The Scars Run Deep (Updated - 3/29/2004)

[Ruined]

Glad you like it, Megamania. And since I seem to be on a roll...

***

1st of Chardot, ‘Divinities Day’ yr. 150 A.V., continued

The four newly made friends maneuvered through the streets at a hurried pace towards a tavern Silas frequented. It was easy to blend in with the crowds, as the city streets were overflowing with people heading towards the marketplace and the heart of the Divinities Day festival. Few, if any, appeared to notice the bloodstained clothing of Gerad and Surielle.

The Sunken Vessel tavern earned its namesake from pieces of three vessels that had been dredged up from the depths of the Blossoming Sea. All were reputedly smugglers and pirate vessels sundered by the formidable Calastian navy. The beams that supported the tavern interior were decorated with nets and other maritime memorabilia. Only a few patrons sat within the Sunken Vessel’s plank-board walls. Silas whispered for the remaining trio to grab a seat while he advanced to talk with the barkeep.

“So, who was that man and why did they kill him?” Surielle asked pointedly at Gerad. He paused for a moment, unsure of how much to entrust to these two women.

“His name was Marus. He led one of the resistance groups here in Quelsk, the Cresting Waves.”

“And you were a member of these Waves?” Tréan asked. Gerad nodded solemnly.

“Don’t think ill of us. We’re not murderers. We just want to throw off the yoke of those Calastian dogs.”

“Don’t worry, dear. We saw that those guardsmen were trying to kill your friend and the young druid,” Tréan said with a nod to Surielle. “We were right to stop them, even if I don’t approve of the bloodshed.”

Gerad started to defend his effective methods, but they were interrupted by the elf’s return to the table. He looked down directly at Gerad and spoke in a lowered voice.

“One of your brothers-in-arms is apparently in the back. They are tending his wounds.”

Gerad leapt immediately to his feet and walked towards the back room. The barkeep met him, and extracted a promise of no violence before allowing him in the back room. Moving past the threshold, he found his friend Leon lying upon a bed. A young female, probably a barmaid, was tending his blood-soaked bandages.

Gerad had quickly adopted Leon as a close friend based upon his name. He still missed his brothers dearly, and the camaraderie he found in the Cresting Waves was sorely needed. Seeing him injured like this hurt Gerad.

Leon acknowledged Gerad and the two talked for a short while, as the barmaid returned to the front room. Gerad let him know of Marus’ passing, and the two vowed to continue his works. When Leon asked what Gerad intended to do, he wasn’t very sure.

“I think I may be heading north.”

They let the matter stand at that, and after a careful hug, Gerad left Leon to rest. Returning to the front, Gerad noted that the two females were missing. When he questioned Silas, the elf nodded to another door. After a moment, the two ladies exited in much more casual attire, clean of bloodstains. A deal had been struck with the barmaid, and clothing had been purchased.

The four gathered together to plan what their next move would be. Fate had cast them together for the moment, and perhaps they could assist one another through these trials. Fate seemed to have other plans in mind, however. A young lad burst into the doors of the Sunken Vessel, short of breath.

“It’s horrible, I tell you. The Satrap… The Satrap has been assassinated.”

 

[Ruined]

1st of Chardot, ‘Divinities Day’ yr. 150 A.V., continued

A quick series of questions were launched at the messenger regarding the Satrap’s assassination, but he provided few details. The Satrap was killed before his address to the Quelsk market, and the assailant was unknown. More questions lingered in the group’s mind, but the youth was more interested in spreading the news to other audiences. Silas stopped the boy outside of the tavern, and palmed him a gold piece for a new task. He gave him instructions to find Lorehn and direct him to the Sunken Vessel. Perhaps the Scaled would know more of the dire events of the day.

The four looked at each other with grave uncertainty. What they had encountered was unpleasant, but the murder of the provincial governor of Zathiske was a good deal worse. And each had that sinking feeling that the two events were connected.

Silas, for better or worse, was now involved in their plight. Blake, the guard lieutenant, had identified him, and guard patrols could be searching for all four of them at that very moment. He told them of an inn where they would be safe for the night – the Sleepy Leaf. He did not tell them that it was a safe house frequently used by the Scaled, because they didn’t need to know.

A quick plan was discussed. Silas would speak to some of his contacts within the city to get more information regarding the death of the Satrap and any word on the streets regarding the four of them. He would also grab a few supplies should they decide to leave town. Gerad would accompany Surielle and Tréan to the Sleepy Leaf to obtain lodgings, but first Tréan wanted to go by the market to speak with her mentor, Helena. Silas knew it was a dangerous gambit, but she needed to send word of her plight.

Silas watched the group leave, and pondered the situation. His instincts cried out to leave them to their fate. Whatever Gerad was involved in may be worthwhile to the Scaled, but Silas realized it could be more than he could handle. If he didn’t distance himself now, he could quickly end up with a bounty on his head much like those he pursued. Yet, he respected the three who had just left. They all had integrity, something Silas found little of these days in his dealings with bounties and the Scaled.

Lorehn arrived within the hour and casually sat at the table where Silas rested. He waited for Silas to speak.

“I’ve found your man, Gerad.” Lorehn’s demeanor darkened, no doubt angry that Silas had gone against his advice.

“Don’t worry,” Silas continued, “I didn’t inform anyone but you. But I didn’t need to. I followed him out of the marketplace. He jumped right into a fight with the Dragons, killed a few.”

Silas watched, trying to read the emotions on Lorehn’s face.

“So where is he now?” Lorehn asked, glancing around the room.

“Not here. I’ve sent him to a safe location with a few of his companions. The information is yours, but I want to get deeper involved.”

“Are you so sure about that, Silas? You’ve taken great pains to stay out of our business before. Why now?”

“This plot intrigues me, that’s all. And I bet that you’ll pay well for my assistance.”

That and his cold smile was enough to convince Lorehn. Their whispered conversation continued for upwards of a half-hour. Lorehn revealed pertinent details about Gerad’s history and why certain parties were interested in him. In exchange, Silas told Lorehn of the Sleepy Leaf and the two females that accompanied Gerad. Lorehn offered Silas a fee to follow and insinuate himself within their group, reporting their progress when time allowed.

As Lorehn stood to leave, Silas asked a calculated question:

“The Satrap’s death. Was it the Cult of the Ancients?”

Lorehn looked at him with heavy eyes.

“It’s too early to know. Rest assured, several of our agents will be looking into this. Satrap Olem was a friend of ours.”

Silas nodded, and the two parted ways.

 

[Ruined]

1st of Chardot, ‘Divinities Day’ yr. 150 A.V., continued

The streets of the market were choked with people, many confused by the rampant rumors surrounding the Satrap’s death. Already, Tréan could hear whispered theories ranging from malevolent titanspawn to opposing countries such as Vesh and her homeland of Durrover. The only certainty was that no one was sure what exactly had happened. She pushed these thoughts aside, intent on finding Helena and warning her of what had happened.

Gerad’s cautioning hand slowed her as they approached the blue and white tent.

“The Dragons are there,” he said, peering above the crowds, “speaking with the other priestess.”

Tréan’s heart sank as she heard this. Had that guardsman led more men directly to their tent after the conflict? Reflecting on it, the robes she and Helena wore were rather distinctive.

“We cannot go there now,” Tréan said. “Perhaps we can move closer and wait them out." Her companions were silent, but they moved with her. Tréan kept trying to catch glimpses of Helena through the crowd, but the majority of the crowd-goers were taller than her, making it difficult.

Just as she began to give up hope, a path seemed to open between her and the tent and there she saw Helena, with two guardsmen nearby. Their eyes met, and the look in Helena’s eyes and the slight shake of her head told her everything: she would be in danger if she came to the tent. Tréan felt a tear form in her eye as she stopped her companions and turned away.

“We must leave now.” Gerad grunted in approval, and Tréan led them away from the Madriel tent. In her haste to pull the hood of Gerad’s cloak around her head, she did not watch the path before them, and bumped into a familiar figure.

The Prospero.

“Well, Miss Tréan,” he said, looking directly at her. “It seems others have taken an interest in you.”

“Prospero, I…” she began.

“Not here, not now.” He glanced up at Surielle and Gerad, noting each of them. “Perhaps you would care to join me for a repast in my tent?”

She numbly nodded in agreement, and within minutes the three were ushered into an expansive closed tent of gold and white. Tréan was surprised by the austere interior, compared to the extravagance of their host. The Prospero flaunted rings and fancy clothes, but the interior was rather plain and devoid of any decorations.

After speaking to one of the acolytes, the Prospero pulled the tent flap closed and seated himself on a cushion. Hesitantly, Surielle and Tréan lowered themselves to sit. Gerad stood at military stance, much to the Prospero’s disapproval.

“We are safe to talk here. I suggest you tell me where you’ve been, Tréan, and how your friends are tied into this.” The grave tone of his voice told Tréan that he would accept nothing less than the complete truth.

And so she gave it to him. She rattled out the details of her meeting with Gerad, the conflict with Surielle and the guards, the background of Marus and the Cresting Waves, and Silas, the enigmatic archer who had intervened to assist them. The Prospero stopped her occasionally to ask for greater details, but he seemed to accept her story without doubt.

The Prospero began to speak as she finished, but he paused, hearing something outside of the tent. Raising a cautionary hand, he stepped outside of the tent, and slid quickly back into his flamboyant personality. Tréan picked up some of the conversation and realized that he was speaking with guardsmen. They were asking what he had seen earlier, and clearly requesting his assistance for dealing the assassin. Tréan marveled at the Prospero’s skill with words; he deferred to the guards, giving them their due respect, but completely controlled the conversation. And more importantly, he never seemed to lie. After the guards left, the Prospero returned to the tent.

“The guards search for you, Tréan. They have not spoken of the battle you spoke of, but…” he paused, searching for the proper words. “They believe you to be the assassin, as preposterous as it sounds.”

“What?”

“More than one guard saw a female in Madrielite robes fleeing the scene. I do not believe you capable of such an act, and I consider myself a good judge of character.”

The Prospero moved about the tent, twirling his moustaches, deep in thought. Tréan shared worried glances with Gerad and Surielle. Events were quickly spiraling out of control.

“Normally I would recommend you follow the law and throw yourselves upon the mercy of the courts. But you and I know that there would be no justice served as such. I suggest you flee the city, perhaps even Zathiske, until matters can be resolved here.”

“They will think us guilty if we run,” Gerad said.

“True. But with the crowds and the celebrations here, they will quickly look to produce an assassin, truthful or not.”

“But what of Helena?” Tréan asked.

“I will do all I can for my old friend. You should concern yourselves with making it out of Quelsk. Should you find yourselves in Ankila, you know where you should go.”

“We will,” Tréan said as they collectively rose from their seats. “Thank you.”

“May good fortune bless you all.”

 

[Ruined]

An interesting development in this update...

***

1st of Chardot, ‘Divinities Day’ yr. 150 A.V., continued

The four heroes met in the common room of the Sleepy Leaf Inn, a comfortable establishment hosting a variety of hanging broadleaf plants. Patrons were slowly filling up the room, many seeking the comforts of a warm meal and alcohol to distract them from the chaotic events of the morning. Gerad was concerned about their plight, but his appetite never suffered during conflict. He was taught to thrive in this environment.

“I want to leave the city. Soon,” Surielle stated.

“That man, the Prospero,” Gerad said, trying to keep his voice as low as possible, “his words made sense. We should leave soon. But where do we go?”

“North,” Surielle said firmly. “With this being a port city, it’s our only real route of escape.”

“There’s always the seas,” Silas added. “I could arrange passage on a ship for us.”

“No,” Tréan countered. “Today’s chaos could give us cover to escape via the docks, but we’d be traveling through Calastian waters. We’ll have better chances on the land. That, and your friend wanted you to go North.” She nodded to Gerad.

“But I don’t know what purpose Marus had in mind. He was telling me when the Dragons fell upon us. He never got the chance…” Marus’ passing was still fresh in Gerad’s mind. Was he doomed to lose everyone who meant something to him?

“Did he tell you anything before…?” he asked Surielle.

“No.” Surielle said, looking downwards at the table.

“I agree with Tréan. We should leave North through the gates as soon as possible.” Gerad said.

“First thing in the morning, then?” Silas asked. “The guards will be checking everyone tonight, looking for the assassins. Tomorrow will still be chaotic, but I suspect their vigilance will wane.”

Everyone looked at each other and nodded, their decision made. After their plates were taken away, the two females excused themselves, leaving only Gerad and Silas to watch over the busy commons room. Their conversation was mostly comprised of insignificant talk, no different from the other patrons. Gerad did learn that Silas had worked in Quelsk for over five years, working on a variety of odd jobs. He seemed somewhat evasive on the matter, but Gerad attributed most of that to racial differences.

A few unsavory-looking men at a nearby table caught Gerad’s eye. He locked gazes with one who was staring until the man’s gaze retreated to his mug of ale.

“You know those two?” he asked Silas. The elf did not turn to look at the men, but he nodded.

“One of them works with people I know.”

“Did you ask them to come here?” Gerad asked.

“No.”

The situation was making Gerad uncomfortable. What kind of chances was Silas taking, being openly seen by people who knew him? The other possibility was that Silas had asked these men to be there. Before he could find the right question to ask Silas, he was saved by Tréan’s return to the table.

“Gerad, could you please let us into your room?” The supplies that Silas had acquired for them were locked in the room he and Silas shared. Gerad stood from the table, relieved to be pulled away.

“I’m going to go check on a few things,” Silas said as they left. “I’ll be back before morning.”

Gerad nodded and followed Tréan upstairs and to the ladies’ room. They had a cramped room across the hall from the one he and Silas would share. Inside, she and Surielle seemed hesitant to talk. He decided to break the silence.

“I think we need to leave here right now. No waiting, no resting for the night.”

“We feel the same way,” Tréan said. “We’ve spoken about our predicament. I will be accompanying Surielle to the North. We’d like you to come along.” She had singled him out.

“And Silas?”

There was more uncomfortable silence.

Tréan’s voice was quiet. “We don’t trust Silas. His arrival at the fight; the way he’s directing our moves. Something about him just doesn’t feel right.”

“I can always contact him once we’ve left the city,” Surielle said, placing her hand on Gerad’s arm. “I think he could be a useful ally once we get him away from this poisonous city.”

Gerad nodded. “Well, I can’t say that I trust him either. There are two scoundrels that knew Silas at a table downstairs. We should be careful, or they may notice our flight.”

The trio agreed to their course of action, and took what was needed of the supplies in his room. A pouch of coins was left on the bed in repayment to Silas. They kept to the corners and left the Sleepy Leaf without incident. Soon they would leave Quelsk and Silas behind as well.

 

[Graf]

glad to see you updating again....

the ditching of sillias is pretty awesome. my group always diffentiates between pcs and npcs. good for the players but weird for the story.

Two things I'm curious about: the moon is usually ascribed to belsameth and not madriel, was that a diliberate change?
And Chardun and Corean aren't usually presented as brothers, except in the we're-all-gods kinda way. Or are you working on something special?

 

[Ruined]

Hey Graf, thanks for reading! It had been a while, but the campaign was still going strong.

I'm going to have to do some research on the questions you posed. It's quite possible that both could be typos. I don't have Divine & the Defeated or the Campaign Setting book handy, but I will check them. Please do keep me on my toes. I will take liberties with certain characters, locales and plots (as you'll see). But if not, I like to stay close to canon. Initial thoughts are:

There are two moons that inhabit the Scarred Lands sky. One is fairly regular, much like our standard moon phases. This is the moon I was referring to. The other is wildly erratic, and considered a bad omen. They call this one Belsameth's moon. I'm not sure if the normal one is attributed to Madriel or not, as she is generally associated with the Sun. I'll check.

I can't remember the lineage of Corean and Chardun, but I want to say that they share the same father (Thulkas?). Maybe not. The whole Titan-siring bit was confusing to follow. The reason I grouped them together is indeed because of Divinities Day, a festival celebrating them both. It's listed in the Ghelspad Setting book under Zathiske.

As far as the Silas incident goes, well... it was interesting and made sense from a story point of view. As far as running it in game, I was pulling hairs out.

 

[Ruined]

The pouch had a nice heft to it. Silas could feel the coins slide around inside, but he took care not to make any noise with it. Only novices announced when they had just been paid.

“So, no word on the Satrap’s assassin as of yet?”

Lorehn picked up a brass bauble, examining it closely. “No, nothing yet. You shouldn’t concern yourself with it.”

Silas stopped and narrowed his eyes at Lorehn. “If there’s one thing I do concern myself with, it's assassins. I’m sorely tempted to abandon this Gerad fellow, as I have a feeling more will happen here should I leave.” Lorehn chuckled.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Mer’encir,” Lorehn said, using Silas’ surname. “Whoever did the Satrap in could care less whether or not you leave town.”

“I’ve taken down…”

“…seven cultists. Yes, I know that. Silas, they killed the Satrap, the highest-ranking politico in Quelsk. The only ones above that would have to be visiting high priests or King Virduk himself. The killers will scatter like water bugs now that this deed is done.”

Lorehn paused, setting the bauble down as another patron walked close by. Once he was out of earshot, Lorehn continued.

“So are you going to take this job for us?” Silas grudgingly nodded his head in agreement. “Good. Well since you’re traveling north, I’ve got something you might be interested in: our friend Nedrick Four-Fingers was seen leaving the North gate this afternoon. If your group moves at a hurried pace, you may overtake him on the road.”

Silas smirked at the man, wondering if he would have relayed this information had he refused the new job.

***

Silas returned to the Sleepy Leaf after his meeting with Lorehn. He could still manage a few hours of rest before they left at first light. He glanced in the common room and noted the two rogues that had been seated there earlier. One met his glance and nodded, rubbing his eyebrow with a forefinger. Clear sailing - no one had come looking for him or his friends.

He moved past the front desk and up the stairs to where the rooms were kept. He fished a key out of his pocket, and opened the door. The hallway light filtered into the room, illuminating beds that remained untouched. Gerad’s pack and weapons were gone. Silas’ insides began to churn.

Across the hall, he received no response from within the women’s room. Checking closer, there was not a sound from inside, nor was there lamplight from underneath the door. His shared room bore no signs of a struggle, and soon he noted the small pouch of coins partially stuffed underneath his pillow.

He said not a word as he locked the door and returned downstairs. He shot a fiery glance at the men at the table before turning to the innkeep. His demeanor instantly calmed as he spoke to one of the few elves he knew in Quelsk.

“My friends that I sat with earlier – they have left. Did they by chance say where they were going?” As he spoke, he slid a pair of golden coins to the innkeep.

“Ah, they were deliberate as they left, Silas. They looked dressed to leave town, if I had to guess.”

He nodded his thanks to the innkeeper. After throwing a subtly rude gesture to the watching rogues, he walked out into the nighttime streets.

 

[Ruined]

Back to the questions:

Corean and Chardun are not brothers, not even half-siblings. They may hate each other like brothers, but that's beside the point. I'll make the correction.

The name of the stable moon is a bit more confusing. I recall the reason I called it Madriel's moon. It has to do with the town of Three Moons, where they venerate the battle where Madriel, Belsameth, and their fallen brother made a stand against some of the titans. Three moons, three siblings. One is Belsameth, etc. They need a name for the normal moon to distinguish it from Belsameth's chaotic satellite... If anyone knows this, please let me know.

 

[Ruined]

2nd of Chardot, yr. 150 A.V.

Nearly an hour after midnight, the trio of Surielle, Tréan, and Gerad entered the grove north of Quelsk. Accompanying them was Snowmelt, who had been briefly introduced to the other two. Surielle sensed that her wolf was wary of the others, as well as the change in clothing that she now wore. Still, it was reassuring to have her companion waiting for her as they exited the city.

Brianna was quick to meet them as they approached, the light from Tréan’s spell illuminating a good distance in the darkened wood. Never quick to judge, Brianna greeted them all, presuming that the others were Surielle’s newfound friends. The look on Surielle’s face must have conveyed her fears, as Brianna took her hand and sat beside her.

“What’s wrong, Surielle? What has happened?”

Surielle relayed the story exactly as the others knew it, save for one pertinent detail she added.

“When Marus spoke to me, he told me to seek out a mage named Kelkarrin to the north.”

“He did?” Gerad asked. “You didn’t speak of this before.”

“No. Regardless of what happened, I did not know who to trust in that city. Here, things are different.” Surielle absently stroked the amulet, wondering what exactly Marus had done to it. She would keep that secret as long as she had to, just in case situations changed.

They relayed the rest of the battle and their dealings with Silas and the Prospero. It was a lot for Brianna to take in, but she seemed relieved that Surielle had returned unharmed.

“So, what will you do?” Brianna asked.

Surielle pondered for a second, then replied with determination. “In the morning, we shall decide our course.”

***

A few final chores were handled in the early light of dawn. Surielle noted with interest that Brianna was spending a great deal of time with Gerad. She had put him to work with the tools Surielle had brought, uprooting damaged tree trunks. He was covered in sweat, but he seemed at ease now that someone had given him a task to perform. And Brianna had seemed quite happy assisting and watching him.

Surielle and Tréan had each done a number of small tasks after their morning devotions. Surielle wanted to leave as little work remaining as she could for Brianna. She hadn’t convinced herself firmly that she should be involved in this quest. There were many pressing tasks she could pursue, such as trying to free Maximillian from his earthen tomb, or continuing her journey to find her mother. That was far more important than…

… a dying man’s wishes.

Surielle sighed and continued to work. She was knee-deep in a small lake that bordered one side of the grove. She could see Tréan and Gerad each working the land, helping her and Brianna. The two were driven in this quest, and like it or not, she was drawn into it as well. She didn’t want to abandon the search for her mother, but it was probably futile now that Maximillian was gone. No, she would not give up on her mother. She would postpone her search, and focus on what was likely the greater good.

She heard an audible gasp from Tréan, who was close by. Surielle followed her gaze back to the water that she was standing knee-deep in. She expected to find some creature rising from the surface, but the water was placid save for her reflection. But something was odd about the reflection…

She watched as the image of herself looked to the sky. Behind her was a wooded path of trees, and in the sky was the sun in a position different from where it should have been reflected. There were subtle differences in her as well – her outfit was different than the spun green thread she currently wore, and her hair was hanging loose…

You look just like your mother, Agnes had said on more than one occasion.

Was this a vision of her mother? She felt a tear well up in her eye, begging for freedom. Although all were silent, she knew that her companions were seeing this as well. She wiped her eyes and focused on the image, searching for more information.

The setting of the sun indicated that she was walking north. The message from this divine sending was apparent to her.

The two paths you consider are one and the same.

Surielle stepped from the lake once the image had faded. Trean, Brianna and Gerad approached, but none seemed sure of what to say. Unable to meet their eyes, she looked at the ground and spoke.

“I will go north to seek this mage with you.”

 

[Ruined]

4th of Chardot, yr. 150 A.V.

The humidity was choking as they moved along their northern path. If the heat was sweltering only a few days into summer, what would the remaining months bring? Gerad was born and bred to work in this heat, but he savored the thought that their quest may carry them up into the cooler portions of Ghelspad.

“How do we intend to find this mage?” he asked to the women that followed behind him.

“If he is a mage of any worth, he should be known to someone. We can ask in Zamon.” Tréan held the rear of the group, walking with her spear in hand. They had discussed Zamon as their next likely stop. Known as the ‘Jewel of Zathiske’, it was possible they could seek aid there. With their current path, they should reach the city in a matter of days.

The group traveled within sight the Broadreach river, part of the reason behind the humid day. Were they not sought after by Calastian forces, they would have walked the river’s edge, but wisdom and the tracking capabilities of Surielle allowed them to carve a path near the Broadreach. Already they had spotted smaller river patrols and one large, single-mast Calastian vessel sailing north up the river.

Gerad found that the path ahead of him ended in a small cliff that dropped down thirty feet to the shore of the river. Their path occasionally dead-ended at such places, although Surielle could usually take them around without revealing themselves to those who might travel the river.

He turned to tell Tréan and Surielle, but his words were cut short as the dirt beneath his feet gave way, sliding him down towards the river below. There was a frightened yelp beside him, as Snowmelt also slid down the treacherous slope. He came to a stop at the bottom, suffering only minor scrapes to his hands and elbows.

“Are you all right?” Surielle called from above. Gerad wondered if she meant him or the wolf.

“Yeah, I believe so.” He rose to his feet and brushed dirt off of his legs. As he stood, a symbol caught his eye. On one of the larger sandy rocks about ten paces away was a stylized carving that resembled nothing so much as a large fang. The carving appeared shallow, but had been washed with a rusty color Gerad suspected to be blood.

Before he could tell the women about his find, he heard a startled cry from above. Immediately he looked to see what trouble had found them, but he saw that Surielle was pointing back behind him. Grasping his spear he whirled to see three black-skinned crocodiles advancing out of the water towards him and Snowmelt.

And their eyes were glowing a baleful red.