DM Bloodgargler's Kingmaker - Stolen Lands

Game Master karlprosek

A rather wild-eyed Durielle blurts out quietly, "No!

Durielle begins coughing again more violently than usual, but catches her breath after a few seconds. Somehow she's still clutching Whisper's stirrup. She wonders if she's just been standing here this whole time while her friends moved about. How did no one notice me caught up in that moment?

The oracle wipes her mouth then sighs abruptly. She fumblingly leads her mare to the pool and allows her to drink then she kneels and scoops up some of the water with her own two hands, sipping some and splashing the rest onto her face. The coolness and purity is startling and refreshing.

Durielle opens her eyes and sees the vibrancy of the life around her. Time starts shifting...but this is the familiar. The usual overlapping images of the grasshopper nearby choosing to leap left, right, or take flight entirely with the left leap seemingly more vivid indicating it was the more likely choice. The bird swooping in from the right choosing to pull up and soar on a draft or dive in for the grasshopper with the dive clearer and the motion more certain. The trees nearby stretching towards the sky, their long branched limbs tighter and stronger even as Durielle looks on.

The wind picks up and a swirl comes through the glade, rippling the cool waters while the statue of the god looks on, strong and content. The power of the wild and the natural thriving as it should as it needs to. The oracle smiles while closing her eyes briefly reaching up to drop the hood from her head. Her blonde hair blows, thin and frail, but it catches the light and spills out to curl and turn in the breeze.

These are the moments I must save. It is these I must keep for my friends and those I love. That is my purpose.

Nico looks over at Balter and asks, "Is this, uh, thing with them a recent development?"

Durielle's quiet outburst grabs his attention and he snaps his head around to face her, concerned that she may be in danger or seen some threat that the others had missed. He finds her staring back at him with wide, almost feral eyes and a somewhat bewildered expression on her face. A quick glance around shows nothing alarming. "Is something the matter, Durielle?"

A few moments pass before Durielle registers that Nico had spoken to her. She turns her head causing her hair to swish around almost like a wave to settle around her pale neck and the shoulder of her robe.

"My apologies, Master Tegustus," the elf says her voice soft and calm. The smile that had come in the presence of the shrine's divine and holy energy still graces her lips. "I did not mean to cause alarm. I was gripped in a...vision caused by my power, I suppose one could say."

Balter chuckles. "Recent? I wonder about that. But no, those two have been ogling each other since I first met them. Still, out in the middle of the woods? Didn't think they'd be so bold. Nobles and their bizarre courtship rituals..." The half-elf takes another swig from his wineskin.

He looks over at Durielle with some concern, though by now he is able to guess at what must have happened. As for what she saw, well, that was anyone's guess. "Don't dote on her too much," he says to Nico, still smirking, "She's not gonna keel over and die, or anything."

Durielle makes a little sound of indignation.

"Sometimes a lady likes a little doting," she pouts, her mouth making a displeased moue. "It shows us that you do care after all."

Then the oracle laughs, her expression softening and her smile bright. The holy aura of the shrine seems to have done wonders for the oracle's recent despondent mood. She begins to remove Whisper's trappings and give the mare a similar rubdown as Prancer received from Marisol.

"Would you like me to see to your mount, Balter Farshadow, or will you be seeing to him yourself?"

Each laden with armfuls of firewood, Marisol and Vladimir return to the shrine.

"We miss anything interesting?" the swordsman asks his companions as the pair re-enters the temple grounds.

Marisol returns with Vlad, only a few minutes after they left, with an armload of wood. She brings it to the campfire circle and tosses it onto the ground nearby. She picks out several pieces and sets up a small leaning cone of wood to start the fire.

"Only the master ranger telling our newly minted Barony archmage not to dote on poor sickly Durielle," the elf says sadly. "'She's not gonna keel over and die, or anything,' I believe was the champion tracker's assessment."

Durielle's mouth twitches as her amusement can't be contained, and suddenly she gives off a few silvery peals of laughter at any discomfiture Balter may display and a conspiratorial wink to Nico.

Nico blushes a deep red, and says, "Uh ... I believe it's customary that someone next ask me if they look fat in what they're wearing."

Marisol obligingly turns around holding her cooking pot at waist level in preparation for hanging it over the fire and says, "Nico, does this pot-belly make me look fat?"

Hearing Durielle's "complaint", the swordsman comments to Nico, "She must like you. Normally if any of the rest of us worry overly much about her she gets mad at us...not that it stops us, mind you."

"With Jhod telling us that watches are not necessary her, I think it would be a good idea for us to enjoy the evening and, for once, all of us get a good night's rest so that we have fresh eyes for our journey tomorrow. According to the maps we have so far, it will be into uncharted territory for us."

Balter chuckles before looking over at the exceedingly scruffy Owlbear, who seemed perfectly content to ignore him and to continue chugging down water from the sacred pool. He wrinkles his brow, trying to remember whether he had given the horse a proper brushing even once since first getting him. Apparently the thought is a distracting one, because Durielle notices Vlad and Marisol's return before he does.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Starshine," he says, lying back with his arms folded behind his head. Still, that arrogant smirk continues to tug at the corner of his mouth. It was almost a smile, really. His good mood was infallible, it seemed. "But since you offered, I suppose Owlbear could use some of your... attention."

Hearing Nico and Marisol's exchange (without any visual context whatsoever), he lets out another loud snort. Hanging around, making raunchy jokes in the woods. Yeah... definitely nostalgic.

"You are doomed now, Nico. Now that they have decided to gang up on you, you could be in for a long night." Vladimir warns. "If we were not to have busy day tomorrow I might suggest drinking heavily."

Marisol plants an iron bar with a hook on top into the ground and hangs the pot over it, over the fire. Then she sets about adding the various ingredients for the stew, starting with the mutton and stock.

"Fortunately, I'll be here stirring for a while, so you can easily make an escape," she quips.

"Someone did say something about there being a cave near by ..."

"Other than that one?" Vladimir asks, somewhat confused, as he points to the cave at the top of the patched with mortar and stone steps at the other end of the shrine.

Nico grins. "It was more of a, uh, rhetorical statement. Once again, my powers for creating awkward conversation go unbeaten," he says, winking at the end.

Thinking for a second, Vladimir laughs, realizing that he had misunderstood Nico's comment initially.

"Must be something about you wizard types. One of my former teachers, Astavos, would have certainly given you a run for your money on that front. He was as brilliant as the sun, but sometimes was a bit socially awkward...wonderful sort to send traveling around the Inner Sea with a teen-aged boy." Vladimir comments, his tone conveying fondness and a bit of sadness about his mentor.

Marisol continues stirring the stock, slowly bringing it to a boil, then adding vegetables later. She checks the flavor briefly, adds another pinch of salt, and continues her usual work of turning bland trail rations into something palatable.

"Don't worry, Nico, I'm sure Jhod would let you stay in the cave if you needed to," she teases. "You could become the hermit-mage of the region. But to be honest I'd rather have your magic and your education with the team."

After about thirty minutes of cooking, she looks back to Vladimir and says, "Here, come try this," and holds out her stirring spoon toward him.

Vladimir makes his way over toward where Marisol is preparing dinner for the group. Taking a taste of the stew, he says, "Delicious as always, my dear...perhaps a bit of pepper if we have it?"

"That being said, I am not entirely sure that I would trust my advice on the matter, as I do not remember the last time I actually cooked anything." he says with a self-deprecating laugh.

Marisol chuckles and says, "I was about to say, 'more pepper?' I have a little bit that I can add."

"As to your judgment, while you may not cook often, you do eat every day!"

Marisol places the spoon back into the pot and rummages around in her ingredients for a small bag of pepper, from which she adds a generous pinch to the mixture. Then she says, "Supper should be ready in just a few more minutes."

After a few more minutes, Vladimir calls the others over to partake of Marisol's culinary creation.

"Jhod, it would seem rather rude if we did not have our host have the first bowl." the swordsman says, waving the Erastilian priest to toward Marisol first.

While everyone else is getting their meals, Vladimir stokes the campfire and makes sure everything is in order for everyone to sit down and enjoy the evening's meal.

Once everyone has their respective bowls full of the stew and is seated, Vladimir asks, "Anything in particular we should talk about this evening?"

Like I said in the discussion thread, I am content to RP, but I'm just as content to move on to the next day.

"Thank you" Jhod accepts the food offered to him.
"So... I have some interest in the history of this area - particularly the time around the rise and fall of Nugrah.. did you happen to discover anything of note within the Stag Fort?"
He takes a bite... "Mmm.. very good.".. then a few more.. "Quite excellent."

"Other than Nugrah himself?" Vladimir asks.

"It seems that Nugrah was the father of the Stag Lord, and his harsh treatment of his son as a child came back to him as the Stag Lord achieved adulthood."

Digging through his bag, Vladimir comments, "Most of it is in Nugrah's journal if you would like to have a look."

Marisol ladles out stew for everyone, then passes around a bowl of biscuits that have been heated in a damp cloth over the fire so that they're soft and warm.

"He still had magical powers, so presumably he served some unwholesome entity," she chimes in.

"Ah... So he was the child...." Jhod takes his last couple bites, and nods in thought for a few moments. "Several decades ago there was a fey incursion. Nugrah - at that time known as the Jackdaw Prince - was at the head of a fighting force.. an alliance of expeditionary forces and adventurers known as the Twigjack Militia, followers of Erastil, and many factions of the Green Faith."

"It all fell apart when he went mad. His newly wed wife died giving birth.. he swore it was the work of an ally.. a curse put upon them. He slew everyone at the fort.. other leaders, allies, friends, and the family of his wife."
"Thank you" He lifts the journal and nods to Vladimir. "Perhaps there is more to discover within."

Nico listens to Jhod's story with interest, then mutters, "Stag Lord. Jackdaw Prince. Twigjack Militia. Who comes up with these names?"

"Mad as can be...that would accurately describe the old man we faced." the swordsman.

Vladimir chuckles, hearing Nico's comment. "The names are odd, but old."

Rolling out the map, he says, "Furthermore we have an idea of the area the Twigjack Militia originated from, assume they are from near the tower that holds the same name. Unfortunately, the tower and the surrounding village is held by one the Stag Lord's former lieutenants, a rather arrogant bastard called Dovan." he say in way of explanation to Jhod and Nico.

Nico nods and says, "Yes, I remember you mentioning Dovan the other day. If I understood you correctly, he's, uh, on our short list of long-term problems."

He looks over to Jhod, and starts running his chin as he thinks. "A fey incursion. The barriers between their world and ours may be thin in these lands. There may even be a natural portal between the two."

Vladimir nods. "Yes, Dovan would be at the top of our list of problems...not the top of our list of priorities, mind you, but the top of the list of problems."

"Do you know that for certiain, Nico, or are you simply speculating?"

"Just speculating. It's...difficult to cross. And, um, imprecise." Nico shrugs. "But, admittedly, they're fey. Organization and precision may not, uh, be prerequisites."

Balter eagerly partakes in supper, even having some semblance of manners as he eats his serving of stew. As he listens to Jhod's tale however, his expression falls, his appetite following soon after. Strangely, when Dovan mentioned, he passes up his chance to trash talk the man like he usually does. Instead he sets his bowl down, his mouth shaped into a familiarly dour frown.

"I wouldn't be surprised. Grigs and mites are harmless compared to the other things that can come from the other side," he remarks to Nico grimly, eyeing the wizard with some level of scrutiny. "Who knows? We might even run into some of them, deeper in the woods."

Having said his piece, Balter leans back. He considers picking at his stew again, but decides against. After a few seconds pass, he speaks up again, having almost forgotten something. "Oh, and Dovan - to hell with him."

"Good to know." the swordsman says to the conversation topic chosen by Nico and Balter.

"Balter, are you alright? Seems the fey thing has you out of sorts." Vladimir asks, not actually expecting an answer from the ranger, although he waits a while for a response none-the-less.

"...Yeah, I'm all right," Balter replies, practically forcing himself to calm down. He hesitates, feeling no real need to elaborate, but goes on to do so regardless. "I'm not terribly fond of them, if you haven't noticed. They're nothing but trouble. The only thing that sets them apart is kind of trouble you can expect from them."

Marisol passes out lavender tea for anyone interested, though she herself has something rather more bitter.

"Aren't some of them... well... you can sort of deal with them, as long as you stay on their good side?" she asks as she sips her tea.

"That has been my rather limited experience." Vladimir chimes in to Marisol's question, while waiting for Balter's reply.

Turning back to the ranger, the swordsman asks, "Dare I asks what has caused you dislike of their kind? I know the 'jokes' can be somewhat annoying, but in your case there is obviously something deeper involved."

Balter looks to Marisol with a frown. "That's just it, isn't it? How much are you willing to bargain with to stay on their 'good side?' A few meaningless trinkets and baubles are one thing, but what about your own child?"

The ranger folds his arms and closes his eyes. "Let's just say I had a bad run-in with some of them and leave it at that. That was a long, long time ago."

Vladimir's expression is one of curiosity. One's own child? he thinks to himself as he briefly considers prying further, but chooses not to given how secretive Balter has been about his past thus far.

Any hint of who the ranger was before the expedition was progress, the swordsman decides, and lets the subject go.

"Sorry to dredge up bad memories, Balter. It was not the intention." Vladimir says to the ranger.

Looking around the campfire, Vladimir comments, "Marisol's spell does wonders for physical fatigue when keeping watch, but it does not do a whole lot for mental fatigue. Combine that with a full belly of a delicious meal, and I think I will be turning in for the evening. Good night to all. See you in the morning." he says before heading toward his tent.

"Children are precious," says Marisol firmly. "But certainly the faeries we met just the other day are happy with tea and cookies."

As people finish their meals she collects the platters and whisks away the crumbs with a magical flourish that turns them into sparkling motes that vanish, then stacks them away cleanly. She finishes her tea and says, "There's still some hot water over the fire, if anyone wants some more tea. Good night, everyone." Then she, too, saunters off to the tent for the evening.

After some whispered discussion, Marisol slips back out of the tent, and she and Vlad move their supplies to the mouth of the cave instead.

"Don't worry about it," Balter replies, shaking his head emphatically. "It's all in the past, exactly where it belongs." He flashes a halfhearted smirk when Vlad and Marisol decide to retire for the evening. "Sleep well, you two."

His good mood decidedly spoiled, Balter rolls out his bedroll right where he is and lays back.

"That goes for the two of you as well, Nico, Durielle," he says, closing his eyes.

Nico listens as the exchange takes an unexpectedly dark turn. Not really sure what to say, or even if he should say anything at all, he chooses to stay silent. As the others turn in for the evening, he quietly says, "Good night," and then retires to his tent.

Durielle eats her stew contentedly and murmurs her appreciation for Marisol consistently doing the heavy lifting with the expedition's cooking needs. Durielle had always been more of a baker, and she looked forward to a time when she had a proper oven and the time needed to bake and make bread and casseroles. Her beef pot roast was certainly something she believed everyone would enjoy.

For once, Durielle's face is hard to read as she watches Balter's mood change as the discussion turns to his feelings towards the fey and what they mean to his past. She stays silent however and says nothing to remove any of the half-elf's mystery if she knows more than what the others hear.

As the others turn in, the oracle lingers by the pool before the statue of the god. She sits near it and looks into the calm waters. Her silver eyes mirror the luminescence of the moon's shining reflection, and in the darkness, the oracle seems to almost glow. Her wasting sickness is unapparent leaving only her natural beauty to shine forth. She hums a song from a time long passed. One the younger team members may have heard their mother or grandmother sing. Durielle trails her fingers along the water's surface causing ripples which seem to light up with divine power whether the shrine's or her own.

Her gaze is lost in the depths of the pool most likely seeing beyond the now and into the past or the possible futures for this place or its inhabitants. She continues to hum whether unconsciously or intentionally so. Her voice is melodic and pleasant and not just a little hypnotic for folks who are sleepy. Then she moves to the party's belongings and removes the stag skull helmet last used by the Stag Lord. She approaches the pool and kneels across from the statue of Erastil. She begins to whisper.

"O wise and great master of the wild, teacher and tamer of nature, we bring this artifact which we believe should please you. An item of power surely designed to prove your worship in these stolen lands now won. We beseech you for your blessing even as we plan to encroach on the wilderness to bring civilization to some of its reaches. Forgive us and accept our apologies even as we promise to remember you and your domain and always seek to balance what can be with what is and what will come again. For the wild and natural world will wait to reclaim the land from even the mightiest empires. Time and history have proven this, and we will do our best to remember this."

She lowers the helmet into the water.

"We offer this artifact to be consecrated in your shrine and used by your faithful to do your work in these lands. Let this helm become the symbol of your devotion and your justice and erase the memory of the terror it once symbolized. While we attempt to bring order to the lives of those who seek to tame the wild of Greenbelt, let your faithful prosper and teach us lest we forget that from the wild is where we have come and will once again return."

Durielle lifts the helm from the divine waters and stands. She moves quietly to the base of the statue and lays the helm at its feet before kneeling once again, her silver eyes wide and gazing at the weathered stone. She murmurs a rote prayer to Erastil to complete her worship and bows her head to meditate for a while before finally seeking her own bed.

Assuming nothing miraculous happens or anyone wants to interact with Durielle following all of this, feel free to move us along, DM.

It turns bitterly cold again during the night, and in the morning you wake to find frost on the ground. Jhod is kneeling in front of the statue of the Elkfather. As you rise he quietly nods to the base of it. You see hoof prints in the frost leading to it and the helm.
"I suspect- I assume this was your doing..." Jhod had gone to bed before Durielle placed the helm here. ".. I suspect you've earned his favor. The wild will likely be more kind to you for some time." He smiles then bows his head reverently. "Safe travels today, my friends."

Noting the chill in the air and the frost on the ground, Vladimir comments as he exits the tent. "Alright, duly noted...a larger tent and a some cold weather gear first chance we get."

As the group goes about their morning activities of packing up and eating a bit of breakfast, Vladimir takes note of the Stag Helm. "Your handy work, I assume?" he says to Durielle. "Well done."

Once everyone is ready, Vladimir mounts Shadow and prepares for the day's exploration.

I know I had originally said D3 was next, but would anyone be opposed to the following route instead? D2 -> E2 -> F2 -> E3 -> D3 -> E4 -> E5 -> E6 -> (we might have to backtrack to E5 to cross the rivers) F5 -> F4 -> Kingdom Building. Granted we would likely have to resupply at somepoint in there

Marisol keeps her cloak wrapped tight against the frost as she manages a quick breakfast of warmed biscuits and sliced fruit, then cleans up just as quickly after. She rubs down Prancer to give the horse a warm-up after the cold night and with a prestidigitation spell makes the saddle warm, then struggles into the stirrups, takes the reins, and shifts to a high-saddle riding position.

"Durielle, once again you've brought peace and beauty in your wake," she says as she sees the elf's handiwork. "I am, as always, impressed."

"Jhod, thank you for your hospitality, and for Erastil's."

No objection to altering course.

Having fallen asleep without so much as a blanket covering him, Balter wakes up to find himself covered from head to toe by a thin coat of rime. With a groan he sluggishly reaches for his face, brushing away the tiny ice crystals that were sealing his eyes shut. A string of mumbled curses follows as he sits up, setting his mood for the morning. After ensuring that his arms and legs weren't frozen stiff, he falls into a quiet, almost meditative state for about an hour, recentering himself after the previous night's distressful conversation. By the end of it, he mumbles something that sounds much less like a curse; in an instant, the frigid air no longer felt like a concern.

"At this rate, we might need to get some blankets and warm clothes the old fashioned way," he remarks to the others as he shoves half of a biscuit into his mouth. He sorely regretted not finishing his supper the previous night.

The ranger mounts his horse, either oblivious or uncaring of the saddle's coldness.

"How do you bear the cold like that?"

Hearing Balter's comment about acquisition of blankets and clothing, Vladimir says, "That is certainly an option. Gods know there are enough wolves and bears in the area."