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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Jon Potter" data-source="post: 2839946" data-attributes="member: 2323">[PLAIN][Realms #340] The Pull[/PLAIN]Freeday, the 10th of Harvester, 1269 AEThe first few miles of travel after breaking camp didn't reveal anything out of the ordinary and this only served to put everyone more on edge - well, everyone except Ayremac. The holy warrior's paranoia had not been raised by the bandit ambush the day before. The land grew wooded as they went with occasional sections of open moor and the sharp-eyed travelers often caught sight of a cottage or farmhouse in the distance, and saw livestock apparently grazing contentedly in their pastures. A time or two one of them would spot the occasional farmer working around his homestead. It wasn't until they approached the village of Barlyton that they began to see the first indications that things were not right. At least a dozen buildings had burned to the ground, although obviously not from the same fire as they were scattered throughout the town with undamaged buildings betwixt and between. There was no sign of an inn or tavern, although the large pile of charred debris near the center of town could very well have been such an establishment at one time.Thoughts of Miller's Pond rose unbidden to the minds of many and both Karak and Morier readied their weapons. Ayremac noticed the action and looked down from his mount."The village was like this when Rafael and I passed through here yesterday," he explained. "There's a great deal of fear regarding illness throughout the Duchy. It's become common practice to burn the dwellings of those who die from disease.""Seems a bit extreme," Morier ventured and the officer nodded."I agree and told these folk as much, but they'd have none of it," he went on. "I had to shout at them through barred doors, so don't expect much hospitality here. There's a hostler just down this way."They turned off the main road onto a narrower track of mud. That street, like the main one, was utterly deserted and, in spite of Ayremac's assertion to the contrary, they had begun to think that the village had been abandoned when they saw a man in peasant garb hurry across the road about 40 yards ahead of them carrying a large bundle. When he spotted the Order, his step quickened and he practically ran to a nearby cottage. He quickly slipped inside and shut the door behind him. As they approached, they could see that all the windows on the cottage had been stoutly boarded up.The man was Asa the Hostler. The cottage he had hurried into was his shop and home where he lived with his wife and two young daughters. They, like most people living within Diliham Duchy had isolated themselves from almost all contact with others, hoping to avoid contracting the dreaded disease. He left the house only occasionally to get fresh water from a nearby stream, and to gather whatever food he could find that seemed safe. Just now he had been returning from his brother-in-law’s farm with some dried ham and cheese. He barred the door to his cottage behind him, so the Order's conversation with him was conducted through the door. Asa refused to open the door, even when presented with Shamalin's holy symbol of Flor. So far, none of his family had become sick and he refused to risk their lives on the word of a stranger - even a Mercybringer. They were able to negotiate the sale of horses and gear from him none the less. Making both Ayremac and Shamalin swear oaths on their respective gods that they would not cheat or rob him, he slid the key to his shop under the door and bid them take what tack they needed and leave the gold on the counter. They could have their pick of horses from the barn behind the cottage.Shamalin stared resolutely at her mount. He was a medium sized dapple-gray gelding whose black eyes were, even now, watching her warily. She bit the inside of her cheek, smoothing her hand over the gelding's withers. As if she hadn't been having enough trouble trying to learn to fight in Blackheart's armor. Now the prospect of riding in it was like adding insult to injury."I'm sorry about this," she whispered to the horse as she hooked her foot in the stirrup and made her first attempt at hoisting herself into the saddle. Her leg felt like lead as she failed to clear the horse's backside. Instead, her foot landed squarely against his hindquarter, prompting a slight buck and a whinny of disapproval. Shamalin locked her other leg securely and held on for dear life. Luckily, the business of Karak attempting his own mount was commanding everyone's attention for the moment.She balanced perilously on her left leg, feeling like the village idiot. With a massive heave, and a rather unladylike grunt, she managed to flop her impossibly heavy body across the saddle. Once her center of gravity shifted, she was able to drag the errant leg across. Clutching the reins, she let out a sigh of relief and began almost immediately to worry about her impending dismount. Looking up, she spotted Ayremac eying her with an amused grin on his face. "Maybe you should try singing to him," he said with a wink as they turned and headed out of town.Starday, the 11th of Harvester, 1269 AEAs they road along - overland now that the road had curved away from the direction that Morier's head asserted they should go - Karak sidled his horse up to Ayremac. "So, dispatchin' the leader o' them bandits like you did," the dwarf grunted. "I can nae say I agree with it, but on the other hand, it is a form of justice, aye""It is not a task that I relished, Karak," Ayremac said gravely. "The path of righteousness is often a difficult one. Did not your friend's spilt blood call out for justice?" Karak harrumphed."I felt Feln died unfairly by that lot's thievin' way, but he did die in the heat of battle," the dwarf asserted. "An ambush be not a fair fight, but it be a fight. And you should know lad that the road we travel is a dangerous one. Feln understood that.""Yes, but dying in battle is one thing, Karak," Ayremac debated. "Being killed almost before you realize that you're under attack is quite another. Feln was murdered and murder requires justice under holy law.""No, the justice we dealt, was in all those we killed. Killing a bound and restrained prisoner, nae be what I would have done," Karak countered, his mouth screwing up in disgust. "He already yielded.""So because he had surrendered himself that excuses him from the penalty of judgement?" Ayremac argued with a shake of his head. "No, Karak. That way leads to anarchy. Umba's law is absolute.""Shaharizod believes in protecting the weak, even if'n it be those that follow the wrong path," Karak told him. "In fair combat, aye, I would have been happy to dispatch Hamelin. But he yielded before I could get to him.""So again, I ask whether you believe that his timely surrender should excuse him from any penalty for murdering your friend?" Ayremac asked. The holy warrior had had many similar debates with other initiates during his training at the temple in Frothingham. Karak sighed and shook his head."It nae be what I would 'ave done, but strangely, I do see the field justice in it," he admitted then turned a skeptical eye on the Officer. "Now why'n you wearing that spooky armor that gave me cleric such a fright?"Ayremac snorted laughter and replied, "That's a long story. But I don't think it was the armor that frightened Shamalin."Sunday, the 12th of Harvester, 1269 AE"Ooooff!" Once again the force of Morier's swordthrust sent her careening toward the ground. And for a split-second before she actually made contact with the earth a thought occurred to Shamalin: her only hope in combat was probably that her blundering swordplay might prove a worthwhile distraction. As she buried her face in the dirt she imagined her future - a large tin obstacle thrust out awkwardly in each skirmish in an effort to stun the enemy with her incompetence. It just might work...Ayremac crossed his arms, watching from a near boulder - one of many that lay strewn about these hills like a titan's marbles. "Are you giving up?" Morier taunted her. Somewhere along the line he had changed his own teaching technique - searching for something to ignite a fire beneath her. He had yet to find it."No," Shamalin replied climbing to her feet. Her eyes flickered involuntarily toward Ayremac. Morier took a few perfunctory swings at her, and she struggled to maintain her footing - meeting each with weak resistance."I think you are. We're done." And he abruptly stepped out of their practice circle, regarding her critically. Ayremac disappeared quietly away. Watching him go, Morier leaned thoughtfully against the newly vacated rock. Having run out of apologies for her lack of ability, Shamalin did the same. They sat in silence for a moment as Morier carefully considered his next comment."So what exactly is your history with Ayremac?" Shamalin stiffened, her eyes narrowing. "You're obviously distracted when he's around." He clearly saw the warning flash in her eyes, but ignored it and pressed on. "Whatever it is, you're letting it stand in the way of your progress.""It's nothing!" she snapped and glowered at him openly."Hmmmm," came his response. Feeling that he was on to something, Morier continued. "You know, whatever Blackheart did to you - I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did. Was your entire party this meek?" That was as far as he got before Shamalin's wooden training sword slammed him hard against the chest. Morier allowed himself a slight smile and rose with his own sword in hand. "It's a good thing you were chained to that tub. You wouldn't have been much help to them even if you had been..." Another crashing blow caught his swordarm. "At last! Now where has this been hiding?"Shamalin could barely hear him. In a remote corner of her mind she realized that this was just another approach. But the passion of her own response had nearly overwhelmed her. With each comment the rancor welled up from within her, and for the first time she made no effort to contain it. In fact, she embraced it. If the result had been pleasantly shocking to Morier, it was utterly bewildering to Shamalin. The fact that such dark emotions fed her passion seemed strangely and perfectly ironic. Yet if hatred and anger could fuel her ability, well then she certainly had a bottomless reserve of that. Moonsday, the 13th - Waterday, the 15th of Harvester, 1269 AEOn Moonsday, they crossed a road that curved more or less in the direction that Morier kept urging them and so they took it, making good time south and westward into the thickening forest. Here the trees were sparse and relatively small, but they caught occasional glimpses of the dense woodland that rose up further south; row after row of coniferous trees pointing their spires skyward like upthrust spear heads. This was the Black Forest, precursor to the vast Spiney Wood.The road curved away from their course by late afternoon and Morier insisted that they head off into the trees. (None of those present had any way of knowing this, but they had skirted to within a few miles of Dannibrae, home to the ranger, Finian Talteppe who had set out from Barnacus with Ledare over half a year ago. None of them had ever met Finian, of course, so the irony was lost on them.)For not the first time since leaving the more civilized lands to the north, Ayremac wondered what had become of his traveling companion, Rafael. Certainly, the archer's skill with woodcraft would have been a boon to them on this journey.Earthday, the 16th of Harvester, 1269 AEShamalin picked her way quietly through the forest, thinking. She should be praying, she knew. But these days the commune with her Goddess didn't come easily as it once had. No, these days it was the thinking that she couldn't stop. Much had happened in the short space of weeks since she had left her temple home. She felt guilty that her thoughts had been so much about herself, and now the sudden appearance of Ayremac - not about the things which should truly have occupied her mind. Like Feln's death. And the fact that the temple in Rhadcliffe had been attacked. Sighing, she rested on a fallen tree, absently running her fingers over its decaying trunk. She had barely reacted to that knowledge. She had even known a few of the religious members from her previous experiences in that area. What had become of them? Perhaps she should have voiced her concerns loudly enough to convince the party to go there. But the part of her mind which doubted so much these days immediately questioned the sense of such an act. Would she be willingly leading the group into peril? They were small in number - unequipped to deal with something of that magnitude. And this band held no debt to Flor. No, Morier was emphatic that they continue southwest. So she had kept quiet and buried herself in the new troubles that Ayremac's presence within the group presented. She continued to peel away at the trunk's bark. It came off easily in her hand. She did not like having him around. It wasn't simply because he was a stranger to her now - which he was. His presence was a constant reminder of what had been lost. Of innocence squelched by the disparages of darkness. It reminded her of who she had once been, which stood in such contrast to what she had become. That remembrance was a pinprick of light alone now in a dangerous time. She could not bear to remember it or to shine it, lest it somehow attract the unwanted attention of the gods. Before, there had been beauty and music in her soul which she had poured into the light of her feelings. For Arland once. And for Amaury. But now there was only silence. And darkness.Shamalin stared down at her hands. Having stripped the tree clean of bark, the heart of the wood beneath was revealed. It was beautiful in it's own dark way, but doomed now to death and decay. She stood up, brushing herself off. No matter; the tree was dead.Like everything else.Freeday, the 17th - Godsday, the 21st of Harvester, 1269 AEThey'd been traveling for what seemed like moonsdances, through the forest and with time, the group's moods had soured. Huzair, in particular was unhappy with the route Morier was leading them on. Morier, himself had no idea how far off the pull was taking him and by extension the rest of the Order, so he could do little to assure anyone. He was finding his skill at wilderness lore, taught him by the druid, Malcolm to be invaluable so far from civilization.Lela wasn't too happy with some of the unnatural things her own survival skills revealed to her about the area they traveled through. Twice they spotted the carcasses of elk and wolves - carcasses that had been ripped apart and partially devoured by something with large claws and fangs. The tracks in the soft loam were humanoid but easily twice the size of even the largest man's. They also found strips and sheets of scaly black skin wrapped around trees by the wind or caught in the branches overhead. To Lela and Morier both it looked like the shed skin of an enormous snake or lizard, but no such creature was native to this cold region.In all, it did little to ease anyone's tension over being out so far from civilization.Waterday, the 22nd of Harvester, 1269 AEMidday on Waterday, they found it.A cave led into the side of a ravine and it was to that dark entrance that Morier's head was directing them. they dismounted at the top of the gully and proceeded the rest of the way on foot. It wasn't until they had reached the bottom that anyone noticed the symbol of Aphyx that had been carved into the rock above the cave entrance. It seemed as though another symbol had been there before but that the skull and snake symbol of the Rot Queen had been superimposed atop it; what the previous symbol might have been no one could say.Not that anyone had enough time to check it too closely before the slavering corpses came lurching out of the cave, their flesh hanging in rotten tatters and their mouths and hands crusted with dried blood.</blockquote>

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