--Player Characters--
➢ Karl Marsh
➢ Lavios Daleborn
➢ Drogan Anvilsong
➢ Phedron Rushing
➢ Beckett Foxglove
➢ Nosatrub Shieldarm
--NPCs--
➢ Hal'dorel
➢ Kheegan
➢ Helios
➢ Jak
➢ Agidor
➢ Legate Vandana Aureleum (1st Equites)
Agidor hunkers down near one of the post holes and inspects the work, but his attention is drawn back to the conversation when there’s mention of multiple ships. ”Wait a tick, we’re talking about three ships now? Just how many bloody people are we thinking?”
The two prisoners offer no answers, clearly in their eyes they don’t have a firm grasp on the exact scope. But Mayhap pipes up. ”We’ve been at this for a while yet, watchin’ o’er a good lot o’ bearded...seein’ where they get their itches scratched, that sort o’ thing. At least 7 of ‘em, we could point out if ya cut us a deal… Them golden blokes will have some answers, like as not.”
”There is also the matter of the information you found,” Legate Aureleum mentions, inclining her head towards Nosatrub. ”That scroll case of Lenz’s, it’s with Lt. Olfrey.”
The human bard share a glance with Drogan Anvilsong, the not-so-subtle notes of we need to do something clear on his face. He goes back to looking at the post hole, seemingly to distract himself. ”They dug it to roughly 8 or 9 spans, wood boards to hold the dirt in shape...squared off...”
Something that you learned of Agidor early on in your acquaintance; the bard was recruited a while back by Helios to be part of an underground movement to support the peasantry (beardless) in Taldor. Their efforts range from giving villages forewarning of eminent conflicts brewing between nobles, to even covertly moving supplies from one village to the next to keep the roads of commerce flowing so the peasants - or halfcasts - could eek out an existence. It would seem that Hal’dorel and Kheegan are part of that underground movement.
In addition, Marcum is an essential part of that operation as he’s a dependable hub of information.
At any rate, you also know that this developing situation is going to weigh heavy on the bard considering he’d made the decision to depart Cassomir for Absalom in hopes to pursue his dream to join the White Grotto (bardic school) and leave behind his life as a rabble rouser and whatever dark secret that pursues him.
Karl listens to the discussion, but cracks the door and peers outside. The gray light of the storm clouds above a somber note blanketing the grounds. Just as the wizard had reported a moment earlier, there were people coming out of the warehouse. To look at them is to see peasants, farm workers, even the occasional man or woman who would be right at home working the wheel at a grist mill. One man in particular has the build of a blacksmith, arms nearly as thick as most men’s thighs. At least two dozen people exit the warehouse, walking steadily as though on an errand, but they are departing in various directions.
Four of them are angling east towards the tannery. On their faces, calm expressions, eyes focused on the tannery building. On their backs, each person carries a bag made of burlap, their clothing is simple homespun woolens for use in the fields of a farm or perhaps a granary.
Behind the slow exodus, black smoke begins to climb its way out of the upper windows and the open doorway of the warehouse.
Across the way, in the shadows of the stable’s interior, a diminutive figure flits to and fro.
Across the way, in the shadows of the stable’s interior, a diminutive figure flits to and fro. As you focus on the shape, it is that of a limping fellow, a strange hump along his back.
As for the four approaching, one of them is whistling a tune softly to himself.
A quiet descends on the group as they digest the situation, the only noise is that of Jak’s unintelligible mutterings. But as Karl turns back from the doorway, that too stops. Those that turn to Jak note that his eyes have stopped roaming and settled on the doorway to the tannery.
|
"What's going on out there? Phedron asks Karl, his voice barely more than a whisper in the sudden silence. Tightening his grip on his sword he looks at Jak. "I don't think this bodes well." he says, keeping a good deal of space between himself and Jak.
Reaching out to Caster, he pushes his curiosity about the motions of the villagers.
○□●■○□●■
Caster resist the urge to call out as he spots a misshapen man darting under the shadowed roof of the horse house and out of the hawk's sight. Ah, at least a challenge, instead of watching the people scurry about in random directions, he can perhaps hunt this new prey?
|
"What's going on out there?"
Phedron's words pull Beckett out of his brooding thoughts.
"What?"
He moves over to the door and peeks outside.
Beckett's eyes narrow and his face takes on a calm exterior as he focuses this mind.
"There's a short fellow flitting about out there... He's limping with a something on his back. He is either carrying something, or he may be deformed."
The Inquisitor closes his eyes and tilts his head.
"There are four others with him... one is whistling softly to himself."
He steps back from the door and looks back to the group.
"They are definitely coming our way."
Nosa listens intently to what Beckett is saying.
Wanting to always be prepared, he readies his sword, shield, and helm.
He glances at his comrades, wondering if they will do the same.
Drogan slaps Agidor on the shoulder and whispers, "Don' let the dream die, my friend. It just might 'ave to be put on hold for a while. Seems we've got to pass the hat a few more times before then."
After flashing the bard a wink and a sly grin that tried to reassure him that everything will work out in the end, Drogan flashed a look outside.
After which, he throws up his hands. "Bah, tell me when there's something te kill, someone's pourin' a pint, or Karl starts pontificating. Any of those would be more int'resting to me than what's going on out there. Makes more sense too."
He slumps against a wall, pulling out his drum, and lightly taps a beat as if preparing for some future performance.
--Player Characters--
➢ Karl Marsh
➢ Lavios Daleborn
➢ Drogan Anvilsong
➢ Phedron Rushing
➢ Beckett Foxglove
➢ Nosatrub Shieldarm
--NPCs--
➢ Hal'dorel
➢ Kheegan
➢ Helios
➢ Jak
➢ Agidor
➢ Legate Vandana Aureleum (1st Equites)
You trace your heightened senses along the feint lines of magic threading in and out of Jak, but the pattern is convoluted and too complex...but there is something familiar. Lavios is reminded of a time when the cleric of your village had produced water by connecting with the divine nature of Gozreh. For some reason, as Lavios looks on the strange dark spots on Jak's face, he is reminded of that day.
Without needing to venture downstairs, Lavios' divine workings allow him to view the magical architecture of what is downstairs in the vile ritual room. In this he is empowered by his deity to draw in more knowledge... What he senses is not comforting. The magic dwells in the school of Conjuration.
- You have two prisoners - Mayhap & Fipps - who claim to be scouts loaned out to Ardo and the Stag Heralds from Tarik. Tarik is local crime boss.
- You have rescued four villagers from Southridge who were being held in cages that line the interior of the tannery. So far they exhibit no strange behavior. Not like...
- Jak, who returned with Helios after an engagement with the the Stag Heralds and, unfortunately, Danton Foeward. Jak was grievously injured by the dwarf's hammer and has been muttering to himself since returning. However, at the emergence of the people from the warehouse, the muttering has ceased...
- Inside the tannery, there are cages that line the walls and at four spots on the floor, there are post holes that have been dug and shored up with wood planks.
- For those who viewed the outside, they've seen seen a mass exodus of what appear to be villagers from the warehouse. They are departing in all directions. In addition there are 4 of them heading for the doors of the tannery.
- Lastly, there is smoke billowing from the upper windows of the warehouse.
As of now, you've got perhaps a minute before the 4 villagers get to the tannery doors.
|
|
Phedron turns to everyone else.
"You don't think it's possible that however they've taken control of these people, that they'd have them board the ship or ships willingly do you?"
Phedron stands motionless for a moment.
"There are too many villagers in too many directions. I think we need to find what's in those bags... now. If you aren't coming, then step back. I'm heading out." He says evenly, praying desperately that he won't be the only one.
Regardless if anyone joins him or not, he will in fact open the door and move towards the villagers.
Caster may sense nervousness emanating from Phedron. Unsure if this is a good idea or not, he knows that the next moments will be pivotal.
Karl references between Jaks and the villagers.
"Mishapen humpback fellow flitting about in the stable and a bunch of villagers leaving the warehouse that is going up in flames. Hoping that's Marcum, because that's no dwarf I've ever seen. . . Those people aren't fleeing, they're in some sort of a trance or under a spell!"
Not the Skinsaw, this is something else.
"I don't know if this is some hive mind b%+%%+$@ or what, but they were able to get scared, traumatized, little kids to calmly leave their families calmly. I bet my eye teeth they could definately get these people to walk onto a ship . . . or do something else."
Did we just send out a few of them with Linkah! Or were those the ones that they could not turn and corrupt?!
". . . Son of a b~~*$!"
"Gods bless it! Yeah you're right dang it! We need to find out what in the 666 layers they've got in those packs, but you stay back where you belong caster! I might need you to blast me out of trouble and the enemy has a caster of their own out there. We can't risk you on point. The rest of you stand ready to either hold this place or haul ass double time."
"Kheegan keep tabs on Jax, he may still be a threat. Knock him silly if needed, we need him alive if possible."
"Nosa give me a read on those people. Can you tell if they or Jax show ill intent?"
"Beckett, if the prisoners try to escape, handle them. We can't have the get free from here. Clear?"
"Lavios, keep the trident handy, but get on that crossbow. Archers give me some cover."
"No one forget we have a back door open, we don't need an ambush from below."
Heh, great plan. Can't wait to see how this one goes to s@%&. And . . . Action!"
Karl steps out blades drawn.
Nosa nods at Marsh as he leads, noting the change in his demeanor from the man he had met earlier.
He watches as M rash throw open the door and studies those outside, hoping to discern their intent.
"Right," the dwarf stands, "Now things are going to get interesting." He switches drum for axe.
"Let's see, save some people, end a slavin' ring, AND put Foeward's head on a pike?" He smiles. "This is turnin' out te be a good day after all."
"Heh, if this goes poorly they may be going with us into the afterlife, Mr. Beckett. I would say more interesting Drogan; things have been interesting since I started talking to a certain halfling stranger."
"Remember, Karl, yer talking to a man that spent most of his life neck deep in the craziest tales the Iron Archive has to offer. We ain't yet begun to TRULY talk intersting yet."
He gives Karl a wink before sinking his ax in the ground long enough to spit on his hands and rub them together. "I'll let ya know when they do."
--Player Characters--
➢ Karl Marsh
➢ Lavios Daleborn
➢ Drogan Anvilsong
➢ Phedron Rushing
➢ Beckett Foxglove
➢ Nosatrub Shieldarm
--NPCs--
➢ Hal'dorel
➢ Kheegan
➢ Helios
➢ Jak
➢ Agidor
➢ Legate Vandana Aureleum (1st Equites)
The Legate stands near the prisoners, her heavy pick in hand and shield prepared...and her brown eyes fixed firmly on Beckett. "Yes, Inquisitor..." She places herself between the bound men and Beckett. "My charges will not be going anywhere. While I live, they will be brought to the justice of this land and will pay for their part in this mess." Aureleum lowers her voice for Beckett alone. "Do not test my resolve. I am no less dedicated to seeing proper justice... proper justice that does not sully the duty I have sworn."
Agidor steps into the midst and nods Beckett's way, his tone an attempt to diffuse any tension. "We'll keep an eye on them together, eh mate? Besides, we can keep our peelers on the back door Karl pointed out, in case of surprise."
Elsewhere inside the tannery, Helios and Hal'dorel maneuver in front of the villagers they'd just freed, both train their bows on the now open doorway.
Kheegan stands near Jak and hefts the long sword he'd taken from a fallen Herald outside. He watches the wounded man, keenly aware that Jak is now staring intently at the open door to the tannery and perfectly silent.
Near the doorway, Karl, Drogan, Phedron and Nosatrub face off with the four men outside. The rogue's challenge booms across the area, the other men and women departing the warehouse give a moments pause, all looking in unison at the tannery. Their faces are placid but their eyes are acutely attentive. But they continue on their respective paths after a breath or two, giving the tannery no more thought as though they'd just seen a mildly interesting beast call from the forest.
The four that are now only a dozen feet from the tannery stop their progress completely and lay their burlap bundles down at their sandaled feet. As with the others from the warehouse, their faces are calm and disinterested, but their eyes are sharp. This close the four adventurers at the doorway can see that the for men in front of them bear the hallmarks of those raised outside the city. Calloused hands, tanned faces, the broad shoulders of hard working folk. One of them, the man on the farthest left, continues to whistle a tune as the other three speak.
As the four villagers approach and Karl issues his challenge, the one who'd been whistling continues to do so. The song is is a familiar one sung by bards in the local taverns of Admiral's Fen and the docks.
♤ Dead And Lovely ♤
"Why do you stop us?" the first man asks calmly, a rough accent closer to those of the rescued villagers behind them. Another indication they are Taldan.
Before any can respond the second continues. "We have been told of a dead woman inside."
"She'll need to be buried, mate." the third one adds.
"It should happen promptly, guv." the first says.
Them the second. "Surely a pretty girl should be lay to her ease, right?"
"We gots tools, sure. Odds n' ends n' what not."
The fourth continues to whistle his tune, but he graciously opens the sack in front of him. As he does so, his blue eyes never leave the four party members. Inside the sack are implements of embalming and the wrappings for burial of the dead.
"As you can see..." the first one again, also opening his bag to display similar contents.
"No need for a ruckus," the second opens his, this one with two shovels.
"We'd like to be on our way home, but proper's proper, guv."
The fourth stops his tune for a moment and there is a silence in their midst. Dull thwaps begin to sound, like a twig on wet leather, the beginnings of rain spilling down from the heavens. "We'd like ta be done n' on our way back home if ya please."
They stand silent, watching the four adventurers and waiting.
Nosatrub watches intently and gets the impression that these four are set about to a task, their minds focused but not showing any sign of aggression.
During your time as an Archivist, you read on the topic of foreign burial practices. Call it a lark, or morbid fascination, but your reading fell into some of the practices of the Osirion culture. While the Pahmet dwarves - your desert dwelling cousins - never subscribed to it, the peoples of Osirion would take to embalming, wrapping and burying their dead.
[ooc]You can read up on this at the Pathfinder Wiki - Osirion (link)
It's rare, but you've heard legend of some villages to the south that practice this form of burial.
Drogan looks to the man whistling, "She may be dead, Lad. But not much lovely left te speak of, sad to say. So why don't we cut through the banter an' you tell me why four folk of Osirion made there way here, and why you've got an int'rest in the dead girl."
"THEN we can move to the more pressing venture a' how you knew she was in there an' who she bloody well is. Oh, an' let me be clear as crystal, boy-oh. I will not take no guff from a grave-digger, so speak straight with me."
Karl takes in the reaction of the crowd.
"This is like watching a crate of plague rats fall from the deck of a ship and break open on a loading dock. Here we sit watching the surviving vermin scurry off and into the fertile streets of the city . . . "
She was discribed as having distant eyes more than once. . . I had thought they meant due to moral defect, but maybe it was just a sign that her mind was being conditioned or controlled, like these people must be. . .
"Kill the queen kill the hive!"
Karl makes a dash towards the stables in pursuit of the hunchback he has seen while yelling ove his shoulder.
"We should have searched the warehouse! Hope someone listened to me when I suggested taking that wizards head off with an axe!"
--Player Characters--
➢ Karl Marsh
➢ Lavios Daleborn
➢ Drogan Anvilsong
➢ Phedron Rushing
➢ Beckett Foxglove
➢ Nosatrub Shieldarm
--NPCs--
➢ Hal'dorel
➢ Kheegan
➢ Helios
➢ Jak
➢ Agidor
➢ Legate Vandana Aureleum (1st Equites)
”...I will not take no guff from a grave-digger, so speak straight with me.” Drogan says in a mix of tone both threatening and amused as only the bard can accomplish.
The first man of the four begins to answer. ”Ah, we’ve been far from our homelands long 4 or more generations. Our homes are far into the south of Taldor.’
”Ne’er seen tha land o’ our ancestors,” The second continues, tone regretful but eyes unflinching.
The third is about to pipe up when Karl storms past them, blades a singing in the air as his voice booms across the tannery yard once more.
The fourth picks up his tune once more as he holds a hand out palm side up, more drops of rain with greater frequency. But all four of them turn their heads to follow Karl Marsh as he plunges across the yard to the stables. Once he is a good 30 feet or so distant, they all four turn and focus on Drogan.
”We’ve been given warrant ta bury the woman inside,” the first takes up again.
Then the second, ”But we don’t wish ta cause strife, not one tittle…”
”...not one jot of it, no, masters.” The third stands alongside his cohorts and shakes his head in regret, but his eyes never leave the dwarf.
”Our task been given by a dwarf name o’ Stigion,” The first offers by way of answer to Drogan’s earlier question.
The second clasps his hands together slowly, bag at his feet forgotten for the moment. ”He tells us lot, if we bury tha girl with ‘er propers, like our kin have done for years…”
”...we can leave, free as gulls.” The third finishes.
The four then shift their eyes from Drogan then to Nosatrub, then to Phedron and then back to the dwarf. ”We’ve been in this spot for too long,”
”...but we can wait a bit longer if the time’s not to yer likin’, master dwarf.”
The rain begins to fall in earnest, casting a pall across Dog’s Teeth and drawing a watery curtain between the party’s view of the stables and even the warehouse. The departing people all but fade into the downpour. But the glow of fire from within the warehouse can be still be seen. All four men glance up and close their eyes as the rain falls, as though welcoming a refreshing drink. Then they incline their heads down once more to rest their visions upon Drogan.
”We can return after, when the time is better.” The third man offers. When Lavios offers his own knowledge of villages to the south, the third glances his way for first time. Then so do the others in the quartet. ”Just so, masters. Ours is a home far from here.”
”Far from here,” Agrees the first man.
The second nods. ”Yes, guvnahs, far from here to the south.”
The fourth continues to whistle his morose tune as the rain falls all the harder.
♝ ♝ ♝ ♝ ♝
His focus is sharp, even as the rain begins to cascade from the heavens and create pools of mud with the reddish hue of blood from the day’s fallen. His boots slush and threaten to cast him to the ground but Karl’s steps are sure and steady. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a trio of departing villagers turn as one to watch his charge towards the stables, but they do not cease their own pace as they calmly walk away. After a few steps they give over their interest and focus on moving out of the area. Just before the rain claims their forms, Karl senses the trio splitting up in three different directions.
On his left, as the rain shortens his vision and darkens the world in deeper shades of gray, he picks up the dull orange glow of fire as it is nourished on the wood of the warehouse.
But Karl is centered on the shadow he’d seen, the misshapen man he hopes is one of two things; an ally or a key. He bursts into the stables, the horses still remaining stamp and snort at his sudden appearance. But Karl dismisses it and remains attuned to the environment...the new rain falling sends shadows in all directions as light is dissolved...but he stays focused.
He senses the movement more than he sees it, instincts turning his blades towards the third stall in the line. A diminutive shadow steps forward, head slumped and entire body heaving in quiet gulps of air. When he speaks, the rasp and wheeze is barely recognizable.
”You’ve impressed me for a second time, Karl Marsh… *cough cough*...first by appearing at my shop…” The shadowed figure steps a forward and his face is cast in the soft light of the warehouse fire. ”...*cough*...the second that you’ve survived this long…”
Marcum stumbles forward, weak hand going out to the wall next to him but giving no support as he collapses to the straw and mud. ”Would have been here sooner…*cough cough*...but there was a dwarf quite keen on caving in my skull…*cough cough*...and I had to see about our friend Linkah…” He holds up a hand to his mouth and launches into a coughing fit that he attempts to muffle with his cloak. ”...he and the children are safe...at his uncle’s…”
"What's that fool up to? He's bound to get us all killed ... an' didn't even invite me!
"I've read about the customs of your people. And if there's anyone in this gods forsaken place that can appreciate old ways past through the generations, it's me. But let me tell ya somethin', come 'ere a minute."
He beckons them closer and, just over the blade of his ax, the dwarf gruffly whispers, "A dwarf's memory is long, friends. I'm sure old Stigion sent you here with purpose. Wants the girl to disappear, hopin' nobody'll miss her. But if I find tell that he sent you here to hid some truth left unspoken or grab up some trinket for him - then I won't be happy. And you wouldn't want me te be unhappy." The grave-digger's whistle played out in his head.
But now she's dead
She's so dead
Forever dead and lovely now
He turns to the others, "I've got a bad feeling about this."
"Agidor, Nosa, Beckett - I've got somethin' you'll need to see. If Foeward cared enough to set captives free in order to make sure that girl stayed good and buried, there must be a reason for it. Lavios, Master Wizard, you two take the others. Heel-toe to Karl. Keep him out of trouble - or at least out a' the pit, huh? Hopefully I'm jus' bein' a bit touched in the head from reading old folk stories and we'll be back up presently ta join ya."
Was she just some poor girl tossed aside when her usefulness was used up, or was there something more? You left so much flesh and bone to rot for the birds and the rats - why does this girl need special burial rites? No, Sir. It don't add up. Don't add up at all. Drogan heads back into the tannery to where they found that girl, hoping the others will do as he asked.
Now they're all watching the sea
What's lost can never be broken
|
|
"Do not test my resolve. I am no less dedicated to seeing proper justice... proper justice that does not sully the duty I have sworn."
Beckett's eye harden as the Legate steps forward. He is about to speak but then is interrupted by Agidor
"We'll keep an eye on them together, eh mate? Besides, we can keep our peelers on the back door Karl pointed out, in case of surprise."
The Inquisitor is silent for a moment, then he offers a broad smile. Facing Aureleum, he bows slightly.
"I would have it no other way, of course."
"We should have searched the warehouse! Hope someone listened to me when I suggested taking that wizards head off with an axe!"
Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!
Beckett raises his hands, palms facing forward, and he takes one step backward.
"You know, Agidor... I think that having me guard the prisoners may not be the best idea. Perhaps Marsh could use some extra help.
Not waiting for a reply, Beckett runs after Karl.
Nosa watches as events unfold, not understanding the purpose of the villagers completely, but sensing that they mean no ill.
He sees Marsh dart off, then listens intently as Drogan addresses the villagers, then he sees the blur that is Beckett as he races after Marsh, reaching his hand out in vain to stop him.
This is quickly turning to madness!
"Decisions on the battlefield often must be made quickly or innocents may die. Trust your instincts and your training and you will make the right choice."
Veras' words ring in his ears.
Phedron, Lavios, after Marsh and Beckett, they should not have run off on their own. Hal, Kheegan, Helios, the decision is yours, stay and look after the girl and Jak if you will, but we may need you. Legate, as the law in this land we will need you as well, please go with Marsh and Beckett. Agidor my friend, it seems you have been elected to look after this one, cry out if you have need of us. Master Anvilsong, show me what you must, but be quick, if our friends are running into danger then we should be there with them to face it."
--Player Characters--
➢ Karl Marsh
➢ Lavios Daleborn
➢ Drogan Anvilsong
➢ Phedron Rushing
➢ Beckett Foxglove
➢ Nosatrub Shieldarm
--NPCs--
➢ Hal'dorel
➢ Kheegan
➢ Helios
➢ Jak
➢ Agidor
➢ Legate Vandana Aureleum (1st Equites)
Beckett charges off into the downpour, his silhouette behind the curtain of water broken by the Lucerne Hammer over his shoulder. Soon he disappears across the yard.
The four men out front turn their heads to watch him go then in unison return their attention to the doorway. "We seek no strife..." the first begins.
The second looks to Nosatrub then back to the dwarf. "... Master Anvilsong, no strife. .. not one tittle."
"... not one jot." Finishes the third.
The fourth is the first to stoop over and collect his bag. The rest follow suit and then file inside to follow Drogan and Nosa as they head for the west wall and the storeroom that holds the trapdoor leading to the base me to room.
Helios and Hal'dorel share a word in elvish and respond to Drogan. "Hal and I will stay cozy with the Southridge folk. Keegan can manage Jak for now." Behind them, the Southridgers are beginning to look restless, eager to depart the area.
For his part, Kheegan agrees with a grunt to the suggestion. But his attention is on the four grave-diggers entering the tannery. As they pass by they all eye Jak, turning their heads as they walk forward to the west side of the building. Kheegan growls something good unintelligible like but holds his ground.
Jak, still seated against the wall, returns the stares as his eyes follow the four across the room.
The Legate gestures for Agidor to lead the way as she manages the prisoners. Mayhap and Fipps look unsettled and all too eager to simply get out of the strange situation. "Gah, can't wait ta be in a proper jail, tis no lie. B~@!*@$s on this place..." Mayhap mutters to his younger brother.
|
|
Phedron shows no expression at being called wizard.
"Know my place?!"
"I may know some magic, but you may be making a faulty assumption of who I am or what I can do." he says to Karl, ego bristling.
"I never could understand the nature of elemental magics or pulling something out of nowhere."
Phedron watches the bizarre interactions of the villagers with wariness. Singing again in an unusual language, he moves his free hand in a small sweeping motion and looks carefully at the four before him.
((casts detect magic))
”You’ve impressed me for a second time, Karl Marsh… *cough cough*...first by appearing at my shop…” The shadowed figure steps a forward and his face is cast in the soft light of the warehouse fire. ”...*cough*...the second that you’ve survived this long…”
Marcum stumbles forward, weak hand going out to the wall next to him but giving no support as he collapses to the straw and mud. ”Would have been here sooner…*cough cough*...but there was a dwarf quite keen on caving in my skull…*cough cough*...and I had to see about our friend Linkah…” He holds up a hand to his mouth and launches into a coughing fit that he attempts to muffle with his cloak. ”...he and the children are safe...at his uncle’s…”
"People have been trying to kill me for a good long time, lunger. I find that old age, experience and treachery often out do youth and skill. Don't you agree?"
"I am very much alive, no thanks to your intelligence, which has been for s*#&. The dwarf may very well be, but just one small part of the myriad of problems that we now find ourselves in."
Karl begins to hastily saddle the horse or at least make a crude rope bridal to lead it by.
"The villagers, perhaps three ship loads of them, have been brainwashed or at least conditioned by their captors. Ardo and much of his crew lie dead and we've captured two of Tarik's men who worked with the stags. We found the tunnels are dry, inhabited and decked out by a subterrainian name giving race. A legate has joined our lovely tea party along with a wizard who wants to lead the vanguard, we've a dead noble on our hands, cult blood letting rituals being performed in the tannery basement, and Danton and Blackhammers ready to make us dead."
"There, now saddle your crippled ass up on this horse. I hope you can ride better than you can run . . . And . . . Thank you for checking on the halfling, but now we need to save our own necks."
"Heavy boots comin this way, get a move on."
You summon up the patterns in your mind and thread the lines of magic together, song on your lips and vision opening to the glowing vistas of the arcane world. But as that wonder is sight rests upon the four would be grave-diggers, not one iota of mystical energy is upon or in them.
A chill brushes along the nape of your neck, icy fingers slipping up your scalp. As you end your spell, satisfied there is no magic present, you find that all four men have stopped their progress and turned to watch you. After you finish they resume their entry into the tannery.
|
|
((it was for Karl, before he ran off))
Clearly surprised, Phedron furrows his brows. "That's unexpected. What is with these people? Surely they've been tampered with. If not magic, then...?"
Fighting an urge to catch the dispersing villagers, Phedron looks at Drogan clearly frustrated with the choices to be made. "Very well. Be safe and try not to harm these people until we figure out what's wrong."
As Phedron leaves to follow Karl, he reaches out to shake the hand of one of the villagers, feeling for the warmth of life. If all seems well, he will smile at the villager and say "Do not board the ships."
If he catches up with Karl, he asks "What's the word here?"
"I may know some magic, but you may be making a faulty assumption of who I am or what I can do." he says to Karl, ego bristling.
"Maybe . . . , but you do have a familiar and cast spells do you not? That makes you a caster. Until we have a chance to sit down, have a beer and share life stories I would logically like you to keep to the rear and have the armored knight take the front line with the support of the polearm, archers and casters behind him." Karl responds in a matter of fact tone.
"I honestly could give a rat's ass if you are relieved or not. If you want to swashbuckle or fop out go right ahead. If your focus is looking dashing while being flashy that's your right. It just isn't as romantic when your guts are spilling through your fingers or worse yet your buddies guts are looped around his legs and its on you. . . Nah, not many rakes left by the time you get to be my age son, but nothing I say is going to change what you need to learn and experience on your own."
|
|
Stung and unable to counter his obvious lack of life experience and wondering what his uncle would think of this exchange, he marshals his intended but unspoken words with less smugness.
"You may be used to wizards with big hats that make big bangs and pull roses out of their bums, but that isn't me. I need to be close. So, until I've learned to grow longer arms I'll make sure to pack knitting needles and experience how you'd best use my knowledge." he says, but with no smirk left on his face.
Much like Olfrey, he is sure this man is no-nonsense. He feels the eyes of others on him. Surely if juxtaposed, he would look to be just a boy next to the seasoned man. Determined to prove otherwise, he remains resolute.
|
|
Beckett's mind eases as he leaves the prisoners behind.
The Inquisitor listens to the hard words between Marsh and Phedron. Then he smiles, attempting to change the direction of the conversation.
"My apologies, Marsh.
Beckett jerks a thumb back toward the tannery.
I'm afraid that our Legate friend has taken a dislike to me. She assures me that the prisoners kill them! will be well tended without my assistance.
He looks back and forth between Karl and Phedron.
So... What's the plan?
♜ ♜ ♜ ♜
You extend your hand in greeting and watch as it hangs in the air unattended for several heartbeats. The four men stare at it until the third man in the group - the one nearest you - reaches up with his own hand to grasp it.
The hand is cold...clammy...calloused... You look down at the hand as your suspicions seem to bloom like the opening of a dirge. Then your eyes leave behind the gripped hands to rise and find those of the man staring directly into yours.
"Well met, govnah. Name's Jezzah." For the first time his confederates do not add to the conversation. Jezzah retrieves his hand, eyes still locked with yours as he runs fingers through his hair and shakes some of the rainwater from the hood of his tunic. All the features of his face seem to change in Phedron's mind, even an old scar in the shape of a circle on Jezzah's neck stands out like a red flash of ephemeral light.
You glance down at your hand like it doesn't belong and should be studied...but the part of your mind that reconciles reality pushes forth an explanation to halt the wild thoughts from fanning into open flames of panic.
The rain outside. It falls now in torrents and these would be grave-diggers were caught out in it. Your eyes go from man to man and you see they're soaked to the skin. The fourth one who is whistling even gives a brief tremor as though from a chill.
Phedron reaches out and shakes the hand of the man nearest him and after a pause smiles and says, "Don't board the ships." And with that heads out of the tannery and into the rain to follow after Karl and Beckett.
Following suit, Legate Aureleum leads her two prisoners to the door and out into the rain. Agidor shares a look with Helios. "I'll go with, mate. Make sure the way is clear and the stables are safe. I'll give ya a real ear-piercer if it's all right."
Helios grins and agrees and Agidor heads out into the deluge to follow Aureleum and her charges.
Hal'dorel and Helios remain in position to protect the Southridgers, moving as a group to the door and awaiting the all clear signal from Agidor. The half-elf looks to Lavios. "I'm thinking ya wanna be close to your ma and friends, eh? Stick with us if ya choose, but if you wanna head out after Marsh and the others, we'll be close behind."
"I'll stay with him," Kheegan states flatly of Jak. "When Anvilsong and Nosa return, I'll join them and bring Jak over." The big barbarian looks to Lavios, silently offering the inquisitor the option to stay.
Drogan and Nosatrub gird themselves and move to the west wall of the tannery and a doorway that leads to a storeroom and the trapdoor that descends into the basement. After their greeting with Phedron, the four grave diggers follow them through the doorway.
■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■■
Tannery
➢ Lavios Daleborn
The Basement
➢ Nosatrub Shieldarm
➢ Drogan Anvilsong
The Stables
➢ Karl Marsh
➢ Phedron Rushing
➢ Beckett Foxglove
■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■■■□■□
The Southridgers up until that point have been quiet, content in the knowledge that Lavios and his strange band of companions have the situation - however horrifying - well in hand. But the oldest of the four, a man named Tarvus, is getting restless. He grips his hands together and stays in front of the other three, including Lavios' mother, acting as something of a bulwark.
It's clear to those still in the room, especially Lavios, that they're all ready to get out of the tannery and even Dog's Teeth.
For Helios and Hal, they are quite adept at maintaining comforting small talk with them. Even going so far as to outline some options for getting out of the city and back into the countryside. "We have people in our circle of contacts who can make travel home very safe." the elf offers. "And should it come to that, if things back home are not livable, there are some we know that can help you rebuild."
"How yards know these things, elfie?" Tarvus asks with a surprising measure of skepticism.
"Tarvus..." Lavios' mother warns. But Tarvus waves her off and awaits an answer.
If he's offended, Hal'dorel shows no sign. "It has been our task for quite some time now to aid the hamlets and villages of this land. Food and supplies and work where needed. The ability to avoid being trampled by warring noble factions..."
"A rabble rouser then..." Tarvus grumbles. But something in his demeanor gives away the older man's new respect for Hal and his friends.
Over to the side where Kheegan stands grim vigil, Jak sends his gaze towards the west door leading to to the storeroom and the basement. His breathing is shallow and even, but if the gritty warrior Lavios had introduced there is little sign. Instead his face is calm but posture upright. While he still bears some bruising from his encounter with Danton, other than his lack of communication there no indication he's suffering.
Drogan and Nosatrub enter the small storeroom and find the trapdoor. The iron ring handle is cold to the touch but the door lifts easily enough under the dwarf's strength. From below, his dwarvish dark vision picks up the telltale sign of candlelight causing soft-lined shadows to dance at the base of the ladder. It takes a moment or two before he resolves that there is no motion, just the shifting light.
In the darker confines above the trapdoor, they are pressed in by the storeroom; only five feet from front to back and 12 feet long, it's stifling compared to the lofty space of the tannery proper. Both paladin and bard turn suddenly as they hear the shuffling of feet behind them...
.. only to find the four strangers standing at the doorway of the storeroom, two of them visible and watching the two adventurers. "We will descend with you..."
"... only at your say so, chaps."
"So's you can keep an eye on us when we collect our..."
"...charge."
It seems only the two that are visible involve themselves in the strange banter the grave diggers share. But Drogan and Nosa can see the other two are just beyond the first.
Bard and Paladin descend the ladder and find themselves in a darkened room. While the dwarf sees clearly - a fact he may regret at the moment - the all too human eyes of Nosatrub Shieldarm only see the true pall cast upon the place. But then again, he doesn't even need the gifts of insight blessed to him by holy Iomedae to know there is a spectre of evil in this place.
**thum-thump**
**thum-thump**
They each pull their weapons on instinct. Looking about the room for the source of the sound.
**thum-thump**
**thum-thump**
**slosh**
Maybe the far corner? The candlelight grants unnatural life to the shadows in the room. Much as before, there is the roughly square area of the place, a wood table lurks on the edge of a painted circle of oddly disconcerting symbols on the floor. Then there is the woman, clearly dead laying over one of the sections of the painted circle.
On the table, an odd mixture of apparati ranging from glass tubes filled with blood to a selection of macabe instruments. Razors, a precision hammer, and a paint brush. The last was soaked in blood, the tips of the brush curling up and already drying like a crooking finger. It was most likely used to create the stomach lurching symbols and writing that spans outward in a circle. Nosa reconciles that the symbols are in fact inked in blood.
On the other side of the table, the symbols somehow point towards a large, oval pit with piles of dust. Though the strange writing is circular in pattern, something in them draws attention to the raised pit. On either side of the dust pit are end tables with candles and incense burning.
**thum-thump**
**thum-thump**
**slosh**
The paladin's eyes are torn away as he continues his search for the source of the noise. He tries to not focus on the girl or the symbols and finds that Drogan is standing near the west corner of the room. A grating is there, hinged and large enough for a man to pass through.
**thum-thump**
**thum-thump**
Right now, the dead body of a dwarf is floating up against the grating from below, buoyed by dark waters. Drogan looks on in veiled concern. They'd just passed through this way, the tunnels had been passable... now they are flooded?
**thum-thump**
**thum-thump**
The dead dwarf, one of the felled Blackhammers, bumps against the grating in answer.
Nosa steps back and returns his gaze to the circle and the dead woman. He allows his eyes to run over the symbols on the ground, the arc and sweep and lettering are foreign. While he can’t puzzle out the meaning, he is left with two unshakeable conclusions; they are old, very old. That, and they are wrong.
Nosa had seen enough of his homeland of Ustalav to recognize what is forbidden...something that didn’t sit well with the world around it. And these symbols, the way they join and flow...
**thum-thump**
**thum-thump**
He takes his eyes from them and focuses on the girl. Her dress is a cream color with thin weavings of birds and trumpets and leaves patterned throughout in gentle tones of brown and tan and feint hues of sky blue. The soaking stains of red mar the dress’ design, casting a gruesome backdrop to a flock of starlings taking flight. Plunged into her throat, a finely carved wooden tube, the width of a human thumb and sanded to a near lacquer finish. A specialized implement that went into the neck and allowed the girl’s blood to flow uninhibited through the hollow interior and onto the floor.
Her wrists are free of bruises, her fingernails are free of deformity. When the paladin looks at her face, what once was flush with color is now pale and devoid of life. Her eyes are open wide and full of what can only be described as horror...terror...surprise...astonishment...a mixture of all these things.
Nosatrub blinks away the imagery but his eyes linger on her face. There is an odd familiarity... How can that be?
Drogan eyes the room and runs a quick catalogue; nothing seems different. Well, the glaring presence of a flooded tunnel beneath their feet is of putting. But outside of that, nothing.
Marcum eyes the rogue askance and blows out a frustrated have of air. "My intelligence provided what was known by me at the time and any logical conclusions I could draw, Master Marsh." He presses himself upwards and leans against the wall. "And you'll not be seeing me on a horse, thank you very much. There's a perfectly serviceable cart in the other stable. One that can be used for the prisoners you captured. *cough cough*." He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looks up at Karl with questioning eyes. "No sign of flooding you say? Subterranean race? Three ship's worth? "
Marcum's eyes grow distant as he reconciles the information. He all but ignores the man's warning until Beckett appears in the stables. "Perhaps they leveraged others...they didn't need me if they had Lenz...perhaps nobility is the key...nobility and peasantry...accomplices..."
Hen glances up at Karl, gesturing a greeting to Beckett as he arrives, but staying focused on the rogue. "As for these subterranean creatures of yours, there was no way for me to know they truly existed. Rumors in this town like that, sounded more like stories to tell children..." Marcum thrusts his finger towards Karl. "I told you there could be worse things than water down there, perhaps I should have mentioned the chance of horror tales come to life. Bah!"
At Beckett's question he sighs and responds. "The plan, Master Beckett, is to get out of here before Stigion or Danton, whatever his name may be, arrives." He rubs at his shoulder and tries to lift the pack next to him. "That bloody dwarf had cost me a full decade of establishment..." Something occurs to him and he changes direction. "Did you mention a Legate is here? Which one? Feberus? Sipioth? Aureluem?"
Marcum studies their faces as he lists names and nods at the last. "Aureluem, then... good. Then we'll have connection to Tacitus Olfrey."
Phedron arrives next, picking up where he left off with Karl.
"And just who is this...?" Marcum begins, but is cut off when a dark-feathered hawk swoops in from the stable rafters to alight on the newcomer's shoulder. "Judging by your cloth, Andoran? A different cut off wizard..."
It's apparent there's a tapestry of questions unfolding in the small man's mind, but he holds his council for the moment. During that time, Phedron studied him. A short human, shoulders misshapen and narrow, bald of scalp with spectacles, Marcum does not cut an imposing figure. But there is something remarkable about him to the young Andoran's eyes.
"We should leave this place, have the Legate lead us out. Agidor knows her, she can be trusted."
Drogan snorts, cursing himself for being so foolhardy will still clutching his ax tightly. Something still doesn't sit right.
"Oy, you lot? Come on down. But make it quick. I want this bloody business done and gone so we can help the others above. Jus' do whatever it is you aim to do and let us get the hell out of here."
Nosa is overwhelmed by the evil of the place.
He continues to look at the girl, trying to reconcile the familiarality, then it hits him!
The nobles daughter?
He remembers that the noble said she was taken and also remembers his oath to try and find her. If this is her, then he must see his oath fulfullid.
He looks to Drogan [b]I think this may be the daughter of a nobleman that Beckett, Agidor and I met. If it is so, he will want to deal with her on his own and not let this lot have her. Watch my back while I carry her out.[b]
With that, he sheathes his sword and replaces his shield then prepares to carry the body out.
|
|
((*as he was leaving to follow Karl))
As a cold reality dawns over him, he pulls from his purse a thin copper wire as he leaves the entourage behind. Turning back for just a moment he whispers into the damp air. The copper wire suddenly becomes stock straight and rigid before shooting into the ether toward Drogan.
((Spell: 0/message, target:Drogan))
"They are dead. Just puppets. Check the bags completely."
((*back at the stables with Karl, Beckett and Marcum))
Still hot over the exchange from moments earlier, Phedron speaks to Marcum.
"I think they are all dead. Their hands feel like a side of beef. Something is controlling them like puppets. I suspect the bags, but I'm wagering even if not, it has to be right near them."
Still considering Marcum, he can see he is a shrewd man.
Marcum let's out a cough and shakes his head. "Dead? As in undead? What have you people been up to? Children's fables beneath our feet...a rogue dwarf...slavers amassing so many prisoners they need three ships...brainwashing... now undead?" He shakes his head and coughs again. "What else? Trolls? What about those people out there? The peasants leaving the area? Am I to believe they've all been brainwashed too? And why are they burning the warehouse?"
The four grave-diggers are starting to make their way down the ladder to the basement when Nosatrub swoops down to gingerly lift the dead woman in his arms. With the body so close now, the aroma of jasmine and something akin to cinnamon wafts about his head. There is a dull twang as the wood implement jutting out of her neck runs up against Nosa's armor.
Drogan is now reconciling two things; that the dead woman who had been in league with Danton and Althanis is now a priority for the erstwhile knight... And second, a whisper from the newcomer Phedron reaches his ears via magical means warning the dwarf that the four strangers may very well be 'dead and puppets'. Could he mean undead? For all his reading there hadn't been much interest for Drogan to research the topic...but other than their strange manner of speech and unnerving way of staring...they didn't seem 'dead'.
The first of the four strangers is descending the ladder now.
|
|
"I have no doubt they've been brainwashed or otherwise marionettes of dead flesh. For all that I've read and heard, I'm unsure if you would call them undead. I just don't know. I wish I had checked their bags. But I agree that we need to check out the warehouse now, before whatever they are trying to hide is destroyed." he says with a fleeting smile, sure that the man wasn't asking a question as much as he was making a suggestion.
And with that, he darts towards the tannery avoiding any disapproving glances from Karl.
He feels uncomfortable with Beckett at his back after the earlier incident, but is sure whatever else, that Karl would not be one to abide a frenzied bloodletting.
Drogan watches the frantic knight's dashing about as the message comes across.
"Well, Wizard, I'm choosing to trust you. Here's hoping that doesn't come back to bite me on the ass."
Drogan begins pushing back up the stairs, poking his ax ahead of him like some sort of over-eager cattle prod. "Sorry for the confusion, Gentlemen, but it seems like my compatriot has a standin' agreement with the girls father." He talks at the same time as he presses the grave-digger up the lader, "You know how it is with family and all that. Shame it is, wants to pay his respects in the local customs, he does. So if you'd be so kind as te back up that ladder, that's it. Spit spot, and there were go. We'll have this settled in no time, spare you boys some much time you could be usin' to go home. Not to mention save you some of that int'restin' stuff you've got in the bag. Bet that stuff costs a pretty penny so far from home, am I right"
"You may be used to wizards with big hats that make big bangs and pull roses out of their bums, but that isn't me. I need to be close. So, until I've learned to grow longer arms I'll make sure to pack knitting needles and experience how you'd best use my knowledge." he says, but with no smirk left on his face.
"Heh, big hats must be something from your generation and none of the wizards I know pulled anything out of their butts. The ones I knew could burn, melt, or blast men. Others could augment, augur, summon or enchant. All of them used magic spells and were valuable assets and high value targets."
"Always kill the caster first kid. Nothing personal, its just good combat tactics. You start talking in weird speech or waving your arms around with fingers all twisted up like you're putting on a puppet show in the middle of a fight, expect to take fire and blades right away."
Leave your knitting needles at home, I don't need a new sweater, but do get your panties out of a bunch. Now is not the time to go over all the spells in your spell book, maybe later ."
"I've got enough problems right now in that this little princess right here (indicating Marcum) dislikes the manner in which I am rescuing her from her tower. She is b#*%#ing that she won't be seen riding a horse, no, she demands a coach, so she can be whisked away in the fashion she approves of."
Karl looks over at Beckett as he continues to set up the horse.
"So you decided to join us too huh?! Great who's left keeping the freaky foursome out of the tannery? The plan . . . Quite simple, keep breathing and stay this side of the dirt."
"Something that powerful would be like a vampire or something. The woman caster in the basement had a device in her neck like a big wooden straw to drain the blood out. That's why I wanted the local law to see downstairs."
"Marcum, can you get the wagon ride ready yourself or do you need help with that?"
"We can throw Jaks over the top of the saddle if you are so keen on walking. Our evidence of what's really going on here is burning up in the warehouse, so tell me quick if you don't know how to hitch a cart!"
"Did Nosa or Lavios have a chance to say what they detected before you followed me over here?!"
|
|
((guessing the last post was for Beckett?))
Phedron halts in his retort mid-breath.
"Big wooden straw? I noticed a bright red circle on the neck of the thing I shook hands with. They just seem too intelligent for so many to be made at once. I've never heard of anything like it. Let's see what the flames are trying to consume."
He cautions Caster, worrying the interior may be no place for a hawk. Phedron envisions peaking in an upstairs window ((there is an upstairs right?)) to see if there is anything interesting.
Karl's head snaps up.
"You sure about the red circle? The girl was dead as a doornail. I asked the axe weilding members of the party to take her head off before I went upstairs. If they are as good at taking directions as you two . . . son of a b@%!! . . . embalming materials. How many generations did that villager say?"
Karl hands the reins to Marcum.
"Here, hold him."
"Beckett, you and Phedron head over to the warehouse pronto. I'll go over to the tannery to make sure Drogan and company held the doorway. Marcum, if you cant rig a cart just lead the horse to the door behind me. Keep sharp, Stumpy and his friends might arrive any minute."
Karl makes ready to run back over to the tannery.
|
|
"Did Nosa or Lavios have a chance to say what they detected before you followed me over here?!"
Beckett grins with anticipation.
"Just what he said before about it being dark and evil."
"Beckett, you and Phedron head over to the warehouse pronto."
Beckett nods in agreement, then glances at Phedron and winks, as if to say "I told you so..."
|
|
"Beckett, you and Phedron head over to the warehouse pronto."
"Glad you concur." he says mid-stride towards the warehouse.
On the way, Phedron asks Beckett "What can you tell me about this Stumpy. He sounds like one not to cross."
Hoping that Caster is able to spot something up higher, Phedron makes little delay in opening a door to the warehouse slowly, staying out of sight in relation to the doorway he is now opening.
"Stay back a little Beckett. I'm going to stay off to the side, but I'll let you look inside from ten or so feet back... just in case."