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<blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 108095" data-attributes="member: 143"><p>Book III, Part 24</p><p></p><p>Dawn broke on what looked to be another bright day for the village of Mantru, nestled snugly in the crater of the black mountain in the center of the Isle of Dread. Normally, the industrious villagers were up and about with the dawn, but this morning a quiet hung over the place, as its occupants rested and recovered from the festivities of the night before. Here and there a solitary villager could be seen, walking along the beach to greet the day or checking his latest plantings in the garden plot behind the community huts. </p><p></p><p>In a curtained-off space in the rear of one of the huts where the travelers from Faerûn were staying, Elly opened her eyes and stretched languidly. The knot of pain was still there in her heart, and she knew that it would take time for it to unravel completely. But on this morning she felt at least able to face the day and its promise, to go on with the rest of the living and leave the dead behind. The half-elven woman rolled over on the padded mat where she’d slept, and regarded Benzan, still sleeping beside her. Asleep, he looked almost placid, whatever demons that troubled him quiescent for the moment. Careful not to wake him, she bent over him and lightly kissed his forehead, then got up and slipped on her tunic—at least the bright red of the Tanaroan garment had faded somewhat, she noted—over her breeches. </p><p></p><p>With a final glance back at Benzan, she crossed to the curtain and slipped out into the larger front area of the hut. </p><p></p><p>And nearly ran into Dana, who was already dressed and was about to reach for the curtain. </p><p></p><p>“Good morning,” Elly said. </p><p></p><p>“Um… morning,” Dana replied. “I’m sorry… I thought Benzan had taken this room.”</p><p></p><p>“He’s still sleeping.”</p><p></p><p>“Oh.” An awkward pause followed, and then Dana said, “Well, I just wanted to tell him that we’ve another meeting with the village elders again today. Cal thinks that they have something else to share with us, something they were holding back, yesterday.”</p><p></p><p>“Maybe it’s something about that Well of Worlds,” Elly suggested. “Something that can help us get back home.”</p><p></p><p>“Yeah. Well, anyway…” She turned to leave, but paused as the two women heard noises from the other side of the curtain that indicated that someone was stirring beyond. </p><p></p><p>“Elly, is that you?” Benzan’s voice came, and then the tiefling, clad only in a blanket wrapped around his lower body, pulled back the curtain and stepped into the hallway. </p><p></p><p>“Ah, good morning,” he said, as the awkwardness factor suddenly increased about ten-fold in the room. </p><p></p><p>“Dana says we’re meeting with the elders again today,” Elly said. “Maybe that cleric will finally tell us something about how to get home.”</p><p></p><p>“I hope so,” Benzan said. “Have they said anything about breakfast?” he added optimistically.</p><p></p><p>“There’s plenty of food left over from last night,” Dana said. “Well, I’d better get back to the others. Come join us… when you’re ready.” With that she spun abruptly and all but darted to the door of the hut. </p><p></p><p>“I didn’t want to wake you,” Elly said, once they were alone again. “About last night… thank you.”</p><p></p><p>“Um… you’re welcome.”</p><p></p><p>“Look, last night was great… but we’re still in a strange place, and we’re a long way from home. What happened last night… it doesn’t have to mean anything, beyond what it was.”</p><p></p><p>“Elly…”</p><p></p><p>“Shh.” She came close and embraced him, folding into his arms, and there was a hint of something wistful in the look that he didn’t see, a glance back at the doorway where Dana had disappeared. When she broke back from the embrace, however, her smile was back in place. “You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for,” she said, and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Let’s get our gear and rejoin the others.”</p><p></p><p>Still a little confused about exactly what had just happened, Benzan nodded and followed her back into their curtained nook. </p><p></p><p>* * * * * </p><p></p><p>They met again with the elders that afternoon, after they’d had the morning to recover their strength from the difficult trek up the side of the mountain. The lazy time was a welcome respite after all they’d been through on the island, and they spent it lounging about, cleaning weapons and repairing equipment, or helping the villagers in their various chores, as each saw fit. </p><p></p><p>The second meeting was held not in the audience hall with the “chief”, but in the smaller hut, also a short distance out into the lake, that served as the personal sanctuary of the priest Umlat. Once again only Umlat and Fano were present besides the companions, and the smaller, more intimate setting gave this meeting a more informal mood than the last. While the gathering hall had been spartan and ceremonial, Umlat’s hut was crowded with holy items, simple charcoal drawings of animals and people, and various knickknacks fashioned of wood, animal bone, and carved stone. They sat on small padded chairs around a central brazier of beaten bronze that looked to be as old as the world itself. A medley of smells hung in the air, strange but not unpleasant.</p><p></p><p>Once they had all crowded into the confined space, Umlat intoned the words of a ritual blessing to his god, Oloron, and indicated to them that they should use their magic that would enable them to understand his words. Since Dana’s mangled hand made it difficult for her to complete the gestures needed for the spell, Ruath cast it instead, and she served as translator for the meeting. </p><p></p><p>“Welcome, once again,” Umlat said to them, once he had finished his own spell. “I trust that you all enjoyed our hospitality last night. Many of my people have expressed their own appreciation of your friendship and openness with us.”</p><p></p><p>The native cleric didn’t mark the covert look that Dana shot in Benzan’s direction, although one other did. It had not escaped Delem’s notice how Dana had come back from Benzan’s lodgings clearly agitated, and even as he wondered what had transpired between them he felt a pang of jealousy twist at him, remembering how the young woman had embraced Benzan when he’d returned to them out of the chasm back at the edge of the plateau. At the time he’d not paid any attention, as they’d all been grateful to see Benzan alive, but now a gnawing tendril of dark emotion had taken root, and his expression darkened. </p><p></p><p>“When you first arrived, we had to be cautious, not knowing if you were friend or foe,” the cleric was saying. “There are many dangers in this place, as you yourselves have already learned in your time here, and some of them are capable of putting on a pleasant face. But in the short time you have been here I have watched you, and communed with the divine Lord of the Skies for guidance, and it is my belief that you have been sent here for a reason, to aid us in our time of need.”</p><p></p><p>“We seek only a way home, back to where we belong,” Cal said cautiously, once Ruath had translated the cleric’s words. “But we would be willing to extend what aid we could, if it is within our power to do so.”</p><p></p><p>The cleric nodded. “Our needs run along parallel courses. I apologize for dissembling with you earlier, but as I said, we had not yet taken your measure. I did recognize that which you seek, this Well of Worlds. Our most ancient chronicles, passed down from one generation to the next as is our tradition, mention this thing, though I know no nothing of it save the name.”</p><p></p><p>“You have no doubt seen the island that rests upon the surface of the great lake. To our people the place is taboo, forbidden to us as one of the very cornerstones of our tradition. It is a place of great power, which our legends tell us was once the home of our ancient gods when they walked upon the land, long, long ago.”</p><p></p><p>“We may not set foot upon the island, but you, as outsiders, may do so without offending the spirits of our gods.”</p><p></p><p>“So what is it that you want us to do there?” Benzan asked. “While we seek out this Well, of course.”</p><p></p><p>“Taboo Island is the home of a band of renegades, a fallen people that… excuse me… feed upon the roasted flesh of both men and beasts. There is little of the human left in them, just a savagery that penetrates to the corrupt core of their being. I suspect that it is living on the island, where the ancient power of our gods still persists, that has warped them, but one cannot be certain. Their depraved lusts and inherent violence keeps them in check somewhat, but every few seasons they raid Mantru, and carry off the bodies of those they kill. They kill all they can, save the children—those they take alive, and what transpires with them…”</p><p></p><p>The cleric broke off, the muscles in his neck bunching with obvious rage as his chronicle continued. Fano, too, looked grim, and his hand tightened around the haft of his dagger, as if he half-hoped that one of the cannibals would enter the hut at that very moment to be slain at his hands. </p><p></p><p>“How many are there?” Lok asked. </p><p></p><p>“They raid in groups of fifteen to twenty warriors,” Umlat responded. “They have not attacked the village directly in many years, but strike wherever our guard is weakest—at lone craft fishing on the lake, or forage parties in the forest, or small groups outside the wall. We slay many, but always with the next turning of the seasons there are more, as if the very stones of the island spawn more of them.”</p><p></p><p>“And your taboo, it prevents you from attacking their base of operations,” Cal noted. “Convenient, for them.” </p><p></p><p>“Your coming may shift the balance between us,” Umlat told them. “For many seasons—more than I can remember easily—my magic and Fano’s strong arm have kept them at bay, but I sense that the end of my days approaches, and none of the young men can wield the power of great Oloron as I can. I fear for my people, without my protection, at the hands of the renegades, and I suspect that they are waiting for just such a chance to finally strike and wipe us away for all time.”</p><p></p><p>Cal looked around at his companions, taking the measure of their reaction to the cleric’s dark tale. He understood the looks of anger they wore—he felt the same way about what man described—but he also knew that they were hearing just one side of the story. “It seems that we must go to the island anyway,” he said, “and we appreciate your warnings of what danger might lie ahead for us there. But our main goal is finding the Well, and if possible a way back to our home. We appreciate all the aid that you and your people have given us…”</p><p></p><p>“I understand,” the cleric said, raising a hand to forestall him. “Our struggle is not yours, and to request aid in slaying others, even such as those who live upon the island, is a heavy boon to ask of strangers.”</p><p></p><p>He rose, and bowed to them. “We will be happy to provide you with supplies, and even the use of two small boats that will allow you to reach the island. I wish you well in your search for a way back to your home, but I fear… I fear that your course will inevitably take you through the renegades, and I would suggest that you be prepared for a confrontation.”</p><p></p><p>“It seems we’ve prepared for little else since arriving at this place,” Benzan noted wryly. </p><p></p><p>“Thank you, Umlat, Fano,” Cal said, standing and returning the elder’s bow to each in turn. His companions also rose, checking their weapons and other gear almost reflexively, an instinct born of facing almost constant danger at every turn. They were ready for whatever tests lay ahead, Cal knew. </p><p></p><p>“We depart tomorrow.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazybones, post: 108095, member: 143"] Book III, Part 24 Dawn broke on what looked to be another bright day for the village of Mantru, nestled snugly in the crater of the black mountain in the center of the Isle of Dread. Normally, the industrious villagers were up and about with the dawn, but this morning a quiet hung over the place, as its occupants rested and recovered from the festivities of the night before. Here and there a solitary villager could be seen, walking along the beach to greet the day or checking his latest plantings in the garden plot behind the community huts. In a curtained-off space in the rear of one of the huts where the travelers from Faerûn were staying, Elly opened her eyes and stretched languidly. The knot of pain was still there in her heart, and she knew that it would take time for it to unravel completely. But on this morning she felt at least able to face the day and its promise, to go on with the rest of the living and leave the dead behind. The half-elven woman rolled over on the padded mat where she’d slept, and regarded Benzan, still sleeping beside her. Asleep, he looked almost placid, whatever demons that troubled him quiescent for the moment. Careful not to wake him, she bent over him and lightly kissed his forehead, then got up and slipped on her tunic—at least the bright red of the Tanaroan garment had faded somewhat, she noted—over her breeches. With a final glance back at Benzan, she crossed to the curtain and slipped out into the larger front area of the hut. And nearly ran into Dana, who was already dressed and was about to reach for the curtain. “Good morning,” Elly said. “Um… morning,” Dana replied. “I’m sorry… I thought Benzan had taken this room.” “He’s still sleeping.” “Oh.” An awkward pause followed, and then Dana said, “Well, I just wanted to tell him that we’ve another meeting with the village elders again today. Cal thinks that they have something else to share with us, something they were holding back, yesterday.” “Maybe it’s something about that Well of Worlds,” Elly suggested. “Something that can help us get back home.” “Yeah. Well, anyway…” She turned to leave, but paused as the two women heard noises from the other side of the curtain that indicated that someone was stirring beyond. “Elly, is that you?” Benzan’s voice came, and then the tiefling, clad only in a blanket wrapped around his lower body, pulled back the curtain and stepped into the hallway. “Ah, good morning,” he said, as the awkwardness factor suddenly increased about ten-fold in the room. “Dana says we’re meeting with the elders again today,” Elly said. “Maybe that cleric will finally tell us something about how to get home.” “I hope so,” Benzan said. “Have they said anything about breakfast?” he added optimistically. “There’s plenty of food left over from last night,” Dana said. “Well, I’d better get back to the others. Come join us… when you’re ready.” With that she spun abruptly and all but darted to the door of the hut. “I didn’t want to wake you,” Elly said, once they were alone again. “About last night… thank you.” “Um… you’re welcome.” “Look, last night was great… but we’re still in a strange place, and we’re a long way from home. What happened last night… it doesn’t have to mean anything, beyond what it was.” “Elly…” “Shh.” She came close and embraced him, folding into his arms, and there was a hint of something wistful in the look that he didn’t see, a glance back at the doorway where Dana had disappeared. When she broke back from the embrace, however, her smile was back in place. “You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for,” she said, and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Let’s get our gear and rejoin the others.” Still a little confused about exactly what had just happened, Benzan nodded and followed her back into their curtained nook. * * * * * They met again with the elders that afternoon, after they’d had the morning to recover their strength from the difficult trek up the side of the mountain. The lazy time was a welcome respite after all they’d been through on the island, and they spent it lounging about, cleaning weapons and repairing equipment, or helping the villagers in their various chores, as each saw fit. The second meeting was held not in the audience hall with the “chief”, but in the smaller hut, also a short distance out into the lake, that served as the personal sanctuary of the priest Umlat. Once again only Umlat and Fano were present besides the companions, and the smaller, more intimate setting gave this meeting a more informal mood than the last. While the gathering hall had been spartan and ceremonial, Umlat’s hut was crowded with holy items, simple charcoal drawings of animals and people, and various knickknacks fashioned of wood, animal bone, and carved stone. They sat on small padded chairs around a central brazier of beaten bronze that looked to be as old as the world itself. A medley of smells hung in the air, strange but not unpleasant. Once they had all crowded into the confined space, Umlat intoned the words of a ritual blessing to his god, Oloron, and indicated to them that they should use their magic that would enable them to understand his words. Since Dana’s mangled hand made it difficult for her to complete the gestures needed for the spell, Ruath cast it instead, and she served as translator for the meeting. “Welcome, once again,” Umlat said to them, once he had finished his own spell. “I trust that you all enjoyed our hospitality last night. Many of my people have expressed their own appreciation of your friendship and openness with us.” The native cleric didn’t mark the covert look that Dana shot in Benzan’s direction, although one other did. It had not escaped Delem’s notice how Dana had come back from Benzan’s lodgings clearly agitated, and even as he wondered what had transpired between them he felt a pang of jealousy twist at him, remembering how the young woman had embraced Benzan when he’d returned to them out of the chasm back at the edge of the plateau. At the time he’d not paid any attention, as they’d all been grateful to see Benzan alive, but now a gnawing tendril of dark emotion had taken root, and his expression darkened. “When you first arrived, we had to be cautious, not knowing if you were friend or foe,” the cleric was saying. “There are many dangers in this place, as you yourselves have already learned in your time here, and some of them are capable of putting on a pleasant face. But in the short time you have been here I have watched you, and communed with the divine Lord of the Skies for guidance, and it is my belief that you have been sent here for a reason, to aid us in our time of need.” “We seek only a way home, back to where we belong,” Cal said cautiously, once Ruath had translated the cleric’s words. “But we would be willing to extend what aid we could, if it is within our power to do so.” The cleric nodded. “Our needs run along parallel courses. I apologize for dissembling with you earlier, but as I said, we had not yet taken your measure. I did recognize that which you seek, this Well of Worlds. Our most ancient chronicles, passed down from one generation to the next as is our tradition, mention this thing, though I know no nothing of it save the name.” “You have no doubt seen the island that rests upon the surface of the great lake. To our people the place is taboo, forbidden to us as one of the very cornerstones of our tradition. It is a place of great power, which our legends tell us was once the home of our ancient gods when they walked upon the land, long, long ago.” “We may not set foot upon the island, but you, as outsiders, may do so without offending the spirits of our gods.” “So what is it that you want us to do there?” Benzan asked. “While we seek out this Well, of course.” “Taboo Island is the home of a band of renegades, a fallen people that… excuse me… feed upon the roasted flesh of both men and beasts. There is little of the human left in them, just a savagery that penetrates to the corrupt core of their being. I suspect that it is living on the island, where the ancient power of our gods still persists, that has warped them, but one cannot be certain. Their depraved lusts and inherent violence keeps them in check somewhat, but every few seasons they raid Mantru, and carry off the bodies of those they kill. They kill all they can, save the children—those they take alive, and what transpires with them…” The cleric broke off, the muscles in his neck bunching with obvious rage as his chronicle continued. Fano, too, looked grim, and his hand tightened around the haft of his dagger, as if he half-hoped that one of the cannibals would enter the hut at that very moment to be slain at his hands. “How many are there?” Lok asked. “They raid in groups of fifteen to twenty warriors,” Umlat responded. “They have not attacked the village directly in many years, but strike wherever our guard is weakest—at lone craft fishing on the lake, or forage parties in the forest, or small groups outside the wall. We slay many, but always with the next turning of the seasons there are more, as if the very stones of the island spawn more of them.” “And your taboo, it prevents you from attacking their base of operations,” Cal noted. “Convenient, for them.” “Your coming may shift the balance between us,” Umlat told them. “For many seasons—more than I can remember easily—my magic and Fano’s strong arm have kept them at bay, but I sense that the end of my days approaches, and none of the young men can wield the power of great Oloron as I can. I fear for my people, without my protection, at the hands of the renegades, and I suspect that they are waiting for just such a chance to finally strike and wipe us away for all time.” Cal looked around at his companions, taking the measure of their reaction to the cleric’s dark tale. He understood the looks of anger they wore—he felt the same way about what man described—but he also knew that they were hearing just one side of the story. “It seems that we must go to the island anyway,” he said, “and we appreciate your warnings of what danger might lie ahead for us there. But our main goal is finding the Well, and if possible a way back to our home. We appreciate all the aid that you and your people have given us…” “I understand,” the cleric said, raising a hand to forestall him. “Our struggle is not yours, and to request aid in slaying others, even such as those who live upon the island, is a heavy boon to ask of strangers.” He rose, and bowed to them. “We will be happy to provide you with supplies, and even the use of two small boats that will allow you to reach the island. I wish you well in your search for a way back to your home, but I fear… I fear that your course will inevitably take you through the renegades, and I would suggest that you be prepared for a confrontation.” “It seems we’ve prepared for little else since arriving at this place,” Benzan noted wryly. “Thank you, Umlat, Fano,” Cal said, standing and returning the elder’s bow to each in turn. His companions also rose, checking their weapons and other gear almost reflexively, an instinct born of facing almost constant danger at every turn. They were ready for whatever tests lay ahead, Cal knew. “We depart tomorrow.” [/QUOTE]
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