Phe offers Katsa a glass and a tight smile. Even the surly bartender can't afford to be snarky to the healer.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Morsel keeps a fairly neutral expression as Morrow explains himself, only shooting an annoyed look at Phe before turning her attention back to the strange tableau in front of her. She wanders over to the bar counter and hoists herself up to sit on it near Phe and Katsanóron, feet dangling playfully. “What’s your take, Kat?” she rasps out, leaning over to pull a small bottle and a clean pewter cup from behind the counter. She yanks out the cork and pours herself some mead before she continues, “Ever seen wounds like these? I don’t remember you ever being so busy all of a sudden, no?”
She jumps a little in surprise as Ganzorig’s tentacled visage suddenly appears on her shoulder. Her cup sloshes over and spills some of the mead on the front of her robes. She hisses out a dagger-sharp syllable in Infernal of complaint before grabbing a nearby cloth and starting to blot at the dark, cold stain. She shoots a frustrated look at the gnome, breathing out a huff of hot air in annoyance that leaves the air briefly smelling of brimstone. She closes her eyes and concentrates for a moment, trying to locate where her own mind meets The Thing in Her Head’s. She mentally prods for the spaces in that connection and follows a twisting passageway like a rat through the walls of a house until she emerges at the end of Ganzorig’s broiling consciousness - or at least, that’s how it always felt to her.
When she opens her eyes, there is a glint of something deep and malicious and alien there before it fades. She looks across to Ganzorig, saying nothing.
“For now, though, I’m actually more interested in that mansion. The… The Thing brought me up here, and something weird is going on. I can feel it gnawing at my guts. The dwarf wants to go there anyway and he might actually have a way in. I bet Kat would come with if we suggested looking for survivors.” Morsel looks over nervously. She didn’t talk about The Thing often, if ever. She had mentioned it a few times to Ganzorig, but with obvious discomfort. “What do you think? There could be something actually interesting happening in this backwater for once.”
---
Katsanóron takes a sip of her cider, considering.
"Well, they looked like wounds from any animal, as far as I could tell," she says, "Though definitely larger than any I've encountered before. And I've never known a beast to take a limb entirely off a living creature like that." She looks sad. "Poor girl is lucky her friends made a tourniquet fast enough, or she'd have bled out in a hurry. Or maybe she's unlucky. Depends how you feel about going through life missing a leg, I suppose."
Katsa picks up her cider and moves to a table near Hob and the orc teens, Kimarl and Bojarn. She gestures to Morrow to join them.
"Kimarl, is it, and Bojarn? Have a seat, please. I need to ask you some questions about what happened. I'm not mad at you -- it sounds to me like you made a mistake, and things went wrong. Much, much worse than you ever thought it could go. Some people died, and that woman upstairs gave a leg to save you. That's a heavy debt to carry. But I have a way you can start to make that right. Tell us everything, starting from when you arrived at the house, up until you fled. We need to understand exactly what has happened. Once we know that, maybe we can find a way to stop it from happening again -- deal with this creature once and for all, whether it's the Spirit Wolf, some creation of Old Man Kegan's, or something else."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"They've not done anything wrong." Hob grumbles in protest. "Spirit Wolf doesn't come this close to town. Wards might've blown Kimarl's head off, but there was no reason to expect the wolf. No reason to think anyone else was in danger, and the boy doesn't lack a spine."
"Isn't that what I just said, Hob? Poking at Old Man Kegan's place was a mistake, but they had no reason to believe that anyone else would be involved. Things did not go as expected, and people were hurt. Killed, and maimed, even. And now these two are the only ones who were there from the start. The only ones who can tell us the full story. So let them tell it, from start to end, and then perhaps we can figure out how to move forward."
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Hob nods at Kats. "Better." he looks around the room and back "Two things said fast look like one thing."
With the initial excitement over, the other adventurers around the inn are in the process of disappearing into the cavernous depths of the inn to find their rooms. Soon, the room is quiet and belongs entirely to the five of you, Hob's two orc wards, Morrow, and Phe who continues scrubbing the counter and grumbling to herself.
Morrow nods at Katsa and frowns. "Knocked her over, and then took the whole leg off in one bite". He shudders with the memory. "Vicious beast." With a loud scraping sound, he drags a chair back from the table and takes a seat. Bojarn sits down without a problem, her face focused on Katsa. Kimarl hesitates for a moment, glances at Hob, and then sits next to Bojarn. She sighs. They patiently watch the two adults argue, hanging on every word. They switch between sadness at Katsa's accusations, and then relief at Hob's defence and the further agreement of the adults.
Glancing at each other, they start speaking at the same time in orc accented common. "He was-", "We was-". They both stop. Bojarn punchs Kimarl on the shoulder, and motions for him to speak first. "I-it not my fault!" Kimarl declared, outrage etched on his face. "We out for walk, and near mansion. She stay back," he pats Bojarn on the shoulder. She shrugs his hand off and glares. "I follow footprint to door. Human. It snowed. Tried to open. Tried to break. Strong door." As Kimarl takes a moment to breath, Bojarn interupts. "I smelled humans and something..." She turns to Hob, and says in Orcish "Kor kar rvhedg?"
"How do you say rvhedg?", a word with no direct translation that roughly means a great evil one can barely sense, felt more as a spiritual or psycological presence than a physical one. Commonly associated with evil ghosts and spirits.
She continues "Approached Kimarl, and tapped back. He turn and scream. Then blood and pain." She sighs, and rubs her scar. "Much thanks", she comments to Katsa. Kimarl continues the story. "Big wolf claw her. Evil eyes look at me. Arrow hit head. Wolf charge shooters." He waves at Morrow. "Grabbed Bo, ran." he finishes. Morrow nods along. "From where we were standing, we just saw a particularly large wolf about to eat two teens. Figured it would run after the first arrow."
"There were tracks leading to the door already?" Katsanóron asks. "Interesting. Could you tell if they were fresh?"
Katsa looks inquiringly at Hob for a translation of "rvhedg".
"And Kimarl, did you see the wolf arrive, or was it just there when you turned around?"
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"Rvhedg?" Hob hesitates. "They do not have a word. Ghost? Spirit?" he pauses "Humans talk about the monster under the bed. You know it is there, without seeing or hearing? That it wants to hurt you? That is Rvhedg, maybe."
"Menace,", Katsa suggests. "Or foreboding, perhaps."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Thurin broke his silence. His mug was empty.
"Right. So, some kind of wolf ghost got released. It's eating orcs. Orcs are supposed to be right tough, so that's bad news. This ghost wolf is from the house, so whatever is inside the house is probably as bad as this wolf. I say we go hunt it down. If we destroy it, then we prove that we're strong enough to handle what's in the house. If we can't destroy it, it means we aren't strong enough to handle whats inside. Who'se with me?"
Morsel’s blank expression flickers with annoyance as she directs her gaze into the middle distance.
Anyway, you do make a good point. The kid admitted that someone wants that message, and if he’s drunk and foolish enough to brandish it in public and show us where he keeps it, it seems that it falls to us to educate him on his mistakes. If you get the letter, I might be able to open
it more discreetly. Morsel tilts her head and makes eye contact with Ganzorig. So when do you want to try it, ‘Zo? After the kid goes to bed?
Morsel pipes up, “Thurin, believe it or not, I think we agree on that point.” She scurries around the edge of the common room and comes up on the other side of the others before perching on a stool. “It would be foolish to wander into a blizzard at night, though, monster wolf or no. There are still open rooms here. Sleep for the night. In the morning, investigate the house. I’ll even come with you.” She displays a knowing grin, letting her snake-like tongue flick between her teeth. “I’m good with animals.”
Hob growls "Wolf killed my parents when I was a lad, fifteen odd years ago. It's not from inside the House." he paused "Not for a long, long time, anyway."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Ganzorig and Pyrope find an out-of-the-way table near the stairs, and the gnome orders a bowl.
Thurin gave the orc a sympathetic nod. "A good reason for vengeance then. The tiefling is right. Let's sleep for the night, and go out when it isn't a blizzard. We'll hit the house. Got a feeling that doing so might well attract the attention of this wolf. Until then, drink, and sleep."
Katsa steeples her fingers, elbows akimbo on the tabletop. She taps them lightly against her lips, brow furrowed. "It is true that Kegan's house is a ... disruptive presence in the community," she says. "But it has been sealed for years. How do you propose to enter?"
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Thurin tapped on his hammer. "I'll try this. And nay, I'm not daft enough to think that I can hammer down the door of a wizard with a hammer. Y'see, I've got three skills in life. The first, is that I can hit things with my hammer. 'aint much good here. Second, I make things right. Broken bones? Fix 'em. Burnt flesh? Un...err...burn it. Ye get it. Same with magic. When it sticks around, it isn't right, it isn't natural. So when it does, I can break it. Now, this mageling might well be too-strong for my skills. But I'll see if I can break his wards. Oh, and third? I can drink. But that skill is only going to be useful if I can't break his wards. 'cause after that? It's the only idea I have left."
"I see," Katsanóron replies. "Direct, simple. However, I suspect that you're in for disappointment. That house appeared out of nowhere when I was a child -- just, poof, one day it was an open field, the next there was a manor house there. That speaks of extraordinarily powerful magic. Still, I have no better ideas to offer. I will be interested to observe the attempt."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Thurin nodded. "Aye, ye've got the right of it. I fully expect it to fail. Powerful magics we are talking about here. But, ye know what my father always said? He said, that if ye don't at least swing a hammer at it, then ye've got nay right to complain about it. So come the 'morrow, let's give it a shot."
Katsa nods thoughtfully. "I believe I will indeed come along," she says. "I have long worried about Kegan's manor. It is ... unsettling. And I am particularly puzzled that there were tracks leading to the door. No one goes near the place -- for good reason."
Kimarl grunts at Katsa. "Fresh. Today. Wolf was just there." Bojarn adds "With all snow, hard see, easy sneak." The two orcs glance at each other, and then resume their frosty silence against each other.
Morrow nods along at the conversation, listening to the dwarf scheme, saying nothing. He takes a moment to purchase another mug of alcohol to add to the already copious amount he consumed, before finally joining in. He turns to Katsa. "Who is this 'Kegan' person anyway?" And then to Thurin he remarks, "I agree. Bash it down. Never met a wizard who can't be overpowered." He frowns, thinking. "Conjuring a house doesn't sound that hard."
When Morsel passes to head upstairs, he slips her his sleeves of many garments and begins resculpting her face.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Katsanóron lets out a merry peal of laughter. "You're right, conjuring an entire house out of nothing is practically the first thing any magic-user learns," she assures Morrow.
"As for Kegan, I don't think any of us really know him very well. As mentioned, his house appeared out of nowhere one day. He stuck around for several years, apparently working on wards against fey; and then ten years back he vanished again, leaving his house sealed up. We don't know if he's gone, or if he's still in there and just hasn't come out for a decade. Ordinary people might need food or companionship, but who knows about Kegan?" She shrugs.
Eyeing Morrow, she puts a hand on his shoulder and says "It's getting late, and you've had a terrible day. Go get some sleep. For that matter, we probably should all do the same," she adds, yawning. "Hob, Kimarl, Bojarn, shall we walk together, for safety?"
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Morsel follows the plan to the gnome’s specifications. Properly disguised, she bolts down the stairs (careful not to push herself to her full, uninhibited speed), stumbling a bit as she makes her way outside. Once in the snow and out of Phe’s sight, she pours the mug of water out, hoping the sound of the splash reaches the bartender. She waits briefly outside, starting to shiver in the cold, before heading back in. She does her best to look drained and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She then makes a big show of checking her pockets and growing more exasperated and defeated looking. Giving Phe a defeated look, Morsel approaches the bar, putting her hand up in front of her mouth as if to block any other alcohol-fueled offense it might cause. It’s up to you now, ‘Zo…
---
Later, with all that done, Morsel returns to her room. She sits cross legged on the bed and makes a clicking sound with her teeth as she pulls a piece of dried fruit out of her pocket. Her rat squeaks happily in response and climbs into her hand to take the prize. Morsel watches for a while, quietly enjoying the company. Once the rat is finished, she holds it up and looks into its eyes. She extends her consciousness, letting her mind follow the pathways that The Thing in Her Head had bored into it, until her consciousness reaches the rat’s. She has trouble reaching along those pathways at first, getting lost in a maze of thoughts that she should nest for the winter, but eventually she touches its mind. She extends a little of herself into it and mentally whispers a tempting suggestion while imagining the adventurers, I bet those new people have some food worth investigating in their room. Don’t you think?
---
The trapper finishes his stew as the falsified Morrow re-enters the inn. Across the telepathic borrow, he gives stage direction.
“Excuse me m-” Ganzorig retches, and Morsel is prompted to lurch and cover her mouth. “I, uh, think I locked myself out. Is there a spare key?”
"I'd like to go back to my place, tell 'em all." he nods to Bojarn "she's not dying. I've spare room, if you'd like to stay the night." he pauses for a moment "I could patch up your gear, if you like. In the morning we can ask Master Wayland if anything strikes a spark. He used to know Kegan. Long time ago." 'And no guarantee he'll be having a good day'
He also looks over at Thurin "There's room for you as well. Time was Wayland trained with dwarves, always spoke well of 'em. Might be you've news he'd like." Hob nods at the dwarf - a multipurpose gesture in the smith's arsenal. "Taught me some of the dwarf runes, but I never could hold a chat."
Morrow smiles gently at Katsa. "Think you could teach me? It's for beginners." To the sad tale of Kegan, he only shakes his head and frowns. "Wizards." He sighs. "Mad, the lot of em." He runs his hands through his hair and frowns, lost in thought or memory.
As the group leaves, he claps Hob's armoured shoulder. "Thanks, but I'm happy here. Not good to move wounded." As his friends are already bedded here, he'll sleep with them. Morrow pauses, and then asks the group. "We'll meet here tomorrow to visit the mansion?" Waving a hand, he casually dismisses the offer to speak to Wayland about Kegan. "I want to see a burial for the corpses. I have no interest in meddling with wizards. G'night.
Bojarn and Kimarl are eager to return home, and are silent for the duration of the uneventful trip. Bojarn is delighted to be home, and instantly collapses asleep, while Kimarl kicks around and tries to avoid having to confront his parents. Eventually, the affairs are as settled enough for tonight, and the orcs can get to sleep, albeit with a posted guard watch.
Katsa reaches her home without trouble, and finds it undisturbed.
The night proceeds silently, and without further incident. As you wake up, you find the morning is cold and dark. The air is dry and dead, and the dark clouds overhead promise snow later, although it remains clear for now. Ice and snow crunch underfoot as you walk.
The bar stands almost empty, occupied by a lone bartender and a solitary gnome, as 'Morrow' staggers up to the counter. Phe barely even glances up at him, and mutters "Knew all that alcohol was too much for ya" She sighs, and flings the cloth she was using down on the ever greasy counter. She opens a drawer and rummages for a moment. Without looking up, she throws the key at 'Morrow'. "Knock yerself out. Gimme back by noon tomorrow. I'd demand earlier, but that hangover's gonna be vicious." She grins, and makes motions for you to scoot.
She turns and calls to Ganzorig "Hey G, last call. Then I'm on break." Pyrope watches your enterprise with interest, although refrains to comment.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
She hangs her shawl on a peg by the door. Water drips from it as the snow begins to melt. As is her custom, Katsa runs a hand over her head, and the flowers there begin to glow with pale light -- enough for her to see by. She had adopted this custom simply because it saved on candles, and remains totally unaware that some of the younger villager children think her house has a ghost living in it due to half-seen glimpses of a glowing female form drifting from room to room.
As Katsa turns away from the coat rack, she finds her path blocked. A cat, brindled grey and black, sits in the hallway with his tail wrapped about his feet. The tip twitches as he looks up at her. "Mrrowww," he scolds her. He's on the large side for a house cat, and his tufted ears and broad paws suggest a hint of lynx somewhere in his ancestry.
"Hello, Yarrow," Katsa says. "I'll bet you're hungry. Sorry, I had things to do."
"Mrrowww!" Yarrow agrees, rubbing up against her legs. She pets him a few times, then walks to the kitchen and serves him a bowl of kidney meat that Trygve Olafson had sent along for her assistance with easing his gout.
Leaving her cat devouring his late meal with gusto, Katsanóron walks into her greenhouse. Even in the dark of night and winter both, the room is still warm, kept that way partly by capturing the few southern rays of sun during the day, but also by the fact that the enormous hearth of her glass-craft workshop backs up on the greenhouse. When in use -- as Katsa had used it earlier that day -- the withering heat in the forge seeps through the shared stone wall as a gentle, radiant warmth.
Plants fill the room, growing from a hundred pots in addition to a few flower beds. They slumber, sent to sleep by the wan rays of the winter's short sun; all but one. A small witch-hazel bush blooms vigorously, bright yellow flowers in the middle of winter time. Its branches press up against the glass despite the chill without.
Katsa stands by her witch-hazel and stares out into the darkness, absent-mindedly tapping the back of her thumb against her lips, the other arm crossed in front of her. "So," she murmurs to her own translucent reflection in the glass pane before her, "Kimarl tried to enter Kegan's manor. I will have to keep an eye on him. Just in case..."
Reaching up, Katsanóron pulls her green hair forward into view. She looks at it dispassionately a moment, then lets it drop. "It's time I found out what happened!" she announces to her plants. "It's time."
And with that, she attends to her evening ablutions, dims the flowers in her hair, and curls up to rest in the welcoming embrace of a patch of dark earth against the back wall of her greenhouse.
In the morning, Katsa makes her way to the inn. Not knowing what to expect, she brings a pack of supplies: chalk, candles, pen and paper, soap, some food and a water skin, a folding shovel, and her dagger (for all the good it's like to do me, she thinks as she settles the sheathe on her belt).
"Thank you," the gnome projects through Morrow, "You have a good night, Phe."
Headed toward the door to the inn, Ganzorig waits for an opportune time to slip into the shadows that cling to the corners of the common room and up the stairs, trailing after 'Morrow'. He gets the key from Morsel upstairs, and takes a deep, steadying breath before wrapping the key in a silk kerchief, and sliding it into the lock. It takes him a few minutes to turn the key and open the door, for fear this was the infamous squeaky hellion thiefsbane door. Once the door is cracked, Ganzorig slides in, crossing the room to the bedside.
The gnome takes the footstool from beside the wash basin and climbs up to stand over the real Morrow. Licking his lips, Ganzorig reaches down to slide the envelope out of its sweaty prison.
He also looks over at Thurin "There's room for you as well. Time was Wayland trained with dwarves, always spoke well of 'em. Might be you've news he'd like." Hob nods at the dwarf - a multipurpose gesture in the smith's arsenal. "Taught me some of the dwarf runes, but I never could hold a chat."
Thurin nodded back. ”I’d consider it an honor. Ye’re a Smith then? An honorable trade. I look forward to seeing your craft and meeting your people.”
To Thurin he answers "I am. Journeyman." embarrassment crosses Hob's face - he's old for a Journeyman, and obviously local "My Master, Wayland, took sick. I held off leaving until he recovers. Don't want to leave the town without a Smith."
"As I say, Wayland served under a dwarf Smith when he was a Journeyman. The Rock's Axes - a mercenary dwarven heavy infantry company. Wayland said they were the fastest Heavy Infantry company in the land. Said he learned more cobbling than smithcraft! But he learned his platecraft there."
@Big Bad Evil GM, Wayland's background has him as knowing Kegan decades ago. Do you want to declare he's having a "bad day" to keep him out? Also, are Kimarl and Bojarn staying in the house or coming with?
Hob turns up the next morning with everything he can think of. Full plate, three weapons, two shields, a backpack big enough to hold a full grown man, and a "travel" anvil that easily weighs a hundred pounds.
The inn is silent in the morning. Adventurers are not particularly early risers, and it shows. As Katsa, Thurin, and Hob arrive, they find only three creatures. Morsel's mother, Meredith, is tending the bar. Bashar is consuming a hunk of meat for breakfast, and cheerfully waves as you enter. She grins like the devil at Thurin. A halfling in a very fancy suit is quietly eating some slices of bread for breakfast in the corner. He calmly smiles at the gathering group.
The door glides silently open, and the gnome finds himself looming over the sleeping figure of Morrow. His group rented two rooms, and you find Morrow and another lying in narrow cots. The target is in the cot closer to the door, and is curled up as though he's having a bad dream, his face betraying pain. Fortunately, he doesn't stir as Ganzorig enters the room. The slight creak of the door is covered by the snoring of Morrow's companion. Darkness drowns the room, and the black and white shadows of nightvision lend a malevolent rendering of the environment. A rat sits on the washstand and takes in the room. It silently descends to the floor and begins to nose it's way into Morrow's discarded coat.
Morrow's armour is in a pile on the floor adjacent to his cold weather gear and the rat, but the same shirt he was wearing that evening is still on him. Ganzorig slips his hand into the pocket and finds the letter, wrapped in a thick weather proof envelope and sealed with a fancy embossed wax piece. It slips out of the pocket neatly, with none the wiser. Additionally, Ganzorig finds a leather coin pouch that jangles slightly when touched.
The rat extracts itself from the coat, having found nothing of interest, and watches the gnome.
The house rises when the sun does. Cockcrow rings through the house from the small pen built into the side wall , and the heavily feathered chickens push their way out a cleverly manufactured swinging door to scavenge for food in the clearing around the house.
Hob walks to the kitchen where a haunch of something still slow cooks over embers. The one advantage of hosting a bunch of tribal hunters is the surfeit of fresh meat.
He carves off some generous portions, pops out some vegetables that had been roasting in a dish built into the side of the chimney, and pops a jug on to boil.
The first of the 'apprentices' - Bjarl, an orc kid living with Hob and Wayland who had ended up being slowly press ganged into helping out around the forge and potentially a herald of the end of the orc tribal lifestyle - runs in.
Hob nods acknowledgement, and sends the boy off to wake Thurin and lead the dwarf to breakfast.
Wayland turns up a little while later, and Hob smiles. 'If he can make it all the way here, maybe he's good today.'
The smile fades when Wayland engages with Bjarl, confusing the boy with a much younger Hob. The orc sighs, as his good spirits evaporate.
"Morn'." Hob grunts sullenly to Meredith. He nods to Katsa "Healer."
Ganzorig does a tiny soft-shoe dance holding the envelope. He didn't even notice the coin. He takes a moment to look at the insignia embossed in the wax before sitting on his heels and offering the envelope to the rat.
~+~
The following morning, Ganzorig arrives, late to the party and fussing with the straps of an old child-size saddle on Pyrope. "Come on, Pyrope, we're not strolling through the woods today. If that Megawolf drops in on us, are you gonna just leave me in the snow? Besides, we've got to keep up with the double-stuffs."
When he gets within conversational distance of the others he bows his head briefly and brandishes a winning smile. "I never quite introduced myself properly yesterday: Ganzorig Tengrin Tomor Xian, local fey trapper. If you're fumbling around my woods, you'd best steer clear of my traps."
The rat eagerly accepts Ganzorig's offering, and scuttles off into the cracks in the walls. It slips it's way through a variety of cracks in the walls, before emerging in Morsel's room. It offers her the letter proudly.
The paper around the seal is creased and torn and the seal is dented strangely. You're sure you aren't the first to try tampering with this letter, and whoever did it perviously did it poorly.
Pyrope allows the saddle to be applied, although it hisses regrets at the idea of meeting the wolf. Apart from that, it seems eager to access the mansion and "burn the heresy!"
Morrow and Morsel and the last to arrive, completing the party. The six of you briefly check you have everything, and then depart into the cold day with Bashar's ominous laughter ringing in your ears. A few villagers are out and about, and they mostly shy away from your odd grouping. Whether it's the imposing figure of the orc, the novelty of a dwarf, the strangeness of the trapper, or the curse of the devil woman, the people of Issen find you unsettling. On any other day, Katsa would've been greeted by friends. But today, her company is off-putting.
Given that 4 of you know the way to the old mansion, the short walk through the snow involves no navigational hazards. Kegan's house is set off the main road out of town, just on the cusp of the fey woods. A ramshackle building of stone, it sits large and rectangular, with a tower peeking out of the roof. To the left, an overgrown garden surrounded by a towering wrought iron fence. Spiky pine trees surround the area. The double set of main doors are carved out of iron, and have intricate runes carved all over them. Along the base of the house, several more lines of runes wind their way around, written in black ink. A fresh layer of snow does an excellent job of obscuring any tracks that may have been around yesterday. The windows all have their curtains pulled tightly shut.
Despite the snow, you manage to find some footprints and other evidence of passage. You corroborate Kimarl's story, including the mysterious set of footprints leading to the door and back again. You lose the footprints somewhere around the main road, where a dragged body obscured them.
As best you can tell, there are three sets of wards on the house, using the runes around the border of the mansion. The lack of runes on the fence around the garden would imply that nothing protects it.
Opon's Ward is what worried Bashar. This particular ward strengthens walls and doors. It would take a great deal of force to smash even a window with this still up. It additionally strengthens locks, making picking them significantly harder.
Kegan's Ward prevents fey from entering the border.
Zy's Binding prevents demons and other extra-planar creatures from entering. It also disrupts summoning attempts from within it's boundaries.
Through the corner of your eye, you spot a cloaked figure hiding behind a nearby tree, watching you. The figure is roughly human in size and carrying a long bow over their back.
The shapes and patterns tell you that the runes on the door are separate from the ones on the walls, and likely a trap.
- looking for the smell of the wolf. Didn't read the spoilers for the rolls I failed, so not sure if that is a double up.
Hob stalks through the snow. His weight causes his feet to sink through the drifts and down onto the hard, cold ground. His head - visor raised - sniffs suspiciously at the air as they arrive, and he angles around to come via the garden. He leaves his shields at his back, but draws his monstrous cold iron sword as they come within sight.
With a bound and a grab he launches himself to the top of the fence and looks around as the wrought iron groans dangerously.
"Stay close." he growls.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Ganzorig sidles up to Thurin with his recalcitrant albeit perfectly mundane dog which has no magical properties whatsoever, pulling rope from his robe hand over fist. "Okay, big papa, the only thing you've got to worry about, I think, is what's got the place locked up. It's less a matter of locking the place tight, and more like it makes all the surfaces harder, so that includes any windows. Not that you're interested, but picking the lock is going to be similarly tough. A few of us might have some trouble with two other wards around the place, if you think you might need a warmup. Certainly worth a look if you're in the business of breaking things. Long story short: Kegan's a bit of a racist."
A sizeable length of rope unwound from his robe, Ganzorig raises one end. "Anyone mind hauling me over?"
”Three wards. Nothing on the fence.” Thurin said with a professional tone.
”Kegan’s Ward. Keeps fey out. Zy’s Binding. Keeps out outsiders and makes summoning impossible. And Opon’s Ward. Makes even my hammer nay more useful than a feather.” He looked at Ganzorig with a raised eyebrow.
”We’ll need to break Opon’s Ward to get in. Maybe disrupt it. But this is a powerful mage, so nay promises. Mind hanging back while I give it a try? Breaking enchantments can get...messy. Would hate for a mistake to hurt ye.”
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Katsanóron observes without comment.
Thurin took his hammer and chanted arcane words of power. A slight glow formed within the hammer and grew in brightness as he swung it against the manor. Rather than striking the physical shell, he instead attacked the wards put upon the house.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Ganzorig's face goes slack as the magekiller proves he's more than a pretty face and a large hammer.
This could be it. He might just do it! If it doesn't wake ol' man Kegan, maybe it should wake faux man Kegan... Trouble is, I'm not sure I could spook these dummies. One solid hit and a protracted investigation later... well, my prospects with Thorin will be seriously strained. It'll take some serious illusion though. Might be worth seeing... Ganzorig scratches Pyrope behind the ears and lags behind the others, roughly thirty feet from the front door.
Hob uses the distraction provided by Thurin to vanish.
Getting as close as he can before he is spotted - or five feet, whichever comes first! As soon as he is seen he'll call out...
He'll have his sword ready, and no shield.
I think from the map he is going to be running around the back of the house, but he should have six rounds.
"Good show, Eh." Hob stated to someone from a small distance away "Who're you, then?"
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Ganzorig only has to wait a minute before the rat comes crawling back out of the wall, carrying a perfectly opened letter. The wax was sliced at just the right location. Heat it up a little, and no one will ever know you had it. Upon opening it, you find a letter with the following transcribed message. It's written in a neat hand, and has an official stamp at the top for The Crymsk Arcerium.
Ren,
It's been a while old friend. I find that I only ever to seem to write to you when I have unfortunate news, and this letter is no exception to that dark rule. A few months ago, a professor here by the name of Dev Paleman stole an artifact from the vault. At the time, I thought little of it. Young academics always seem to seek a quick profit on the black market, usually to their detriment.
The artifact was a pre Mage War remnant, which had been stored in a minor noble's mansion ever since it arrived upon this continet. It came into our hands when the noble's entire family, herself included, committed suicide, to "escape the dreams" according to the notes they left. We were treating it with the utmost caution, and hadn't gotten much further than the name. No one was to experiment with it until we'd placed it historically. If you feel like a trawl through your archives, the artifact was described 'Telloca's Finale'.
I'm sure that name will strike fear into you. But that's not why I'm writing. I'm writing because in the last week, members of my faculty have been going insane. In unprecedented numbers, researchers have quit. Several of them have done so by starting explosions or fires, and duelling the other faculty. Casualties are in the dozens. Just yesterday, a small army of golems breached our vault and began stealing artifacts and research. We barely fought them off. They knew exactly what our defensive measures were, and even had some vault keys.
Perhaps what I really want you to take from this, is that the Cult of Telloca are making a move for the first time in centuries. Given how passive they are most of the time, this is truly troubling. I know you hate it when I speculate wildly, but I believe they're seeking something. I suspect 'Telloca's Finale' is their target. They took a lot of our research. They might also need that.
We've moved all of the remaining artifacts into one room, and I write to you from that room. If they come again, and I know they will, then I'll fight until I die. This is likely to be the last you'll ever hear from me. Don't worry about me. By the time you read this, it'll be far too late. Take care of yourself and try to stop them.
Missing you terribly,
K
Hob vaults the fence with ease, sticks on the top for a moment to look around, and then returns to the ground still on the outside. Rounding a tree, he comes face to face with a cloaked woman who was watching the party. Her figure is mostly obscured by the tree for everyone else. Small horns curl out of her hair, and instead of feet she has hooves. A thick cloak covers her body, and she carries a longbow. Her gaze is so intensely focused on Ganzorig, that the orc manages to get right next to her before surprising her. She jumps in surprise, and whirls towards him. Quickly she regains her composure, and scowls menacingly. "Pip." She points at herself. "I'm troll hunting. What're you doing here?" Almost absentmindedly, she reaches back and gently wraps her hand around an arrow without removing it from the quiver.
Pyrope growls at Pip, and nestles up against Ganzorig.
Morrow stalks up the road several metres, and begins digging around in the snow to find the remains of his companions. Without any trouble, he begins exposing shredded body parts. He's so engrossed in this task, he fails to notice the newcomer.
This woman is a faun, a weak variety of fey commonly used as servants in these woods. They're roughly human in size, have goatlike legs, and curling horns on their heads. Not particularly tough, but they are known for possessing a fey captivating spells.