our number; we can add to the Order."Huzair threw up his hands in disgust, tired of watching the circular argument unfold yet again. "I'm going to the Lantern for a drink," he grumbled as he stalked off toward the front doors. "Try to have this debate finished by morning, would you!"Shamalin took the opportunity to duck away as well, saying, "I have some things that I must attend to before we leave as well. I will meet you at dawn." Then she bowed politely to Melonna and disappeared deeper into the temple."I too should take my leave," Demetrius said. "I must return to Miller's Pond in the morning. Those I left to supervise the clean-up are capable, but it won't do to be absent from my post for too long. The recruits will get restless.""We'll check back with you when we return to the area, Demetrius," Morier said, placing a reassuring hand on the human's shoulder. "With any luck we'll have more spoils to add to the manor's war chest." Wyverneye smiled, wryly."That would be good," he said. "We've several capable hunters in the group and more than a few farmers who have been able to glean some grain and vegetables from the abandoned farms around the village, so food will not be an issue. But there are other necessities that we'll need gold to buy.""We'll do our best, Demetrius," Morier said. "You just hold the place together until we return. I have every confidence in your ability.""Aye, lad, you held your own against that Chaos Spawn and did nae fall prey to the fear 'o it. I can see we made a good choice in you to set up the manor house," Karak said, thumping Demetrius on the back hard enough to make the man stumble. "Why do you nae take that lad, Culun, as one o' your charges? He seemed rightly impressed with what we be about.""Perhaps, sir dwarf," Demetrius said as they headed for the front of the temple. "I don't wish to deplete Floxen's guard force and we've already got at least two men at the manor with former armsman experience. And it's my personal experience that watchman training isn't all that helpful in learning my father's fighting style." Karak harrumphed again."I still think the best way to fight is to have your feet planted with a goodly-made dwarven waraxe, hefty dwarven muscle, and the mind of a goradz to take down an enemy," the dwarf went on, his earlier argument with Morier entirely forgotten. "But I can see the merit in the sword method, too. Aye, I can." His voice trailed off as the double doors closed behind them, sealing out the autumn chill.Feln sat awkwardly beside Lela's bed, watching the sprite's tiny form with a concerned eye long after the rest of the temple had gone to bed.Godsday, the 7th of Harvester, 1269 AEShamalin woke well before dawn and, resigned, she donned her new armor - Blackheart's armor. She strapped in on piece-by-piece, slowly and methodically, willing it to become more hers and less of whose it once was. It was different than what she was used to... covering her more fully, and twice as heavy. She could barely move inside the armored shell, but she had to admit that, once on, it felt right. And the thought of that sent a shudder through her. She ran her fingers lightly over the symbols of Flor she'd had hastily etched into the shoulder plates and whispered a prayer for guidance.Next she reached for the sword. If she was to hold her own in this new party, she was going to need to develop her skills with a blade. She hadapproached the VQS, seeking an instructor. They seemed wary at first. Perhaps it had been because of the Janissary, she did not know. But in the endthe albino had agreed to teach her. She thought maybethe timing of Demetrius' arrival and his story of his father's death had played into the decision somehow. Whatever his reasons, Morier was willing andshe had set her mind to it.She slid herpalm around the hilt of the longswordrecommended by Crofton Mallareupon her last market trip. As with her new armor, Shamalin had requested some manner of personalization. There had been a large jewel set into the hilt. It had easily paid for the smith's work and was now replaced with a smooth silver tear drop. She had done much soul searching before deciding upon Flor's mark on the sword. The goddess of mercy's symbol on her weapon seemed almost blasphemous, butit filled a need within her. It did not change her calling. It did not lessen her capacity for mercy - such as it was these days. The White Lady had not struck her down upon her first grasp of the newly constructed sword. She took that as permission to bear the symbol.The sword had arrived the previous day, before her ill-fated trip to the market, and her temple sisters whispered upon seeing it. But that only fueled her decision. And so with renewed purpose she packed her belongings and took her place amongst the VQS - The Order, they were now calling themselves. It was time for new beginnings.As they moved south toward Rhadcliffe, Shamalin did what she could to recall details of her experience in that area which might aid them in their quest to find Lela a cure. At first she had expected the memories to be tinged with sadness, but as it turned out she felt a certain fondness for her time spent there. It had been difficult, of course; the gestalt monsters had been frightening to behold, and infinitely worse to fight. But her former party had all been alive - something so simple and yet so significant. And - she blushed to recall it, glancing around furtively when her mind wandered thusly - there had been other memories as well. She made a vow to herself never to take such things for granted again.She calculated it would take them nine days on foot. They had considered buying mounts in Floxen to speed their travels. But Feln's size was an issue, and in the end they had settled on a brisk footpace instead. Something that she quickly regretted once she realized how much of a burden her new armor placed upon her. She found she could move no faster than Karak, which she supposed was just as well; they couldn't really move faster than that anyway without leaving the dwarf behind. Despite the heavy armor, it felt good to be moving again, and when Shamalin wasn't monitoring Lela's condition, she drank in the changing scenery with renewed appreciation for its beauty.She also considered the best manner to approach the clerics within the temple of Flor in Rhadcliffe. If things were really as gruesome throughout the land as was evidenced in Floxen, Shamalin suspected that miracle healing would be at a premium.Waterday, the 8th of Harvester, 1269 AE"Ooooff!" Again the broad side of Morier's wooden training sword hit her in the gut. With a graceful sweeping motion, he twisted and pushed at her with both arms. Shamalin lost her balance and then her footing, falling unceremoniously to the ground in a heap. She swore a litany of words that the eldritch warrior hadn't realized had been in the Florian's vocabulary as she struggled to her feet."Sorry," she apologized sheepishly. Morier wasn't sure if she was referring to her failed maneuver or her language. It didn't matter, he determined, and sighed deeply."Let's stop for today," he suggested, tossing the wooden sword which Feln had crafted for training purposes aside. For a moment Shamalin looked hurt, but she nodded acquiescence and stared down at her own sword."I'm really bad," she admitted.Morier, who couldn't help but agree, searched for the right words to encourage her. His mind raced back to his own experiences with Arwold Wyverneye, and his heart grieved again for the loss of his former mentor. Wyverneye had been an outstanding teacher - demanding yet patient when necessary. Sometimes Morier regretted learning no more than the most basic maneuvers of the man's fighting style before concentrating instead on the path of the eldritch warrior."You'll improve," he said simply, lost in the memories of his years spent under the man's tutelage. Shamalin, sensing that his mind was elsewhere, picked up both swords. She could hear Karak's bellowing from the clearing where the company had camped for the night and knew that it meant he was eager to move on. Truthfully, she was thankful. Her whole body ached, and she didn't have much to show for it save one good parry which had really been more about luck than skill.As she picked her way back to camp, her own thoughts began to wander - a luxury she did not allow herself often. Amaury would laugh hysterically if he could see her now. How many times had he encouraged her to learn to fight? And she had rebuffed his offers to teach her, just as she had turned away so many other things - at least in the beginning. Maybe if she had decided differently...and thus her thoughts ended as they always did. Guilt and shame washed over her, emotions that were almost comforting in their familiarity. Thankfully, the commotion from the clearing ripped her back to the present and she trudged back to camp, ready to strap on her heavy plate once more.Earthday, the 9th of Harvester, 1269 AEThe last village they'd passed through was several miles distant when the road they were traveling was intersected by another that ran perpendicular to the rising bluff of land that would become the Risilvar Escarpment further south. A weathered signpost standing off to the side indicated that the town of Rhadcliffe lay five leagues ahead. About 20 yards down that road however, was a split-rail fence running across the full width of the roadway, blocking it entirely.To the side, and slightly in front of this roadblock stood several makeshift lean-to’s arranged around a large cook fire outfitted with an iron spit and cauldron. Behind the lean-to's stood a picket line of about a dozen horses and several low wagons covered with oiled tarpaulins. There were eight men relaxing around the bivouac, all wearing the same dark green tabard over their chain-mail armor. Long swords were clearly visible strapped at their sides, or hanging from nearby pegs on the lean-tos’ walls, accompanied by short bows and quivers full of arrows. One of the men move away from the others and approached the group in a purposeful manner, calling out: “Good-day, neighbors! Where might your business be taking you this day?”"We're bound for Rhadcliffe," Morier called in reply and the man shook his head."That would be a bad idea, friend," the man answered. "There's a sickness that's broken out in that direction and the Duke's ordered us to close the border to try to contain it. Bad stuff. Lots of people are dead." He shook his head sadly."We're not allowed in?" Shamalin asked. "The temple of Flor lies in that direction.""I can't stop you from going in if that's your intent, ma'am," the guardsman said, hooking his thumbs into his sword belt. "But I'll sure as hells keep you from coming out again. The Duke has-"One of the men at the roadblock suddenly called out ,“Cap’n! We got breakers coming!”Without another word, the man they'd been briefly conversing with - the captain of these men, obviously - turned and hurried back toward the roadblock. The other soldiers too were suddenly on alert, most of them grabbing bows and quivers from where they hung. About 50 yards down the road beyond the roadblock the group could see a man in peasant’s garb leading a small, gray donkey. Another person, a woman from her dress, was draped over the donkey’s back - either dead or unconscious. The captain called out loudly to the traveler: “You there, with the donkey! I order you to return to your home immediately under the authority of Duke Eram Diliham. If you do not obey I am ordered to prevent you from passing this roadblock by any means necessary up to, and including your death.”The man either did not somehow hear the captain’s warning or chose to ignore it for he continued forward without slowing, so once again the captain called out to the approaching man, and as he did so the other soldiers began nocking their bows and taking aim. The man was now barely 20 yards away and it was clear that he was not well. His face was sallow, his eyes rheumy and sunken and his clothes hung on his emaciated body like castoffs on a scarecrow. After a third warning, which again went unheeded, the captain gave the signal to fire, and the soldiers let fly their arrows. All the arrows hit their mark and the man crumpled to the ground, his hand still wound around the donkey’s rope lead. The soldiers nocked their bows a second time and proceeded then to shoot the donkey who likewise fell dead in the road.As the soldiers slowly lowered their bows and turned around, they all had a look of both dismay and resignation. They were obviously not happy with the events that had transpired, and from their manner it was plain that it was not the first time they had had to perform this sad duty.</blockquote>

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