Issue #17: Interludes and Intermissions - Episode 3 of 13
Goldpetal and his companions reach the edge of the rubble, all that remains of the hill upon which the standing stones stood, the hill which contained one shattered altar, and beneath that, the Temple of Pain, a shrine of Gormoth. As Goldpetal walks out into the rubble, Paks stops, holding out her hand to stop Chuck as well. “We wait here,” she says, turning her back on the elf and watching outward. She draws her sword and begins patrolling the perimeter, watching for trouble, while the Vigilant, fascinated, continues to watch.
Goldpetal walks through the rubble to the center. He seats himself in a lotus position, and begins chanting in the mystic tongue of the druids. As he intones the words of the ritual, he burns some herbs he has with him in a little fire. He continues for about ten minutes. Abruptly, the fire goes out, and the elf’s chanting ceases.
A little field mouse crawls up the elf’s arm. It stops near his ear, and looks for all the world like it is whispering to him. His lips move silently, and it appears as though he gives it instructions, for it runs down his arm, and runs off into the grass. Shortly thereafter, a little bird flies up and lands on his shoulder. It sings to him, and he whispers to it. It flies off. This continues happening, with various small animals and insects coming up to him.
“We’re standing watch,” Paks’ voice startles Chuck from his reverie. He, too, begins patrolling the perimeter, keeping an eye out for ducks, and sneaking the occasional glance in at the druid. Goldpetal continues whispering to small animals for about half an hour, and then sits in silent meditation.
Two hours pass; the sun grows warm above them, and the noise of insects is the only sound. Then, a large lizard works its way quickly through the grass, passing Paks’ guard. When it reaches the silent elf, it blurs and shifts, and metamorphoses into a lizard man. He sits down and joins Goldpetal in meditation. He, too, is interrupted by more little animals, lizards and others which Chuck recognizes as indigenous to the swamp.
As the morning continues to pass, Chuck becomes bored with watching the perimeter of the hill. He begins trying to fly, instead, but the wind conditions aren’t good for it; there’s no lift.
After another hour, a female wood elf, covered in ritual tattoos, shows up. She is wearing only a loincloth, and her face has a haunting beauty to it. She doesn’t say a word, walking past the two guardians to join the circle. Chuck can’t keep his eyes off of her. Shortly thereafter, a ferret shows up, turns into a tall man, and joins them.
Finally, an eagle flies in, and turn into a stern-looking half-elf. He is the first to speak. “We are now assembled,” he declares, in a firm, loud voice. He turns towards Paks and Chuck. “Thank you very much for your help. You are not needed now.”
Paks nods, and turns to Chuck. “There are parts of the ritual that we may not see,” she tells him. In a louder voice, she calls, “At what distance should we wait?”
The half-elf seems not to have heard, and the others do not acknowledge their presence. After a moment’s silence, Goldpetal calls in reply, “Return to the Freehold. I will meet you there.”
They mount their horses to ride back to the freehold, leaving one horse ground-reigned for the druid. As they leave, they hear the group begin to speak amongst themselves in the strange language of the druids.
Chuck and Paks reach Kratys Freehold late in the afternoon, just as Miriel meets the dove. She and Stone meet them in the dining hall, where they describe what they have seen. “The ritual will last quite a while,” Paks says. Chuck looks at her curiously, as they had not received any estimate from Goldpetal, and she sounds confident of her knowledge.
Miriel says, “We would plan to spend the night here, anyways. Novalia and Telryn are still sleeping. I suspect he, at least, will sleep through the night. Stone, why don’t you tell them your story, while I go to see if I can cure Brand’s disease?”
Leaving Stone, Paks, and Chuck talking, Miriel goes to find Brand. He is asleep in a small room off the main hall, and as Myrs had said, he is covered in red blotches and has a very high fever. He is covered in a sheen of sweat, and his breathing is shallow and rapid. Miriel fervently prays to Madriel on his behalf, and casts cure disease. As she works, she can see the red blotches reducing in size, and his fever breaks. He is still asleep, but no longer sweating as heavily, and his breath returns to normal.
At the evening meal, Novalia wakes, and joins everyone in the dining hall. It is a merry company, and the hall is very full, as Taryn and Myrs maintain the custom of having all dine together, save those standing watch. With the twenty freedmen and the off-duty militia in addition to their townsfolk, the hall is packed to capacity.
Brand too, has woken up, and is dining at the head of the table with his parents. Taryn calls for silence, and offers public thanks to Miriel for healing his son, thanks which Myrs echoes. The assemblage cheers her loudly.
“It was the goddess’ will,” Miriel responds, when there is enough silence to hear her. “I am but her conduit.”
She is sitting at Taryn’s right hand, in the place of honor, so Brand is directly across from her. In a quieter voice, she tells him, “I’m glad to see you up so soon. How are you feeling?”
“Better, thanks to Madriel – and you. The illness was very sudden. It came upon me while I was working my forge, trying to melt down the scimitar.”
Miriel looks very concerned. “I should examine the scimitar,” she says.
When it appears that she might leave the table immediately, Taryn reaches out a hand to stay her. “After the meal, surely,” he says.
However, when the meal is over and we are ready to go, Myrs asks, “Miriel, wait a moment. I have some things to tell you.” She leads Miriel, Novalia, Chuck, Paks, and Stone over to a side room – the very room in which Milo’s trial was held. Taryn follows, and closes the doors behind us.
“I have studied the rat man scrolls,” she tells us, “And I have completed a translation. They are detailed documents, which describe how the ratmen were using their slaves to breed diseases, for use against human settlements.”
Paks gasps. “That’s awful!”
“That is not the worst,” Myrs says grimly. “Another scroll describes a cell of ratmen near Lave, and how they will be using the Slimy Doom to poison the water supply of that city.” She looks at Miriel, “It doesn’t say directly, but it makes a passing mention of a ‘trial run’. I think that may be the outbreak which you helped work against, last spring.”
“We couldn’t figure out how the Slimy Doom had broken out so far north,” Miriel says, nodding thoughtfully. “It is normally found only in the swamps.”
“Their plans went awry when there was a coup in the local warren,” Myrs tells us. “When Xyler Blackfoot gained control, he went against orders to attack our Freehold, seeking vengeance for his brother’s death.”
Taryn nods to Paks. “Thanks to your help, of course, we fought them off.”
Myrs continues, “The albino you met was Skelos Chernson, a noble of the rat men, Initiate of the Second White Circle. He had come to check up on their plans, and was very upset that Xyler had gone off on his own. This last scroll is an unfinished message back to his commanders, a report of all that has happened. It sounds like you eliminated them before he could send it back to his superiors.”
Taryn speaks next. “The information is very detailed: people, places. You should go to the Vigilant headquarters at Charwood Hill. It is a fortress outside of Lave, command of the Hornswythe Vigil.”
“I know it well,” Chuck says, “For I have trained there.”
“I will write a letter of introduction for the others,” Taryn says, “In case you do not arrive with them. It is important to get this information in the Vigil’s hands, for although their plans have been interrupted by your freeing of the slaves, there is almost certainly still a cell of ratmen in Lave, and they may yet find another way to poison the water supply.”
“It is a noble quest,” Paks says. Just then, there is a knock at the door.
“Enter!” calls Taryn.
It is Brand, and he carries the scimitar, wrapped in a blanket so that he doesn’t touch it.
Miriel carefully unwraps it, and examines the scimitar. She casts a spell on it, and says, “It’s definitely magic. It is bathed in some sort of necromantic enchantment. As you said, Paks, it is extremely evil, but I cannot tell what its powers may be.”
As she is examining it, the clouds outside part, and the light of the Nameless Orb begins to pour in through the window. The moon bathes the blade in its dark red light, and a series of foul runes appear on the blade.
“Those weren’t there, before,” swears Brand, his voice near a whisper.
“What do they say?” asks Paks. “We should wake Telryn.”
“No need,” Myrs says. “I know those runes. It reads Blade of Chern, in the Slytherin tongue.”
“This is an ill thing,” Miriel concludes. “I think everyone should stay away from it. Only Paks or I should touch it, and we shall keep it wrapped in this blanket, so as not to touch the hilt or blade.”
Goldpetal and his companions reach the edge of the rubble, all that remains of the hill upon which the standing stones stood, the hill which contained one shattered altar, and beneath that, the Temple of Pain, a shrine of Gormoth. As Goldpetal walks out into the rubble, Paks stops, holding out her hand to stop Chuck as well. “We wait here,” she says, turning her back on the elf and watching outward. She draws her sword and begins patrolling the perimeter, watching for trouble, while the Vigilant, fascinated, continues to watch.
Goldpetal walks through the rubble to the center. He seats himself in a lotus position, and begins chanting in the mystic tongue of the druids. As he intones the words of the ritual, he burns some herbs he has with him in a little fire. He continues for about ten minutes. Abruptly, the fire goes out, and the elf’s chanting ceases.
A little field mouse crawls up the elf’s arm. It stops near his ear, and looks for all the world like it is whispering to him. His lips move silently, and it appears as though he gives it instructions, for it runs down his arm, and runs off into the grass. Shortly thereafter, a little bird flies up and lands on his shoulder. It sings to him, and he whispers to it. It flies off. This continues happening, with various small animals and insects coming up to him.
“We’re standing watch,” Paks’ voice startles Chuck from his reverie. He, too, begins patrolling the perimeter, keeping an eye out for ducks, and sneaking the occasional glance in at the druid. Goldpetal continues whispering to small animals for about half an hour, and then sits in silent meditation.
Two hours pass; the sun grows warm above them, and the noise of insects is the only sound. Then, a large lizard works its way quickly through the grass, passing Paks’ guard. When it reaches the silent elf, it blurs and shifts, and metamorphoses into a lizard man. He sits down and joins Goldpetal in meditation. He, too, is interrupted by more little animals, lizards and others which Chuck recognizes as indigenous to the swamp.
As the morning continues to pass, Chuck becomes bored with watching the perimeter of the hill. He begins trying to fly, instead, but the wind conditions aren’t good for it; there’s no lift.
After another hour, a female wood elf, covered in ritual tattoos, shows up. She is wearing only a loincloth, and her face has a haunting beauty to it. She doesn’t say a word, walking past the two guardians to join the circle. Chuck can’t keep his eyes off of her. Shortly thereafter, a ferret shows up, turns into a tall man, and joins them.
Finally, an eagle flies in, and turn into a stern-looking half-elf. He is the first to speak. “We are now assembled,” he declares, in a firm, loud voice. He turns towards Paks and Chuck. “Thank you very much for your help. You are not needed now.”
Paks nods, and turns to Chuck. “There are parts of the ritual that we may not see,” she tells him. In a louder voice, she calls, “At what distance should we wait?”
The half-elf seems not to have heard, and the others do not acknowledge their presence. After a moment’s silence, Goldpetal calls in reply, “Return to the Freehold. I will meet you there.”
They mount their horses to ride back to the freehold, leaving one horse ground-reigned for the druid. As they leave, they hear the group begin to speak amongst themselves in the strange language of the druids.
Chuck and Paks reach Kratys Freehold late in the afternoon, just as Miriel meets the dove. She and Stone meet them in the dining hall, where they describe what they have seen. “The ritual will last quite a while,” Paks says. Chuck looks at her curiously, as they had not received any estimate from Goldpetal, and she sounds confident of her knowledge.
Miriel says, “We would plan to spend the night here, anyways. Novalia and Telryn are still sleeping. I suspect he, at least, will sleep through the night. Stone, why don’t you tell them your story, while I go to see if I can cure Brand’s disease?”
Leaving Stone, Paks, and Chuck talking, Miriel goes to find Brand. He is asleep in a small room off the main hall, and as Myrs had said, he is covered in red blotches and has a very high fever. He is covered in a sheen of sweat, and his breathing is shallow and rapid. Miriel fervently prays to Madriel on his behalf, and casts cure disease. As she works, she can see the red blotches reducing in size, and his fever breaks. He is still asleep, but no longer sweating as heavily, and his breath returns to normal.
At the evening meal, Novalia wakes, and joins everyone in the dining hall. It is a merry company, and the hall is very full, as Taryn and Myrs maintain the custom of having all dine together, save those standing watch. With the twenty freedmen and the off-duty militia in addition to their townsfolk, the hall is packed to capacity.
Brand too, has woken up, and is dining at the head of the table with his parents. Taryn calls for silence, and offers public thanks to Miriel for healing his son, thanks which Myrs echoes. The assemblage cheers her loudly.
“It was the goddess’ will,” Miriel responds, when there is enough silence to hear her. “I am but her conduit.”
She is sitting at Taryn’s right hand, in the place of honor, so Brand is directly across from her. In a quieter voice, she tells him, “I’m glad to see you up so soon. How are you feeling?”
“Better, thanks to Madriel – and you. The illness was very sudden. It came upon me while I was working my forge, trying to melt down the scimitar.”
Miriel looks very concerned. “I should examine the scimitar,” she says.
When it appears that she might leave the table immediately, Taryn reaches out a hand to stay her. “After the meal, surely,” he says.
However, when the meal is over and we are ready to go, Myrs asks, “Miriel, wait a moment. I have some things to tell you.” She leads Miriel, Novalia, Chuck, Paks, and Stone over to a side room – the very room in which Milo’s trial was held. Taryn follows, and closes the doors behind us.
“I have studied the rat man scrolls,” she tells us, “And I have completed a translation. They are detailed documents, which describe how the ratmen were using their slaves to breed diseases, for use against human settlements.”
Paks gasps. “That’s awful!”
“That is not the worst,” Myrs says grimly. “Another scroll describes a cell of ratmen near Lave, and how they will be using the Slimy Doom to poison the water supply of that city.” She looks at Miriel, “It doesn’t say directly, but it makes a passing mention of a ‘trial run’. I think that may be the outbreak which you helped work against, last spring.”
“We couldn’t figure out how the Slimy Doom had broken out so far north,” Miriel says, nodding thoughtfully. “It is normally found only in the swamps.”
“Their plans went awry when there was a coup in the local warren,” Myrs tells us. “When Xyler Blackfoot gained control, he went against orders to attack our Freehold, seeking vengeance for his brother’s death.”
Taryn nods to Paks. “Thanks to your help, of course, we fought them off.”
Myrs continues, “The albino you met was Skelos Chernson, a noble of the rat men, Initiate of the Second White Circle. He had come to check up on their plans, and was very upset that Xyler had gone off on his own. This last scroll is an unfinished message back to his commanders, a report of all that has happened. It sounds like you eliminated them before he could send it back to his superiors.”
Taryn speaks next. “The information is very detailed: people, places. You should go to the Vigilant headquarters at Charwood Hill. It is a fortress outside of Lave, command of the Hornswythe Vigil.”
“I know it well,” Chuck says, “For I have trained there.”
“I will write a letter of introduction for the others,” Taryn says, “In case you do not arrive with them. It is important to get this information in the Vigil’s hands, for although their plans have been interrupted by your freeing of the slaves, there is almost certainly still a cell of ratmen in Lave, and they may yet find another way to poison the water supply.”
“It is a noble quest,” Paks says. Just then, there is a knock at the door.
“Enter!” calls Taryn.
It is Brand, and he carries the scimitar, wrapped in a blanket so that he doesn’t touch it.
Miriel carefully unwraps it, and examines the scimitar. She casts a spell on it, and says, “It’s definitely magic. It is bathed in some sort of necromantic enchantment. As you said, Paks, it is extremely evil, but I cannot tell what its powers may be.”
As she is examining it, the clouds outside part, and the light of the Nameless Orb begins to pour in through the window. The moon bathes the blade in its dark red light, and a series of foul runes appear on the blade.
“Those weren’t there, before,” swears Brand, his voice near a whisper.
“What do they say?” asks Paks. “We should wake Telryn.”
“No need,” Myrs says. “I know those runes. It reads Blade of Chern, in the Slytherin tongue.”
“This is an ill thing,” Miriel concludes. “I think everyone should stay away from it. Only Paks or I should touch it, and we shall keep it wrapped in this blanket, so as not to touch the hilt or blade.”
