The Dark is Rising - WotW Part II (Inactive)

Game Master Darkness Rising

FIREDAY 1 ABADIUS

Morning

The first day of the New Year dawns, bright with sunshine and promise. Tkaara takes a startled glance at the sun peeping through the curtains and dives into her coffin for the day; thankfully in Winter the days are short and she will not be out of action for long. The rest of you assemble in the breakfast room, which is in the glass conservatory of the Baron's manor. Apart from a few scattered guests, clearly nursing sore heads, you are essentially alone. Baron Vandermir is not present. Timeon, still taking his duties seriously, attends to each of you, providing you with breakfast from the kitchen and copious quantities of coffee.

About halfway through breakfast, Elise Zadaria appears, resplendent in a new, more modest dress of frosty grey velvet; the rest of the Seventh Knot trails in her wake. Bidding them to wait with a curt hand gesture, Elise approaches you. There is a certain - if not exactly diffidence - change in her demeanour; subtle, but definitely there. Offering a short curtsy, she addresses Felrin directly.

"It seems that I have misjudged the situation from the start - Tiadora has made it very clear that the Seventh Knot is here to aid the Ninth." She half-consciously rubs at her arm, as if it pains her. "I shan't lie; I am disappointed to be given the supporting role - but, since that is the case, the resources of the White Ravens are there to assist you. My proposal is this: you seek the Tears of Achlys and the Horn of Abaddon. I assume you will find the Horn, but it is not clear how long it will take to obtain the Tears from Vetra-Kali, who has been banished now for decades. I assume that this will attract attention: the forces of Good in this land have got lazy, but they are not weak or stupid."

"While you were breaking the Watch Wall, we have been active in and around the Heartlands; please believe me when I say that whatever chaos you wreaked up in the North will not be enough to distract any who might wish to stop you. This is where we come in. We will stay within Farholde and set up watch for any arriving bands of would-be heroes. Those we cannot eliminate directly ourselves, we will feed misinformation to them and report on their activities to you. Thus warned, you should be able to see to it that they meet an unhappy end in the Bryr, far from any prying eyes."

She pauses, and offers another curtsy; still addressing Felrin directly. "Will the Ninth approve the plans of the Seventh?"

Etna greets with Elise and the Seventh Knot with a nod, but waits for Felrin to reply to the woman: as they were apparently formally talking as each others as leaders of the two knots, it would have been unseemly for her to speak out of turn. Patiently, she waits for Felrin's response, smiling almost imperceptibly for a moment noticing the Winter Witch rubbing her arm, making the almost-obvious connect between that and Tiadora.
My, am I the only one that didn't have the pleasure of having her arm twisted around?

Tkaara glances over at Trik as Elise makes her pronouncement. Tkaara works through her head attempting to discern not if, but rather how many, methods of deceit and backstabbing the winter witch is undoubtedly planning behind the facade of Asmodean camaraderie.

Felrin listens to Elise's proposal, a faint smile crossing his face as the woman rubs her arm in recollection of Tiadora's persuasion. "An intriguing offer," he replies to the leader of the Seventh Knot, "and one I am inclined to accept, if I decide you can be trusted. A question for you - you say you will send us information on any who might arrive to try to stop us. How will you do so, when we are in the depths of the Bryr?"

Elise waves a hand at your question: "There are ways. Most of them involve magic." She looks at you intently. "Can you not do as much?"

"We too have our ways," Felrin counters, "I merely wished to know more of you." He glances briefly at his companions in the Ninth Knot, more to communicate that he's made his decision than to ask for their input, then turns back to Elise. "Very well, I approve of this plan, and accept your proposal to serve as our assistants in this matter."

He then asks the other Forsaken, "Anything to add? Directions for the Seventh knot in carrying out this plan?"

Tkaara listens to Elise and then to Felrin's response, nodding in agreement.
Perhaps the best way to stop Mitrans from following our trail is to light other fires for them to fight. Make sure that there is a regular series of problems here in Farholde, preferably pointing to good Mitrans who occasionally have had rumors, true or false, sent in their directions in the past.

FIREDAY 1 ABADIUS

Morning

Elise listens and nods in agreement, before rejoining her companions.

Afternoon

The sun has set by the time the Baron joins you. "Shall we?"

He takes this opportunity to show you the secret entrance in the cellar of his mansion; as he said, it emerges in an otherwise unremarkable house at the base of the hill. From there, it's a matter of minutes to get to the orphanage that he runs. "I think you will find them quite promising..."

Baron Vandermir established this orphanage some decades ago, ostensibly to help the most needy of Farholde’s children. In truth, the orphanage’s actual purpose is to give the Baron muscle. The older boys are taught to fight and steal. Those who excel at this brutality are eventually recruited into the Baron’s personal retinue. This gang of toughs does Vandermir's dirty work.

The Orphanage itself is an imposing structure teeming with children of all ages. The buildings are well maintained and the children certainly seem well taken care of. Everyone recognised the Baron, and even the hardest of the older youths bow respectfully; two of the younger ones (dressed as page-boys in fine velvet) lead you inside to the Headmaster's own private quarters.

The headmaster, a well-dressed elderly man with a carefully-maintained air of utterly unimpeachable integrity, joins you shortly afterward. The Baron does the introductions: "Master Bergill Nethe, may I present a few friends of mine. They are here on an errand in service of our Dark Father and they may require resources. I will appreciate it if you will treat any request of theirs as if it had come from me."

With that, the Baron takes his leave: he is uneasy at being too publicly associated with you; which is not unreasonable. He at least does so politely, kissing Etna's and Tkaara's hands, and bowing to the others. Once he has left, Master Nethe looks you over appraisingly. "If you require the services of the orphanage, they are at your disposal. I run a smart establishment and you will find them well-disciplined. Kate!" He calls to an unseen lady, who appears from within one of the rooms. "Fetch Iago, would you, please?"

You've seen the woman before: same beguiling looks, same green eyes. It's Kaitlyn Mott, lately of the fort of Balentyne and widow to the convicted murderer Captain Franz Mott. She does not, of course, recognise you - although Timeon was never issued with a Circlet and pulls his hood up sharply, with a hiss of indrawn breath.

Nodding, she disappears and returns some moments later with a burly, greasy thug of eighteen years or so. Two waif-like girls trail in his wake, attracted by the promise of something out of the ordinary happening. Master Nethe waves a hand. "This is Iago, Head Boy here and my right hand when it comes to managing some of what we do here. You are best talking with him directly about your - requirements." He and Kaitlyn leave you to it.

Iago looks you over, licking his lips as he stares openly at Etna and Tkaara. "Good to meetcha, any friend of Master Nethe, well... These are my two girls, Shona and Alyssa."

Shona (sultry, with pouty lips) and Alyssa (slender, with skin like honey) roll their eyes (as only teenage girls can) at being introduced as 'his girls'. "Puh-lease!" "As if! We're, like, way too classy for you." Iago ignores them, still staring at Etna and Tkaara (or more accurately, at their illusory appearances, courtesy of the Circlets both are wearing). "So, what's a lovely pair of ladies like you wanting done?"

Timeon's eyes narrow slightly as he sizes Iago up. With a very polite expression, he intervenes, his voice cracking slightly as he does so. "Excuse me, but that's not how you address-"

Iago sneers at him: he's about a head taller than Timeon and considerably bulkier. "Shurrup, shrimp - not taking crap from someone whose b*lls haven't dropped ye-oof!" Timeon's foot catches him solidly in the pit of his stomach, and the squire's backhanded swipe knocks him off his feet.

Standing over him, Timeon continues in the same polite tone "You're a big lad, but I got up before dawn every day from the age of six to train. You're out of your depth. Now listen. You will not look at Lady Agnes or Mistress Fiakben like that. You will address them properly. You will take orders from me. If you leer at them again, I will gouge out your eyes and fill the holes with salt." He pauses, as if remembering something. "Hah. Or vinegar. Do we have an understanding?"

Iago moans in pain. Timeon nods, satisfied. "I'll take that as a yes." He looks at you. "I'm more than happy to sort this rabble out on my own, my Lords and Ladies; I'm sure you have more important things to do."

Seeing Timeon knock the youth to the ground, Tkaara smiles a cold smile and walks over the the youth. She reaches down and picks the boy up by his neck, her waifish figure belying her unnatural strength. She contemplates calling on the heavens to drain a little more of the life from the child, but decides that her bitterly cold hand likely will have the same effect on the boy at this time.

After lifting the boy to his feet by his neck, she stares at him, her cold undead eyes hidden behind the veil of the circlet: Timeon is our voice. What he says, has the same force as if we said it. She pauses for dramatic effect before continuing.

However, if anything should happen to him, or should he report back that you and your orphans are anything other than compliant, you will wish that it was his fists doing the torturing.

With that, she looks to her companions.
For now, we have two requests. First, you are to watch anyone arriving and leaving this town. If anyone of import appears, or more importantly, anyone begins to ask questions, you are to report back to Timeon. I do not care what the questions are, we want to know them.

She licks her lips, but does not breathe, expecting the lack of what would be a natural bodily function to further scare the boy into compliance.

It does not matter whether they are Mitran Inquisitors asking about dark happenings, Talingarde military planning to attack the bugbear hordes, or small groups of adventurers "planning" and expedition. We want to know who they are, where they are from, and most importantly, what they are seeking.

We know you have children capable of getting into most of the places in this town, or getting "employed" by those of power. So, make sure that we know what is happening in this town as soon as, if not before, it happens.

Once more, Tkaara pauses and looks about the room:
And, there is another group of adventurers who have recently arrived. A tall ice queen and her retinue which consists of several men, some pleasant and some not so pleasant. You are to aid them if asked, but do not reveal that you are working for us. You are to report back to us what they do, and what they ask. But, do not interfere with their actions, irrespective of what those actions might be.

She pauses once more.
Just make sure that none of you get caught by any of those in the ice queen's group. If you do, it is likely to be the last time you get caught.

Felrin bids farewell to the baron, then watches the exchange between Iago and Timeon with interest. The boy has come a long way since we hauled him out of that dungeon. Worth noting.

As Tkaara lays out the tasks for Iago, Felrin nods along. When she is done speaking, he blinks his eyes briefly and his magical disguise drops, revealing his true nature - though even as he does so, his head begins to tip slightly to one side, as a bulbous growth appears to make its way under his skin, rising up from his collarbone and climbing his neck and jaw before flattening and vanishing, leaving his cheeks slightly less gaunt. Heedless of this horrifying sight, Felrin stares at Iago with intense blue-green eyes and says, "Heed her words, and mine. You will not fail in your duty to us, for the price of failure is beyond bearing, beyond imagining. Do I make myself clear?"

A grim smile crosses his lean face as his disguise returns and he awaits the boy's response.

Arms crossed in front of his chest, Erevan watches the exchange as first Tkaara and then Felrin take turns to... explain things to the one called Iago. He does not take part, save for smiling and nodding in approval to how Timeon handled the larger youth.

"Tkaara, Felrin," he interjects, his voice soft, his tone even and controlled, "I am certain the boy has understood not only what his task entails, but also the consequences of failure. Perhaps we should stop and allow him at least a modicum of dignity? I would hate to think what would happen to his clothes, certainly his breeches, were the good Doctor to also have a... talk with him."

Ottakar grunts noncommittally. As if he would care to waste words on this wretched urchin; if the orphans failed them, they could always kill a few later to teach them the error of their ways. He stands nearby, bored, as usual, calculating formulae in his mind to stave off the inevitable boredom. Or, worse, the ensuing bloodlust.

Etna's expression twists in disgusts when Iago leers at her and Tkaara, her eyes kindling for a moment with a yellow glow. Fortunately, Timeon intervenes, and the ifrit's expression reacquires it's usual composure: with a nod and a smile to Timeon, Etna throws an icy glare at Iago, waiting for the boy to apologize properly.
He better do that. I hope, at least, that he's half as capable in his job as he's at leering at women.

FIREDAY 1 ABADIUS

Afternoon

Getting up, slowly, Iago carefully averts his eyes from Tkaara and Etna - he nods keenly at the barrister's words and 'suggestions' "Yes, Mistress Fiakben. Of course." He obeys Timeon's commands crisply.

The two girls, Shona and Alyssa ignore him completely, focusing their joint gazes on Timeon, licking their lips. They don't say anything; they don't need to.

STARDAY 2 ABADIUS & SUNDAY 3 ABADIUS

Much to the girls' disappointment, Timeon has no interest in gaolbait moppets of questionable breeding and few social graces; he promptly installs them as 'serving girls' in one of Farholde's most fashionable establishments and hostelleries. Their dismay ("Work?! You wannus to ****in' work?!") is vocal - right up to the point where they realise how much they can earn in 'tips'. Timeon's instructions are clear: they're to keep their ears open and watch the great and the good of Farholde as they take their leisure.

Working with the now-compliant Iago, as well as Elise Zadaria and the other contacts you have made in Farholde, by the end of the Sunday evening you have an organisation worthy of the name. In the room at the top of the tavern which you are renting for the occasion, you quietly toast the creation of The Bound Flame.

WEEK BEGINNING MOONDAY 4 ABADIUS

TBC...

Cutscene

Dripping with blood, Tiadora materialises in the middle of the Cardinal's study. Setting aside the book he is deciphering, he glances up at her. In her true form, bereft of the clothing of mortal flesh, she looks magnificent; at least, in his eyes. Others might beg to differ. Or simply beg. "You look as if you've been enjoying yourself."

She shrugs. "I play with their will to resist through the medium of their flesh. It becomes a game."

Thorn gives a wry smile; "Some play chess."

The thing that is Tiadora sneers in reply: "A foolish game: it presupposes equal starting positions."

He nods, slowly, acknowledging the point. "And you learned...?"

Another shrug. "He was very sorry to have failed you. And apparently there were angels that came to the king's aid. They hadn't counted on that."

Ever the teacher, Thorn holds up a gloved finger, forestalling her. "Archons, more likely. "

Well of COURSE Archons, you utter, utter, DOLT! You pedantic, pathetic WORM! I know that, I was reporting what he said, not offering my own analysis! Tiadora dares say none of this; barely dares even to think it. The Cardinal is vastly more powerful than she, and could destroy her essence on this plane with little more than a thought. She changes tack. "Shame he resisted so briefly; that squire put up more fight..."

The Cardinal smiles, steepling his fingers before his face. "Ah, but he had faith, misguided and pitiful though it was; this mercenary had no reserve to sustain him. Did you say one survived?"

She nods. "Yes. Imprisoned. I could... "

He waves a gloved hand: "No. He knows nothing and I would not draw attention. Questions would be asked. So, my Fifth Knot has failed me and my Fourth Knot has deserted me; no matter. We are at war now, and there will always be casualties. What is needed is reinforcements. Barnabus, of course, does great work there... but what of our other guest? He looks expectantly at her for an answer.

Tiadora nods, slowly. "She tells the truth; she is no longer capable of the concentration needed to maintain a lie."

The Cardinal too, nods; and smiles. "Good news indeed! Make her ready for the journey, will you?"

Tkaara sits back in the room above the tavern, savoring the glass of red wine, or what looks vaguely like very think red wine. After another sip, she looks to the others.

So, we seem to have a following. What next? We need to get moving to find the Horn. From what I have heard, going through the forest is the only realistic option. We are strong, but as we discovered, there are deadly things in that woods which we may not be prepared for.

She takes another sip of her drink.

So, on the morrow do we set forth again? Timeon can manage things here, and I do not think he is likely to betray us as he knows what we, and Tiadora, are capable of to those guilty of betrayal.

The Bound Flame: Week of Moonday 4 Abadius

It is an eventful first week in the life of your new organisation. Your efforts to maintain a low profile are not entirely successful, but this is in part due to actions beyond your control. Seeking to obtain a source of funds that is not criminal in nature, Timeon consults with Baron Vandermir, who points him towards the docks. There is not a great deal of trade between Talingarde and the mainland of Tian Xia, but what there is passes through Farholde. In times of war, there are very few prepared to lend money to those merchants whose cargoes have not yet come in but who need to pay e.g. warehouse fees and so on.

With the baron's connections, it is no problem to arrange a few loans between some of the wealthier members of the nobility and those traders in need of something to keep them afloat (figuratively and literally). Timeon and - surprisingly - Trik do very well here, with their courtly manners and a degree of charm. Your brokerage/middleman's fee nets you enough to keep everyone in the organisation paid, and a small profit of 180 in gold for yourselves (don't spend it all at once).

Unfortunately, one of the foreign enterprises is greatly upset at the arrival of newcomers - a Tian organisation known as the Lotus Leaf had previously been loan-sharking on the docks. Lacking any access to funds from the native Talireans, the Tian merchants have had little choice but to pay the outrageous interest rates, and the Lotus Leaf is keen to keep it that way. They are greatly upset by your interventions. The first you are aware of it is when one of your own agents is knifed in Lord Drownington's Manor. Rubal Thraam takes this very personally, and he and Timeon combine their forces in a short - but very bloody - turf war against the Lotus Leaf.

No quarter is asked or given, but at the end of the week The Bound Flame is victorious, with the Lotus Leaf disbanded, its leaders either dead or having fled the port for safer environments.

On a more peaceful note, the gathering of information nets you the following rumours:

• Lord Welshire has taken the army and gone to join the war. What if monsters from the Caer Bryr attack? We’re defenseless!

• That Sergeant Hallack is a coward! He quit the army and now lets all his comrades march to war why he sits on his duff, drinking his cares away.

• The Knights of the Alerion have gone mad and are blaming the invasion on the temple of Asmodeus. They’re burning anyone with a black cat at the stake! It’s madness! There hasn’t been a cult of Asmodeus in Talingarde for twenty years. Someone’s organizing the bugbears, surely, but Asmodeans? Ha!

Your recruitment efforts are largely a wash: you gain a few but lose about as many in the turf war.

MOONDAY 4 ABADIUS

Past Midnight

You have been standing here, in the middle of nowhere, in the freezing snow, for what seems like hours. It has been hours. Felrin received a message from Tiadora first thing this morning: "Hello, Dearest. Reinforcements incoming. Meet in the West field of Mir Farm, 10 o clock tonight. Don't be late. I'm bringing a guest - be polite."

Mir Farm lies on Baron Vandermir's own lands; as a grazing farm, it has effectively closed up over winter and lies abandoned on the outskirts of Farholde. The West field is the most exposed: the chill wind bites at you, driving freshly-fallen snow into your faces seemingly whichever way you turn. Swathed in bundles of cloaks and hoods, you stand, waiting, trying hard not to freeze.

Tiadora's appearance is sudden, as is her wont; but unusually, she is not alone: one arm holds up a cloaked figure, whose feet are barely touching the ground. Tiadora herself is almost indecently dressed, with a bare minimum of clothing, as if she is flaunting her disregard for the freezing temperatures. "Evening Dearest, glad you could make it. The Cardinal sends his regards - and this." She lets go of the cloaked figure, who falls to the ground with a groan - the tone, and the mass of dark hair that spills out from the hood, suggests a woman, but the cloak could be concealing almost anything.

Tiadora looks around, evidently displeased by where she finds herself. "Well, I would stay and chat, but things press on. I'm sure you can make your own introductions."

With that, she vanishes.

Waiting for Tiadora, Etna passes her time scratching Winston (partly to keep herself warm), her hair having taken a faint orange hue for the cold.
Reinforcements? First the Seventh and now this: why are they sending us reinforcements now? You would think that we could have used those when we had to sabotage the watch wall. Mostly, I hope that Tiadora doesn't-

The ifrit's thoughts are cut abruptly by the appearance of Queen B!tch and the "guest" they were expecting.
Talk of the devil...and what does she think she's doing, dressed up like that?
The fire-haired woman manages to hold herself from commenting, and nods respectfully at Tiadora's orders, waiting for her to leave before making introductions.

Moving next to the cloaked figure on the ground, she offers her/him/it an hand. "I'm assuming from that groan that Tiadora pulled the arm-twisting stunt on you too, I suppose?".

Winston follows right behind Mistress Etna: that didn't require a lot of repositioning, considering he was cowering behind the ifrit the whole time the white-haired monster (Tiadora, not Lady Tkaara) was there. Trotting close to the figure, the dog sniffs it suspiciously.
"Woof?"

Unlike the others, Tkaara is not wearing much other than her usual thin cloak and clothes. When she sees the woman fall to the ground and Tiadora disappear, Tkaara moves forward and crouches next to the woman. Laying a hand on the woman's head, a hand that if anything is actually colder than the bitter night air, she calls on the heavens resulting in a swirl of stars which quickly coalesce about the woman and sink into her wounds.

Welcome, I see that you made friends with Tiadora.

Felrin is as unbothered by the cold as Tiadora, when she finally deigns to make her appearance. But the waiting for the imperious b!tch to show up rankles him. As his irritation mounts over the hours - hours he could be spending converting others to the Dark Lord, or chasing down rumors they've heard in Farhdolde - he seems to hear the ticking of every clock he's ever fashioned echoing in his head.

Tiadora's abrupt appearance, usual haughty demeanor, and equally abrupt disappearance do nothing to improve his mood as his companions rush to tend to the cloaked figure Tiadora has delivered. "Fools," he cries, "have you learned nothing of that woman's ways? You trust Tiadora so, that you'll approach so recklessly? I'd not put it past her to drop some Mitran high priest or other danger in our midst, just to test us, if she thought the Cardinal wouldn't skin her for it."

He takes a few steps closer to the prone figure and says, not unkindly, "Who are you? Why did Tiadora bring you here? And did she hurt you because you deserved it or because she hadn't hurt anyone in a few minutes? To be fair, I know it's hard to tell with her."

Her first thought is cold. Wet and Cold. Snow! Her torturer is talking, surely to others for Tiadora wasn't mad or prone to visions. Driven, yes; efficient, decidedly so; cruel, most certainly - Tatienne could attest to that. But once Taty realized her hands and knees were buried in snow, everything else became completely, utterly, unimportant.

Never that strong to begin with, her torturer's ministrations had done its damage. Taty's arms buckled and she fell face-forward and then rolled to her side, and the urge came on. It had been a long time since Tatienne Talbot had drunk water. Wine and tea of course, plenty of that in the Cardinal's study, and her own blood and urine - the blood, involuntarily, and the urine, well, you do what you have to - but just water? Life-affirming, life-giving, soul-soothing water? Only The First knew how long. First she licked the snow already on her lips before greedily, Taty began to shovel the snow into her mouth, fist-fulls of it, swallowing it despite the freezing headache coming on, until it was too much to bear and Tatienne rolled onto her back, holding the sides of her head and looking up at the starless sky, just in time to see her tormentor disappear, winked out of the immediate area. And that was perhaps more wonderful than even the snow still melting in her mouth.

Tatienne let out a scream, a drawn-out, lung-emptying scream, part release of anger and fear, part pure unbridled joy. And then she realized the others that Tiadora was talking to, they loomed over her, two women, one completely put-together, more in command of herself than Tatienne even on her best days, and the other with brilliant hair, hair that glimmered, even in the darkness, subtle flickers of orange, yellow, and red. Behind them, a man, tall and thin, more reserved, talking of Tiadora and tricks.

He was of course right to be wary. Tatienee would be were she in his shoes. And then the composed one, she placed her hands on Taty, and the hurt and pain that Taty had endured the last The First knew how long, it simply melted away, like the snow on her tongue.

Her mother's voice, the Hells keep her soul warm and bound, strident and forceful, rings in Taty's head. Tatienne! Get ahold of yourself! Decorum, young lady! You may be a shut-in, ravaged by disease and torture, but that's no reason to act like it! On your feet, girl, and put yourself together. The Cardinal has something for you to do!

Standing, a little wobble as she rises, Tatienne Talbot brushes herself off, dimly aware of just how ridiculous she must look, wet and covered in snow, her nose no doubt bright red, as bright as the titular character in Fiero Thrune's delightful holiday tale, Rudolfo the Red-Beast of Hell. Removing a lacy handkerchief from her cloak pocket, Tatienne runs it across her face, a quick clean-up that will have to do, under the circumstances. She's sure her face is gaunt, dark circles under her eyes - torture will do that to you - but Taty hopes she's retained her youthful looks, only a few crows-feet and laugh-lines betraying that the woman is a decade older than she first appears.

Her eyes are kindly, blue, the color of a deep alpine lake, and her skin pale, as any proper woman's should be - one that isn't forced to work outdoors, shoveling and planting and birthing a child every year, those poor sodden salt-of-the-earth folk. Of course, as Tatienne Talbot often is outdoors, it takes some work to keep her skin so fair. The deserts of Osiron were the worst, Taty wrapped nearly like a mummy in lairs of protection; hoods, goggles, a parasol. There's simply no way to look proper in that sun-blighted land.

Tatienne's outfit, as much as one can discern from under her well-made cloak, is befitting one of her station and importance; nicely tailored to fit her lithe frame, expensive, conservative; the type of outfit a Taldan noblewoman would wear to tea service, or to discuss a charitable venture.

Smiling, Taty nods her head, grabbing a the hem of her cloak in a quick curtsy. "I'm quite familiar with Tiadora's... methods, I'm afraid."

"Thank you for your ministrations, dear. I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to stand without them."

Indeed, Tatienne's figure - even with Tkaara's healing - can hardly be considered imposing. She's just over five feet tall, and can't weigh more than 100 pounds, with the cloak and clothes on. Her left hand, gloved in fine leather, curls a little at the fingertips, the remnants of a far-faded wound or sickness, or perhaps something more recent.

Turning to the man, Tatienne continues. "As you're friends - or at least acquaintances - with Tiadora, I assure you I realize it is of no benefit to me to be deceitful. No one in this hells-forsaken lands know this, aside from Tiadora and the Cardinal, so I hope that you will keep the truth to yourself. My name is Tatienne Leroung, of the Chelish Leroung family, and I came to Talingarde under the pretense of being a Taldan noblewoman, surname Talbot, here to study the land's orphanages and asylums." Taty can't control herself, and rolls her eyes. "Taldan, noblewomen, with their pet projects. In truth, I came here for the reason I travel all the places I've been - to find something of extreme value - educational, historical, or religious - to the Empire and to The First. The Cardinal sniffed me out, and I understand I am to assist you in your endeavors. I am skilled with archaeology and history, have a rudimentary understanding of the binding arts and undeath, and am a competent weaver of magic. Please tell me - how may I be of assistance?"

The woman of a few moments ago, the woman that was shoveling snow into her mouth? She's gone, buried deep under this calm and assured facade.

"Oh, and if I may - what year is it?"

Tkaara stands crossing her arms across her chest listening to Taty as she gets up from the ground. Her cloths and appearance still appear as one who would be at a formal summer evening event in a noble's garden, not a windy midwinter night in deserted fields.

What year is it? It is the first day of the first year of a new era. An era where the weak and the foolish kneel down to their new masters.

Tkaara stares at the woman trying to size her up.
You clearly have disdain for the Taldans as well as the Mitrans. But, what do you have to offer us. You look as though a halfling could break you in half. Farholde is not a town for the weak, and I am not interested in healing people over and over.

Taty probably finds it interesting that Tkaara asks about Taty's frail build when Tkaara is, if anything, even thinner, but clearly holds herself up as though there is more to her that the eye beholds.

"It is also 4715 Absalom Reckoning," Erevan says simply, his reply short and to the point as he barely hides a smirk at Tkaara's much more dramatic answer. The pale man makes no move to approach the frail-looking woman, instead studying her intently.

'Binding magic and undeath,' he ponders, his golden eyes glancing for a mere moment at his vampiric companion before turning back to the new arrival. 'How very interesting indeed.'

"Moonday, the 4th of Abadius, to be more specific," he continues. "Why do you ask? Tiadora cannot have been torturing you for too long. You are still alive. Apparently."

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (6) + 9 = 15

Etna retracts abruptly her hand when the new arrival seems to turn feral, gulping snow and screaming. After Tatienne finds her composure again, Etna curtsies in response.

"Etna of House Agnes: a pleasure to meet you." she smiles, a bit of pride in her chest after introducing herself with her title after so much time, even if the ifrit was surely disowned by now "I apologize for my two companions here, asking questions without even introducing themselves.".
"How much did the Cardinal and Tiadora tell about our current mission? I wouldn't want to bore you without details you already know: but as of now, we are establishing a base of operations here in Farholde. We will have all the time to tell you about details: as I first thing tough, as that interests you, rest assured that we have the most deadly orphans in the land at our disposal." the ifrit jokes, smiling grimly.

Easily sensing how Tatienne feels about Tiadora, Felrin relaxes his guard a bit, responding, "Friends of Tiadora we are not, but we have to work with her, same as you, it seems. I am Felrin Vennax, of no fixed abode. I'm the leader of the Ninth Knot, and if you serve the Prince of Hell, you are welcome among us and your talents will be put to good use."

He listens as the others provide Taty with a bit of context, the cold causing a strange change in him. As the icy wind whips more strongly, his skin seems to thicken against it, giving him an almost corpulent appearance, in stark contrast to his sinewy frame. Paying no heed to this change, he chuckles quietly as Etna describes their orphan army, then echoing Erevan's question, "I wondered the same. How is it you're unsure of the year?"

Three months. I've been in and out of the room for three months.

Tatienne forces another smile, her eyes positively sparkling in the dim moonlight of the clearing, turning all her charm on Tkaara. "Well dear, believe me when I say that I have no interest in being healed over and over. I can't help but notice - and forgive me for pointing this out - that you're a little woman yourself. I mean no disrespect of course - it is simply an observation borne of living a life of similar stature. I assume you've developed ways to compensate for your small frame?"

"I always found it best to focus on my strengths, and to make sure that I have good friends and hired help to cover my weaknesses. For example, let me introduce you to someone, if Tiadora was so kind to pack his finger here..."

Tatienne trails off, and reaching down, picks the pack up, brushing the snow from its bottom, and opens it, delighted to find the finger bone resting comfortably at the top of the pack. "Ah yes, here's the Templar."

Pulling the finger bone from her pack, Tatienne holds it up to the moonlight for the others to see, and then palms it, closes her eyes, and two skeletal hands, one missing its left little finger, claw from the snow, followed by the rest of the Templar's body, a blackened and burned skeleton, rising from the earth, until it stands, jaw-bone hanging open, staring at the others.

"This is High Templar Ivan Rogarvia. A dreadful bore in life, third son a minor branch of the Brevic Rogarvias, he was a rigid and humorless paladin of Iomedae that fought in the first Mendevian Crusades against those savages from the Worldwound. For which he should be given proper commendation. Later however, he turned his attentions to the House of Thrune, once they completed their glorious ascension to the throne with the Treaty of Egorian on 19 Calistril, 4640. High Templar Rogarvia died in Westcrown in 4644, slain by our righteous assassins at an inn as he quite foolishly tried to foment a resistance. I dug this bone up in the basement of that same inn not four years ago, after six tedious months of research and following clues led me to the spot of the High Templar's impromptu grave."

"Really, he was quite lucky as the rest of his line would vanish mysteriously not a generation later. The High Templar, at least, gets to live on as my door opener, trap tester, and porter. He also stands between me and those that would hurt me."

As if to belabour the point, Tatienne hands the High Templar her haversack, and the skeleton holds it, standing patiently in the snow, jaw-bone agape.

Turning to Erevan and Felrin, Tatienne continues. "I'm very much alive, thank you. I've been Tiadora's guest for... three months and twelve days, by my accounting. But honestly, I had no idea how long it had been until this fine gentleman informed me. Most of my time, when not speaking with the Cardinal, had been spent in a darkened room, strung from the ceiling." Tatienne shudders, her smile gone. "I spent much of my childhood in darkened rooms. It is easy to lose track of the time."

The smile returns, and Tatienne digs into her pack again, delighted to find her contract now sitting on top of the pack's contents. Marvelous!

"Anyways, I also have one of these. I'm afraid I haven't read it yet, so eager was I to get out of that room... I imagine the blood is probably still wet, must be carefull..." Tatienne trails off, absentmindedly murmuring as she reads the contract. "Well then, pretty boilerplate stuff, really. Seems as if I'm contractually bound to assist you, and you me. Please, take a look yourself. If you all wouldn't mind, I'd love to continue this conversation somewhere warmer. I'm afraid I don't have much patience for this type of weather."

Handing the contract over to Felrin, Tatienne holds her arm out to Etna. "Lady Agnes, I would recognize the easy grace and natural charm of a proper lady anywhere! It is truly a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am afraid I don't know much of your mission. Please tell me what you need me to know, and keep to yourself what you don't. I'm fully confident in the language of that contract to keep us all safe."

Clapping her gloved hands briskly, Tatienne starts walking, arm in arm with Etna (if she'll allow it). "Chop, chop, High Templar. Things to do, places to see, and you still need your beauty sleep. Now, dear Lady Agnes - please tell me about these orphans. They sound delightful..."

Hearing Taty's response, Tkaara steps up to the new woman and lifts her up by the collar with ease with a hand that is as cold as, if not colder than, the night air. She then leans in and whispers in Taty's ear.
Looks can be deceiving. Be careful . . . be very careful when you play with undeath.

She then lowers Taty back to the earth, carefully placing her on her feet before turning to the others.

I find the night quite refreshing and may look to see if there is anyone about to play with. Are we planning on returning so early? Or should we show Taty about the area?

Tatienne's eyes widen as she's lifted, like a doll well off her feet. The relic hunter waves the High Templar off, and trusts that the strong small woman has a contract with the Cardinal as well.

Once Tkaara puts her down, Taty straightens her blouse, smiles and goes to pat the woman on the shoulder, pulling her hand back as she thinks better of it.

"Yes, well, I see you have compensated quite well. I would love to be shown around the area. Farholde, you said? This is my first visit."

Despite decades of hiding his true nature from those around him, Felrin can scarcely conceal his amazement as Tatienne summons the undead form of a long-dead paladin and tells the once-holy man's tale. "Fascinating, fascinating, I see much potential in this," he says, a cunning gleam in his eye. "Whether we use the ruse in Farholde or elsewhere, having your pet High Templar serve as an undead horror striking fear into the hearts of the townsfolk - when Tkaara's not doing so, of course - could serve as a very useful distraction from our quieter activities."

As Tkaara lifts Taty off the ground, Felrin rolls his eyes and comments, "Making up for a life of weakness now that you've left life behind, Tkaara? Put her down, and we'll get her somewhere warmer, so the rest of our companions don't freeze along with her." He takes the contract and rolls it up in his hand, keeping it where Tatienne can see it, and says, "We'd best have our barrister take a look at it, but I expect it's just the same as what I signed. Shall we head back to our inn, and fill you in a bit on where things stand?"

"Wonderful. The Cardinal sends us a spy. If you need me for anything further tonight... on second thought, don't." With that, the Doctor turns around, obviously completely uninterested in the proceedings, and lopes off back toward the inn and the fascinating book on the dangerous flora of the Bryr that he had borrowed from the Baron's mansion.

Tkaara glares at Felrin.
I was never weak. I just think that Taty needs to understand there is a difference between those who study, and those who live. I am sure you would understand the difference between a demonologist and one who has spent decades hiding their life as a teifling.

With that, Tkaara turns and begins to follow the Doctor back toward the town. As she does, a small cloud of sparkles, appearing as miniature stars, descends about her before coalescing into what appears to be some type of protective shield.

Use 1 use of Coat of Many Stars

Etna sighs at Tkaara's show and the Doctor's greeting grunting: Ottakar had always been unsociable, but the barrister had been on the way of surpassing him for some time...
"But of course, we'll have a bath readied for you as soon as we arrive. As of our mission..." Etna starts, accepting Tatienne's arm, as the party goes back to Farholde.

At Felrin's suggestion, Tatienne laughs, a warm and pleasant sound that comes from deep within the woman. "I imagine the High Templar would be absolutely mortified to see his bones striking fear into the hearts of Talingarde's smallfolk. It is a great justice for his past transgressions against the Empire. Please let me know when and how I can help."

Later, at the inn, Tatienne goes through her pack and pulls from it her library, taking a survey of what is left. It isn't everything that she brought with her, but it should do. Among the books is Hantlen's Survey of the Dangerous Flora and Fauna of the Caer Bryr, the seminal work on the subject, and another skeptical and cloudy history of the Horn of Abaddon titled unimaginatively The Horn of Abaddon: A History - a subject that she knows a little of.

Tatienne should get to work with these books, but Tiadora also packed Fiero Thrune's classic Elnora work, Of Fiends and Foes, a slim work depicting Elnora outwitting various hidden dangers about her at a Nidalese Flaying Festival. Tucking herself into bed, Taty opens the Fiero, and after a few pages is sound asleep, pleasing dreams of her spreading Asmodeus' purifying light to all the shadowy corners of this dangerous land dancing through the woman's head.

Felrin's laughter joins Tatienne's, though his laugh has a creaky sound to it, as if it doesn't have much opportunity to escape from the shifting confines of Felrin's ever-warping body. "I had not thought of that little irony," he replies, still chuckling, "we'll have to make that trick happen sooner, rather than later, just to savor it."

He joins Etna and Taty walking back to the inn, mostly just listening to the ifrit's account of their situation and mission, chiming in from time to time to fill in a detail.

Tkaara listens to Taty as the group walks back to the city. Once there, she heads out to enjoy the night air. Knowing that discretion is the most important part of surviving, she finds a farm just our of town, which ends up with one less lamb than it had the night before. She disposes of the corpse in a small copse of woods making it appear as though the animal escaped and was killed by some predator, which is partially true.

-----
During the days following the arrival of Taty, Tkaara continues to spend most of the daylight hours sleeping. During her awake hours, she assists the Doctor, and not Taty, with their research of the Horn and the Bryr.

WEALDAY 6 ABADIUS

With the research you have done, and the map you now have, your second journey into the Caer Bryr is remarkably more successful than your first venture. The forest itself is almost unchanged: the same brilliant hues of colour, the same drifting clouds of steam obscuring visibility, the same creepers and vines that seem to twist so as to catch at your feet and limbs; but this time, you have confidence and direction. Tkaara takes the lead: neither bloodsucking midge nor carnivourous plant is interested in something already dead.

After hours of walking in the heat and humidity, you eventually find a clearing, full of stone spires; the tallest of which towers above the others: a huge stone pillar, covered in green vegetation, that can only be the fabled Horn of Abbadon.

Not breaking the cover of the treeline, you pause and take in its magnificence - and catch your breath (apart from Tkaara, of course).

*BOOM*

*BOOM*

*BOOM*

The sound makes the very earth itself tremble; trees leap (literally, leap) aside to make way for a pair of enormous, vastly tall walking trees. They are making a circuit of the Horn; from the look of the mud trail that they walk in, they have done so and will continue to do so for some considerable time.

As the twin trees come into view, they do something unprecedented: they hesitate. You have been seen.

*BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM*

With considerable urgency, the two walking trees hurry toward your position. You can see that etched (or possibly) grown into their very bark is the holy symbol of Mitra. What can they be doing here? The answer is swift.

Halting some twenty yards in front of you, one of the two trees opens its mouth and speaks: "We are Juuuuraaak the Ellllderrr." It booms, slowly. "You have happened upon the Horrrn of Abaddon, a moooost cuuuursed and wreeeetched of plaaaaaces." The twin trees look at you, seeming almost to sniff the air. Whatever they have smelled, they do not like it. "Whether you caaame here in innocence, or mooooore liiiikely, to stiiiir up trouble, there is noooothing for you heeeere. It is our saaacred chaaarge to keep such eeeevil from being repeated. Depart at once."

When Tkaara sees the tree things approaching, she calls upon her heavenly, yeh right, heritage, bringing a shimmering coat of tiny flecks of light to appear about her. While not appearing as much, the light makes it slightly more difficult to place the undead barrister, and thus just that harder to hit her.

She then does something similar bringing slightly different barriers before herself, Felrin, the Doctor and Erevan.

Having apparently never had a client frivolous enough to try to sue a tree in lawful goodie goodie Talingarde before, Tkaara is complete clueless as to what these trees might be. With that, she turns to Felrin in her cold emotionless voice.

Remember, honey can be better than vinegar, something we all learned from the b!tch. However, I expect this to end in bloodshed. Having said that, her face turns sour. No, not "blood"shed, if that were the possible result, I would be much happier. This last part still said without any real sign of emotion.

Felrin nods in acknowledgment of Tkaara's comments, replying quietly, "I wish I knew what these things were, but I'd have to agree."

He then focuses intently on the tree creatures, learning what he can of their motivations. As he does so, he replies to them, "I've never heard of this horn, it looks more like a funny hill. What is it? What's so evil about it?"

Taking into account the holy symbol of Mitra easily apparent on their -or is it its?- body, Erevan needs no supernatural means to discern the so-called Elder's inherent goodness. Following Felrin's example, he too feigns ignorance and even innocence, seeking to learn more not only about the place, but their foe as well if possible.

"Its name does sound sinister, I will give you that," he adds his words to the tiefling's own, taking care to show that he is more than a little awed by the strange and large creature in front of him. "Who is Abaddon? What has happened here that must not be repeated?" He shrugs. "You must agree that your own words are enough to make us curious."

Look at that: moving Mitran firewood!
"Yes, we were here to study the flora of the Bryr and..." Etna pretends to marvel at the horn and the walking trees, trailing off.
"But tell me, Sir Jurak, I've never seen someone like you-And is that the symbol of Our Shining Lord there on your bark?" the ifrit feigns to fumble around her purse, retrieving some paper and a pencil, staring expectantly at the two wondrous talking trees.
We won't get past them without reducing them to shreds, but the more info we can gather about this place, the better...

At the approach of imminent danger, the Doctor calmly starts pulling flasks from his bandolier and quaffing them, one by one. He knows exactly what they are facing and just how dangerous this fight will be...