|
|
||||||||||||||||||
| Paizo Pathfinder® GameMastery® Planet Stories® Paizo Games | |||||||||||||||||||
| About Paizo Messageboards News Paizo Blog Help/FAQ | |||||||||||||||||||
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||
|
Posts
 Recent Posts
"Our response has caused them to fear our magic, our wolf, and our... assertiveness," says Keildrithe to his companions, speaking quickly. "They flee in the hopes of finding easier pray. I would let them run... but would that mean they would hunt us down later with reinforcements, or otherwise prey on defenceless peasants? I have no magic that can harm or otherwise influence them, so if we attack, it will be at great risk of bodily injury to ourselves..."
Keildrithe stays put, keeping his sword up in a defensive stance. A deep, booming rumble issues from his throat, practically deafening those that stand near him. The words sound angry, yet incomprehensible.
Spoiler:
Keildrithe yells out in the Giant tongue: "WE DON'T FEAR YOU, CLUMSY STUPID OGRES!!! FLEE, OR OUR MAGIC WILL TURN YOU INTO TOADS!!!"
Keildrithe eyes widen in shock and surprise as he sees the flaming sphere roll past him towards the lead ogre. He looks over his shoulder in the direction the sphere came from, a deep frown on his face. The song dies on his lips. The bard thought he had at least one of the behemoths entranced, but now the charm would be broken. Despite the obvious danger, the Karand seems not to care. He turns his gaze back to the ogres, raises his grandfather's longsword in a defensive stance, then stares coldly, fearlessly at the brutes... daring them to come forward...
Keildrithe remains still as he continues to recite his ode, repeating the chorus over and over again... emphasizing the line, "you need a change of heart." To the bard's companions, his voice seems to have dropped to an impossibly low bassy rumble... impossible for his diaphragm and vocal chords to produce by normal means.
Spoiler:
Using the same "melodic voice" (from an ogre perspective) he has used to recite the ode thus far, Keildrithe addresses the ogre with the cow skull and tree trunk. "Why squish me, when you can listen to sweet song? Have you never felt pain and sadness, greatest of all giants? Have you never felt like you had been cast aside, unwanted, by the small folk and others around you? I feel this way now, and I think your brother cousin does, too... Have you ever heard a small squishy human like me sing and speak in your tongue? You don't want to squish me, for I am one of you -- you need a change of heart... Won't you go on your way before my song is done, and leave me unharmed, big brother cousin?"
Though Keildrithe tries to keep an eye on the approaching ogres despite having his head bowed, his mind continually drifts to another time, another place... to another... Grandfather, Lady Ehlonna, I fear not death at the hands of these brutes... I am ready to join you in the afterlife, if I must... And he sings with all his heart, as if the object of the ode stood nearby, listening... Those days are gone
And I know, wherever you go
You, you're walking away
The bard stands in his own world on the track. He can see his breath as he sings, and his stringy hair droops before his eyes. He is at once the image of noble bravery, and the image of sadness, beautiful in its fragility. Of the hopeless romantic who has lost all. Of inner turmoil. Of murderous rage ready to erupt at any moment out of melancholy. He keeps the point of his longsword in the ground, but is ready to swing it upwards at the first sign of violence from the giants.
Keildrithe stands his ground with head hung low, and continues with his song... Trees are bare
Those days are gone
You, you're walking away
The bard's voice breaks as he recites the words. He leans on his grandfather's sword, point in the ground.
Still shrouded by the fog, Keildrithe begins to recite an ode in Atuscan, hoping the mournful melody will both attract and mollify the giants. Here I stand,
Those days are gone
You, you're walking away
...
"Oh no," murmurs Keildrithe. "Please Lady Ehlonna, let the brutes not see us." At that very moment, Nicolai conjures a fog cloud from thin air. Despite his better judgement, the bard's instinct is stand within the fog and to cast a spell. "Stay out of sight and hold your weapons for now," says the Karand to his companions. "I know some magic that will enable me to speak their language... and the gods willing, I might be able to put them in a trance, as well." He begins to softly the chant the words of his spell...
A long-faced Keildrithe trudges through the snow alone, several paces behind the party, playing shepherd and rearguard for the shorter and less physically strong members of the party while he keeps humming sad melodies to himself. The bard sighs heavily time and time again... and shivers uncontrollably between sighs. Thoughts swirl constantly. One moment, he wallows in regret, the next clouds his mind with anger and the need to blame, and then with romantic delusions. How could she just leave me like that... How could she play me like that?... Maybe she'll change her mind... I can't give up... She's bound to come around... It isn't over... Maybe if I... I need to send her an apology... He wants to cry, but tears won't come. Sometimes, wiser reflections take root... Grandfather would be ashamed that I would give up so easily on my friends, on the fight against the Inquisition... and even more ashamed of the way I treated Pharris... What I did was unworthy of a hedilye... I made a fool of myself... Yet ultimately, Keildrithe's mind is too preoccupied for him to apply the little bit of wilderness lore that Laithe taught him during their travels thus far...
It had taken considerable effort by Laithe to convince Keildrithe to not abandon his companions. Broken hearted, the bard had trouble seeing beyond his pain. All he wanted to do was run away, and crawl inside a hole in the snow... and to lay there until Lady Ice herself claimed him... He was just as tired as Pharris was of their flight from the Inquisition, of the evil in the world. Despite their small victories, the greater war seemed unwinnable, their efforts futile... But eventually, Laithe won, and Keildrithe followed... for the time being...
Soon, the companions hear a mournful ode ringing through the snow-shrouded valley that falls away beneath the monastery... Laithe hears the ode before he finds his friend on hands and knees in the snow at the edge of a bluff, head down and wisps of brown hair drooping before his eyes... There's a place that she goes given time
I'm looking everywhere
When she changes it comes from within
I'm looking everywhere
I need to find a way
Say what you want but you can't break free
My love will know no end
The bard remains silent and motionless for several moments, oblivious to the cold, his heart falling with the snow. After a long pause, he pulls his beldach from his pack, and, still on his knees, launches into another ode while beating an urgent rhythm on the drum... Oh, I hear the winds
The Kingdom's calling
My faithful friend
The Kingdom's calling you I'll be calling you...
Moth: Spoiler:
Keildrithe rushes out of the monastery grounds as fast as he can, goes back the way the party came when they first reached the monastery, and runs as far as his lungs and legs will let him through the snow... Where he goes, really does not matter... He just feels the need to run... run... run... run... and once he reaches the point of exhaustion (or Laithe reaches him, whichever occurs first), he falls on hands and knees in the snow...
An ashen and sunken-eyed Keildrithe yanks the door open and stares coldly at Laithe. "Everything's fine... just fine..." grumbles the bard as he shoulders past the other Karand, striding angrily towards his own cell. He promptly stuffs his belongings in his pack, then runs out of the dormitory.
Moth: Spoiler:
Keildrithe rises, takes a few steps back, then slumps down against the wall beside the door. He pulls his knees up and buries his face in his hands. "I've made a fool of myself," he murmurs. After a few moments of utter and uncomfortable silence, he says, coldly: "Fine. You have made up your mind. I wish you well, Pharris." At that moment, Laithe knocks at the door. The bard gets up abruptly, and without looking at Pharris, he yanks the door abruptly.
Moth: Spoiler:
"I... I would be willing to do that, for you" responds Keildrithe with utmost sincerity, not to mention naivete. "Faerie cannot be any worse than this place. I grow sick of it too, and understand why you would want to leave. And if you will not stay, then I would gladly go with you. I can't imagine another hedilye having had the honour and inspiration that come from living with you in the realm of the fey. The age difference does not concern me... and if you share the feelings for me that I do for you, then I would expect you to seek another once I have passed on... I would only wish for you to be happy. I know that every moment I spend with you will fill me with happiness. I'll compose a new ode to you every day... Please... take me with you..." The bard looks at the elf maid pleadingly, his sincerity bordering on the pathetic.
Moth: Spoiler:
“But I’m not of this world Keildrithe,” Pharris says, drawing back so that her face is obscured by the gloom of this small cell. Suddenly she looks very alien, staring at you with her large eyes from behind the curtain of her hair. “My home is the world behind this one. I’m a visitor here and ... Keildrithe I am sick for my home.” Keildrithe knew what Pharris was true... that elves were fey, and came from another realm. As Pharris drew further back, he felt as though a ball were getting stuck in his throat. He could not bear the aching in his heart. "I... I know, but... Your people also have a stake in..." He struggled to speak, and knew his words were futile. She had made up her mind. The bard dropped to one knee, tried again to clasp her hands. "Pharris, there's something I've been wanting to tell you for so long... I... I..." He swallowed hard and stared into her eyes again. "Pharris... I love you like I have never loved another... I could not bear to be parted from you... And if you will not stay here with me, then please, let me come with you..."
Moth: Spoiler:
"Pharris, stop saying these things!" says Keildrithein a trembling voice. He himself begins to tremble like a leaf, torn by both sadness and rage. "What do mean you don't belong here? Where would you go? You are of this world, as are we all! Things will get better! And we don't just like you... we need you! I... don't know that I could go on without you, Pharris! I... I... You can't leave us... you can't leave me..."
Moth: Spoiler:
“Oh Keildrithe,” whispers Pharris, looking up at the bard with a tear streaked face. “I’m sorry ... I was putting my armour on, do you still need ... need ...” She breaks off and her lip trembles. Keildrithe sits down on the bed beside Pharris, takes her hands in his, and looks into her eyes. "Yes, we still need you," he says. "I still need you... more than ever... I... you weren't going to leave us, were you?" The bard clenches his jaw, and fights hard to hold back tears of his own. His heart feels as though it might shatter into a thousand pieces.
There is no answer when Keildrithe knocks on the door to Pharris’ cell ... but she is within, sititng on her bed, her head in her hands, her long hair cascading down over her arms, her armour half on, half strewn about on her bed. Keildrithe opens the door to Pharris's room a crack, and when he sees her sitting on her bed, he lets himself in. "Pharris... what's wrong?" he says, his voice almost a whisper.
The last meeting with the abbott leaves Keildrithe with a great deal of food for thought. He leaves in a hurry, leaving his companions behind to ponder unanswered questions. The bard mulls some of the things over in his mind as he walks at a brisk pace across the monastery grounds, until he at last makes into their dormitory hall. Then, all thoughts of inquisitions and Darkness and benevolent Artonites and Padre Stefan and did this really change anything for the Karands? and what would his grandfather say and... all those thoughts vanish as his pace slows over the last steps to Pharris's door. He takes a deep breath, and tries to still his mind and thundering heart. The bard knocks gently. "Cympharrisong? Are you there?" he asks hesitantly through the door. "Our task is done here. We can at last leave this prison of stone and return to the cathedral of the wide open wilderness... though I fear that winter's chill may cast a pall over our journey... Pharris?"
Keildrithe raises his eyes at the abbott's generosity, curious what magical and divine powers might be contained within the potions and scrolls, but remains silent. Perhaps my anger has blinded me. There may very well be some true and kind-hearted Artonites after all, and maybe it is just the god's servants that tarnish what he truly stands for... The bard fidgets impatiently, wanting to check in on Pharris... while also not wanting to miss what Brother Anselm has to say regarding Padre Stefan's current whereabouts.
Keildrithe is initially surprised by Laithe's protest, but quickly sees the wisdom in the druid's words. "Wisely spoken, brother, as always..."
Keildrithe nods in agreement. "Yes, the Inquisition does have a way of fouling all good things, doesn't it? And Alton is right -- we've lingered long enough. Let's cover up the well, then see what the abbott can tell us of Padre Stefan's next destination... and then let us be off..." Though the bard escaped injury during the battle, he empties the water from his waterskin and then fills it with well water. "Maybe this will make Pharris feel better," he mumbles to himself. "Although I'm sure the wilds and the open road will do even more to lift her spirits." The, in afterthought, he adds: "I wonder where the monks will bury Ana's body?"
Keildrithe takes in the view and breathes in deeply the fresh outside air. "A beautiful place for a scared well, with a grande view. Quite appropriate. Our Lady Ehlonna would approve... We should bring Pharris here -- I'm sure it would lift her spirits, too." The bard looks more at peace than he has in a long time, but worry creeps into his voice and eyes when he mentions the elf maid.
"We need no thanks, Brother, other than the promise that you will act on the lessons you have learned here, and that you will ensure that the other monks take those lessons to heart as well... for the good of all people, those who follow Arton and those who do not. A small but important step to foster spiritual healing in the world. I think we all agree with Nicolai that Abel has earned his resting place in sacred ground... would you not agree? The only other gesture of appreciation we might welcome would be information about Padre Stefan's recent activities, whereabouts, and where we might go seeking for him next... "But for now, come with us to lay eyes on this well site. I believe it will mean more to you than to most of us, and you really should be among the first to see it. Let it symbolize a new beginning, brought about by the wisdom derived from painful experiences..." Keildrithe follows Laithe in search of the well.
"Thank you, brother," says Keildrithe. "And we now know how faithfully Brother Bernardino interpreted Arton's will, don't we?" As Keildrithe skims the diary, he shakes his head. "Yes, it's all in here. The answers were all in here, had we thought to look..." The bard thanks Brother Malich again, then promptly returns to the church with the diary. He confirms to Brother Anselm and his companions that Brother Abel had kept a diary in the scriptorium, which corroborated Brother Bernardino's confession, but did not specify the site where the angel had allegedly stood and where the well should be built. Keildrithe reads the relevant passage of the diary to the others .
Keildrithe does not wait for the discussions regarding Bernardino's fate to conclude before he rushes to the scriptorium in search of Brother Abel's desk... and its contents. How could we not have asked if Brother Abel had worked on any written documents in the scriptorium before his untimely death? Then again, why did Brother Anselm not think to look there? Too many mistakes had been made and overlooked, and he was especially disappointed with himself.
Keildrithe nods in satisfaction as Brother Anselm utters the penance that Bernardino shall serve, then casts a look of utter disgust at the latter. After a moment, the bard responds to Brother Malich. "Would he have made and kept such records in the scriptorium? Or would he have hidden them in his cell? Kajetan and I investigated the scriptorium, but we did not search specifically for something that might have been written by Abel's hand (nor would we necessarily have recognized a piece of writing as his, had we seen one). And some of our companions took a look around Abel's cell... but unless I'm mistaken, I don't think they found anything, either... Perhaps we need to take a fresh look in both places?"
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
