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NOW LIVE! Into the Woods--new character species, eerie monsters, and haunting villains to populate the woodlands of your D&D games.
The Scars Run Deep (Updated - 3/29/2004)
- Thread starter Ruined
- Start date
Ruined
Explorer
As promised
Surielle – 19th of Madrer, yr. 141 AV
Surielle was amazed that she could find the Keltai village in the midst of the great downpour. Through all of the events in Fernmag, she had failed to note the darkening storm clouds. Now, as she slowly walked into the circle of tarps and small buildings, Surielle was soaked to the bone.
It was early in the afternoon, yet the village bustled with life, many people gathering together to converse and find excuse to stay out of the heavy rains. Surielle advanced forward to stand under a tarp, feeling unsure of how to find her birth mother. Gazes lingered on her as she approached, her clothing and saturated bundle of bed sheets raising unspoken questions.
“How can we help you, lass?” a man asked. He looked to be near her father’s age. Another larger gentleman walked with him, appraising Surielle with a glance.
“ I’m looking for my mother.”
“Your mother, here? You’re a city girl. Why would your mother travel with us Keltai?”
“ Her name is Amara. She is Keltai. I need to find her.”
The two men shared a glance. Was it concern in their eyes? The other villagers had stopped their conversations to pay attention to this misplaced girl. The larger man spoke to her.
“Wait here and stay out of the rain, child. Let us speak among the elders.”
Hope flooded through Surielle. These men knew her mother, and they would bring them together. The events of the day and the night before seemed to melt away with the promise of a new beginning.
Conversations started up again around her. These people were different than the people of Fernmag she was accustomed to. The women wore low-cut bodices and skirts that revealed much of their legs when they turned. Some of the women had blonde hair similar to her adopted parents, but a good number had deep red hair similar in shade to her own. She caught herself wondering if Amara had red hair.
The men returned with a resolute look in their eyes. The smaller of the men spoke first.
“Young miss, we have no one named Amara here in our village.”
“But…” she began.
“You should return to those who raised you and stop chasing fantasies.”
She felt the tears threaten to pour forth, but she held them in. There had to be someone here who knew her mother. This was her last place left to turn.
“Please. There has to be someone here…”
“You cannot stay here, child. You had best return to the city before nightfall.”
She looked around at the villagers who had once again grown silent. Everything seemed to close in on her. And then she noticed a small woman push herself between the two men. This woman was not a red-haired beauty like she hoped, but instead a woman who had seen at least sixty years.
“Out of my way, brutes. You’re upsetting the girl!”
The men started to protest, but they would not speak out against this woman. She stepped forward, and gently lifted Surielle’s chin, examining her.
“We may not have what she seeks, but she still might be of use.” The old woman smiled and took a step back from Surielle. “I have some questions for you, so that I can see how much you know.”
Surielle was nervous at this new predicament, but she nodded her head in acknowledgement.
“What use would I have for the milk from an Amalthean ram?”
She paused under the woman’s all-seeing gaze, thinking on the question. Quickly, she realized the sly trick that the woman played.
“Rams do not produce milk; ewes do. I have heard that the milk of an Amalthean ewe has special healing properties.” The woman seemed pleased.
“That it does. If I sought to protect my house, would I plant sage or mandrake outside?”
Surielle pondered once more. Mandrake was a poison to most; she guessed that it also was a bane when planted. She answered sage, but the woman shook her head.
“No. Sage is bad luck for a house. Mandrake will keep the evil spirits at bay.” The woman thought for a moment, while murmurs drifted through the crowd of onlookers. “A man here has a sickness that makes it painful for him to breathe. How would you tend to him?”
“I would put him in a small room and steam water for him to breathe. Once that clears his chest, then you check to see if he has a flu or something more serious. Goldenseal may help.” She had seen the local doctor treat a man in similar fashion. He had sickened from smoking too much piperoot, but the treatment had healed him. The woman seemed pleased with her answer.
“One final test, girl.” The old woman removed a cord from her neck and handed it to Surielle. At the bottom was a pink bloom that was some type of orchid. She lifted it to her nose, but it held no scent she could discern.
“What is that, and why do I wear it?”
Her mind raced, but she had never seen this plant before. She cursed her lack of knowledge and this woman for testing her in such a manner. “I do not know,” she said finally, handing the plant back.
“It is lady’s slipper,” the old woman said, and Surielle’s mind began to race. She had heard of lady’s slipper before, but it was usually white or yellow. She interrupted the woman while she had the chance.
“…And you use it to protect yourself from hexes and the evil eye.”
The woman smiled, and Surielle knew she had answered correctly. She leaned forward and took Surielle’s hand in her own.
“My name is Agnes, child. Welcome to our village.”
Agnes turned and faced the two men, who each wore a perplexed look on their face.
“This child will stay with me and learn my ways. Do you oppose me?” The men looked at each other for support and found none. They said little and parted as Agnes led Surielle further into the waterlogged village.
Surielle – 19th of Madrer, yr. 141 AV
Surielle was amazed that she could find the Keltai village in the midst of the great downpour. Through all of the events in Fernmag, she had failed to note the darkening storm clouds. Now, as she slowly walked into the circle of tarps and small buildings, Surielle was soaked to the bone.
It was early in the afternoon, yet the village bustled with life, many people gathering together to converse and find excuse to stay out of the heavy rains. Surielle advanced forward to stand under a tarp, feeling unsure of how to find her birth mother. Gazes lingered on her as she approached, her clothing and saturated bundle of bed sheets raising unspoken questions.
“How can we help you, lass?” a man asked. He looked to be near her father’s age. Another larger gentleman walked with him, appraising Surielle with a glance.
“ I’m looking for my mother.”
“Your mother, here? You’re a city girl. Why would your mother travel with us Keltai?”
“ Her name is Amara. She is Keltai. I need to find her.”
The two men shared a glance. Was it concern in their eyes? The other villagers had stopped their conversations to pay attention to this misplaced girl. The larger man spoke to her.
“Wait here and stay out of the rain, child. Let us speak among the elders.”
Hope flooded through Surielle. These men knew her mother, and they would bring them together. The events of the day and the night before seemed to melt away with the promise of a new beginning.
Conversations started up again around her. These people were different than the people of Fernmag she was accustomed to. The women wore low-cut bodices and skirts that revealed much of their legs when they turned. Some of the women had blonde hair similar to her adopted parents, but a good number had deep red hair similar in shade to her own. She caught herself wondering if Amara had red hair.
The men returned with a resolute look in their eyes. The smaller of the men spoke first.
“Young miss, we have no one named Amara here in our village.”
“But…” she began.
“You should return to those who raised you and stop chasing fantasies.”
She felt the tears threaten to pour forth, but she held them in. There had to be someone here who knew her mother. This was her last place left to turn.
“Please. There has to be someone here…”
“You cannot stay here, child. You had best return to the city before nightfall.”
She looked around at the villagers who had once again grown silent. Everything seemed to close in on her. And then she noticed a small woman push herself between the two men. This woman was not a red-haired beauty like she hoped, but instead a woman who had seen at least sixty years.
“Out of my way, brutes. You’re upsetting the girl!”
The men started to protest, but they would not speak out against this woman. She stepped forward, and gently lifted Surielle’s chin, examining her.
“We may not have what she seeks, but she still might be of use.” The old woman smiled and took a step back from Surielle. “I have some questions for you, so that I can see how much you know.”
Surielle was nervous at this new predicament, but she nodded her head in acknowledgement.
“What use would I have for the milk from an Amalthean ram?”
She paused under the woman’s all-seeing gaze, thinking on the question. Quickly, she realized the sly trick that the woman played.
“Rams do not produce milk; ewes do. I have heard that the milk of an Amalthean ewe has special healing properties.” The woman seemed pleased.
“That it does. If I sought to protect my house, would I plant sage or mandrake outside?”
Surielle pondered once more. Mandrake was a poison to most; she guessed that it also was a bane when planted. She answered sage, but the woman shook her head.
“No. Sage is bad luck for a house. Mandrake will keep the evil spirits at bay.” The woman thought for a moment, while murmurs drifted through the crowd of onlookers. “A man here has a sickness that makes it painful for him to breathe. How would you tend to him?”
“I would put him in a small room and steam water for him to breathe. Once that clears his chest, then you check to see if he has a flu or something more serious. Goldenseal may help.” She had seen the local doctor treat a man in similar fashion. He had sickened from smoking too much piperoot, but the treatment had healed him. The woman seemed pleased with her answer.
“One final test, girl.” The old woman removed a cord from her neck and handed it to Surielle. At the bottom was a pink bloom that was some type of orchid. She lifted it to her nose, but it held no scent she could discern.
“What is that, and why do I wear it?”
Her mind raced, but she had never seen this plant before. She cursed her lack of knowledge and this woman for testing her in such a manner. “I do not know,” she said finally, handing the plant back.
“It is lady’s slipper,” the old woman said, and Surielle’s mind began to race. She had heard of lady’s slipper before, but it was usually white or yellow. She interrupted the woman while she had the chance.
“…And you use it to protect yourself from hexes and the evil eye.”
The woman smiled, and Surielle knew she had answered correctly. She leaned forward and took Surielle’s hand in her own.
“My name is Agnes, child. Welcome to our village.”
Agnes turned and faced the two men, who each wore a perplexed look on their face.
“This child will stay with me and learn my ways. Do you oppose me?” The men looked at each other for support and found none. They said little and parted as Agnes led Surielle further into the waterlogged village.
Last edited:
Ruined
Explorer
I'm a tease? Heh, wait until you see the next post.
btw, thanks to everyone for the recent posts of praise. I just noted that Graf called my story hour 'Martinesque'. I'm gonna bask in that one for a while, for I love George R.R. Martin's 'Song of Fire and Ice'. If I can bring even a hint of the talent he possesses to my campaign, I will be extremely pleased.
And now, back to Gerad...
btw, thanks to everyone for the recent posts of praise. I just noted that Graf called my story hour 'Martinesque'. I'm gonna bask in that one for a while, for I love George R.R. Martin's 'Song of Fire and Ice'. If I can bring even a hint of the talent he possesses to my campaign, I will be extremely pleased.
And now, back to Gerad...
Ruined
Explorer
Gerad – 20th of Vanger, yr. 148 AV
Nearly two years had passed, and two things were unchanged in Gerad’s life: the tattoo still remained on his forearm, and Warstone still led their forces. Gerad appreciated having the charduni nearby, but the tattoo concerned him. No amount of scrubbing or peeling away of flesh would remove it, and he had tried plenty of both. Warstone had searched his tomes for information to no avail. They had thought to show it to a higher priest of Chardun, but Warstone cautioned him - if their magicks could not remove it, they may deem him tainted. It would be far better to die an honorable death on a battlefield, than tortured by Calastian inquisitors.
Gerad looked down at the wrist guard that concealed the tattoo and frowned. This was one of the days when it tingled and seemed to writhe on his skin. It was a symbol of evil, and a question unanswered.
Warstone’s words were prophetic. Their forces were currently being accompanied by Inquisitor Sinclair, a determined individual from the Heteronomy of Virduk. Gerad hoped that his stay would be only for this current mission, and not end up a permanent appointment as the charduni had.
They marched down a road flanked by marshy lands. Layers of winter frost crept along the edge of the bogs, freezing plants into crystalline shapes. Ahead lay the village of Larkspur, where Sinclair warned of titanspawn cultists. Rumors had circulated of dark rituals within the area, and the Hegemony had dispatched Sinclair and a few of his retainers to investigate. Inquisitors within the Hegemony were rightly feared, because they rarely traveled without military accompaniment.
As they neared the village, Sinclair called out orders from atop his mount.
"Divide up and scour the town. Bring forward any suspicious individuals."
The men obeyed with precision, breaking into lances, and moving about the huts. The people of Larkspur had recently begun to move about in the morning air, and many were frightened by the presence of the soldiers. Gerad and his brothers approached and surrounded one woman, forcing her back against the wall of a small shack.
"Where are the cultists?" Gerad demanded.
The woman was terribly frightened, and unable to answer. Tahni leaned forward with spear in hand, although Gerad knew he would not harm her. Tears ran down the woman’s cheek.
"Just tell us. We seek only the cultists."
"No… we were warned…" The woman collapsed in a heap. Disgusted, Gerad advised his brothers to leave her. They moved along, watching the other lances ousting people from their houses. His lance did the same, barging into a household and interrogating the family within.
It began to form a disturbing pattern in Gerad’s mind. The people of Larkspur were all scared, but it wasn’t just fear of the invading army. They had been cowed into silence by whatever had taken over their village. He felt shame at intimidating these people, as these were the people of Ankila that he had sworn to protect.
A cry from the street drew their attention and pulled them from a house. Soldiers dragged forth a beaten and bloody individual wearing tattered green robes. He was thrown forward at the feet of Inquisitor Sinclair, who looked down with disdain. Sinclair made sure that spears were trained on this man, and then he leaned down to look at him.
"Where are your allies?" Sinclair asked with an even voice. The man spat blood at Sinclair’s feet and was rewarded by a spear stabbed into his calf. Calmly, Sinclair asked again.
"It is I, alone." The man answered. Sinclair straightened, looking at the troops and the few villagers who watched from doorways.
"Erect a pyre. We will burn this lover of titanspawn."
The business was done quickly. Unused lumber was taken from one of the outlying houses and a pyre was erected. The cultist was bound to the pillar and all were brought forward to witness the act. He cried out a curse against the village and the army, but in the end, he burned as any man would. Gerad watched on, glad to see this justice done. Warstone stood beside him in silence.
Sinclair watched the pyre until the man’s body went limp and the smoke drifted into the grey sky. Satisfied, he turned and addressed the forces.
"This cultist lied when he said he worked alone. His agents are scattered through Larkspur, sewing their evils." His lips curled into a sneer with the last word. "I decree this village to be tainted. Raze the village and burn all within. This town will be cleansed."
It was overwhelming to Gerad. There may have been another agent within the village, but to think that they were all tainted with evil? He could not tolerate this injustice, and found himself stepping forward.
"Wait!" he said, drawing silence from everyone nearby. The inquisitor had started to walk away, but slowly turned to regard him.
"These people," Gerad continued, "they’ve been living in fear from this man you burned. They are not wicked, and do not deserve death." Sinclair met his gaze, and considered his words.
"What would you have us do, soldier?"
Gerad pondered for a moment. He now knew that the man before him was evil, although a different sort of evil than the cultist they had burned. He cared nothing for these people, and would kill them all unless Gerad could make a sound argument. Gerad began to speak, missing the subtle nod that Sinclair made to someone nearby.
"Maybe you could -"
Gerad’s words were cut short as a massive force slammed into his backside with a thick crunch. He was driven forward and to the ground. It was the charduni war scepter. He knew Warstone had done this. Stubborn, he pushed up to his hands and knees to try and make a stand. Once again he was struck and this time the force was too much. Gerad dropped, with his face half-submerged into a partially frozen puddle of mud. Vague and distant, he could hear voices nearby.
"Leave his body here. Let him burn with those he sympathized with."
Everything faded to darkness.
Nearly two years had passed, and two things were unchanged in Gerad’s life: the tattoo still remained on his forearm, and Warstone still led their forces. Gerad appreciated having the charduni nearby, but the tattoo concerned him. No amount of scrubbing or peeling away of flesh would remove it, and he had tried plenty of both. Warstone had searched his tomes for information to no avail. They had thought to show it to a higher priest of Chardun, but Warstone cautioned him - if their magicks could not remove it, they may deem him tainted. It would be far better to die an honorable death on a battlefield, than tortured by Calastian inquisitors.
Gerad looked down at the wrist guard that concealed the tattoo and frowned. This was one of the days when it tingled and seemed to writhe on his skin. It was a symbol of evil, and a question unanswered.
Warstone’s words were prophetic. Their forces were currently being accompanied by Inquisitor Sinclair, a determined individual from the Heteronomy of Virduk. Gerad hoped that his stay would be only for this current mission, and not end up a permanent appointment as the charduni had.
They marched down a road flanked by marshy lands. Layers of winter frost crept along the edge of the bogs, freezing plants into crystalline shapes. Ahead lay the village of Larkspur, where Sinclair warned of titanspawn cultists. Rumors had circulated of dark rituals within the area, and the Hegemony had dispatched Sinclair and a few of his retainers to investigate. Inquisitors within the Hegemony were rightly feared, because they rarely traveled without military accompaniment.
As they neared the village, Sinclair called out orders from atop his mount.
"Divide up and scour the town. Bring forward any suspicious individuals."
The men obeyed with precision, breaking into lances, and moving about the huts. The people of Larkspur had recently begun to move about in the morning air, and many were frightened by the presence of the soldiers. Gerad and his brothers approached and surrounded one woman, forcing her back against the wall of a small shack.
"Where are the cultists?" Gerad demanded.
The woman was terribly frightened, and unable to answer. Tahni leaned forward with spear in hand, although Gerad knew he would not harm her. Tears ran down the woman’s cheek.
"Just tell us. We seek only the cultists."
"No… we were warned…" The woman collapsed in a heap. Disgusted, Gerad advised his brothers to leave her. They moved along, watching the other lances ousting people from their houses. His lance did the same, barging into a household and interrogating the family within.
It began to form a disturbing pattern in Gerad’s mind. The people of Larkspur were all scared, but it wasn’t just fear of the invading army. They had been cowed into silence by whatever had taken over their village. He felt shame at intimidating these people, as these were the people of Ankila that he had sworn to protect.
A cry from the street drew their attention and pulled them from a house. Soldiers dragged forth a beaten and bloody individual wearing tattered green robes. He was thrown forward at the feet of Inquisitor Sinclair, who looked down with disdain. Sinclair made sure that spears were trained on this man, and then he leaned down to look at him.
"Where are your allies?" Sinclair asked with an even voice. The man spat blood at Sinclair’s feet and was rewarded by a spear stabbed into his calf. Calmly, Sinclair asked again.
"It is I, alone." The man answered. Sinclair straightened, looking at the troops and the few villagers who watched from doorways.
"Erect a pyre. We will burn this lover of titanspawn."
The business was done quickly. Unused lumber was taken from one of the outlying houses and a pyre was erected. The cultist was bound to the pillar and all were brought forward to witness the act. He cried out a curse against the village and the army, but in the end, he burned as any man would. Gerad watched on, glad to see this justice done. Warstone stood beside him in silence.
Sinclair watched the pyre until the man’s body went limp and the smoke drifted into the grey sky. Satisfied, he turned and addressed the forces.
"This cultist lied when he said he worked alone. His agents are scattered through Larkspur, sewing their evils." His lips curled into a sneer with the last word. "I decree this village to be tainted. Raze the village and burn all within. This town will be cleansed."
It was overwhelming to Gerad. There may have been another agent within the village, but to think that they were all tainted with evil? He could not tolerate this injustice, and found himself stepping forward.
"Wait!" he said, drawing silence from everyone nearby. The inquisitor had started to walk away, but slowly turned to regard him.
"These people," Gerad continued, "they’ve been living in fear from this man you burned. They are not wicked, and do not deserve death." Sinclair met his gaze, and considered his words.
"What would you have us do, soldier?"
Gerad pondered for a moment. He now knew that the man before him was evil, although a different sort of evil than the cultist they had burned. He cared nothing for these people, and would kill them all unless Gerad could make a sound argument. Gerad began to speak, missing the subtle nod that Sinclair made to someone nearby.
"Maybe you could -"
Gerad’s words were cut short as a massive force slammed into his backside with a thick crunch. He was driven forward and to the ground. It was the charduni war scepter. He knew Warstone had done this. Stubborn, he pushed up to his hands and knees to try and make a stand. Once again he was struck and this time the force was too much. Gerad dropped, with his face half-submerged into a partially frozen puddle of mud. Vague and distant, he could hear voices nearby.
"Leave his body here. Let him burn with those he sympathized with."
Everything faded to darkness.
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