Jemini's eyes open with a start. She reaches down to feel her stomach, where the Stag Lord just ran her through, sighing in relief as she finds herself intact. She looks around to get a sense for what happened. The battle must be over, as the fighting has stopped. Her heart drops as she sees the bodies around her, though the Stag Lord's very-dead corpse gives her some happiness. 'Verik must have healed me. Thank Iomedae! I thought I was dead.' She spots the cleric of Abadar kneeling down next to some fallen soldier, and walks over to thank him. She comes close to put her hand on his shoulder.
She stops, seeing the face of the soldier Verik is silently praying and crying over.
Her face.
Her body.
Jemini looks at herself, dead on the grassy field next to the Stag Lord. Her blood soaks the ground. It is a surreal vision for her. She looks around, seeing her friends mourning her death. She cannot comfort them, no more than they can see her.
A voice emerges from behind her. "Disconcerting, isn't it?" She turns to see a man behind her wearing anachronistic armor that wouldn't be out of place in a museum. He is a handsome man with dark hair and blue eyes that stare with an otherworldly intensity. "Ser John Kirkwood. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm here to ease your crossing."
Consciousness returns to Corwin along with a shocking amount of pain.
..not right s'pose to be maids and ale...green fields
It takes all the energy in the world to move his head just a touch to the right where if falls upon Jeminis prostrate form.
He remembers his earlier outburst. Ah lass... you got your battle. You got your battle.
The pain draws him back into the darkness.
Clutching his wounds Berrin surveys the field of battle, listening to the the moans of the wounded and dying through the ringing in his ears he barely registers when Verik and Taisper chanel their gods power to knit over his wounds. Fatigued to say the least he only looks dazedly on as Taisper caves in the Stag Lords ugly face.
Sighing inwardly he stands over Jeminis body, his face scrunching up as he chokes back an unfamiliar sensation as his throat tightens up and a couple of tears streak down his cheeks. 'Ah, princess. Still beautiful, even in death.'
Watching as Akiros emerges and the men gathering around them he bends a knee by the fallen king and picks up the childs ring he dropped. "Who, or what, the hells is Choral?" he mutters as he eyes the ring. Pocketing it he rises as goes over to lay a hand on Veriks shoulder. "Easy Verik, we've won." he says and feels the first pang of regret as he glances over to Jemini's lifeless form. "See to our wounded, Corwin needs tending. Grief will come later." he offers weakly, hoping the cleric will stave off his grief if he keeps buisy.
Thinking to take his own advice he walks over to Akiros he accepts his offered sword grimly, with hardly a word he leads the man back to stand with the captured enemy soldiers. Leaving him there he goes to the group. "Now what?" he says gruffly. "The kings dead. We've lost Jemini and hold a host of hostages. What the hells do we do with them?"
Taisper ignores Verik's imploring voice as he goes about his work. When Akiros comes forward to surrender, the teenager immediately strides across the battlefield to be at Berrin's side as he takes the weapon. "Tandlara how long until he can see again? Ever?" He then gathers all the weaponry of the stag lord and binds it with Akiros'. "Corwin, Berrin, can you two wield these swords? You seem the most likely. If I can wield it, I reckon I may take the bow, since Zander...since...he can't." Upon hearing the report of the battle, Taisper takes out a piece of paper on which he has written the names of the bandits he "converted". Next to the names of the ones who fled he makes an X.
They will be his first Hunts.
Taisper puts the paper back in his pocket and accosts the bandits. "All of you! Servants of the Stag Lord, who lies here ruined at our feet, by our weapons, you are to dig graves for the dead. Use your hands or use rocks, I care not. Any who quail I will kill. GET TO WORK!!" The inquisitor nods to the newly-healed Berrin, so that he may assist. He then goes over to his cousin. "Verik, we must give Jemini a hero's burial, here, that her place of rest may become a shrine, and ennoble this ground...I...she..." Taisper falters badly and looks into the distance, clearly not well. Then he exhales loudly and looks the cleric in the eyes. "We just need to do it, okay? Can you heal Jhod and help with this? I'm going to watch these maggots." he says this last with a look at the now-digging prisoners.
Tandlara looks up when Taispar addresses her, her eyes are dry now, and the slivers around the edges of her large elven irises are red, and bleary, the green however is deep, and dark, and ocean awaiting a storm, a hungry sea awaiting sacrifice, the normally unflappable elf is painted in grief and rage.
'He'll be blinded forever. That is the price he pays for his self-deceptions,' she stands to her feet as she speaks, her voice, ragged and hoarse increasing in volume.
'That is the cost he pays for taking the easy path, rather than the truly honorable one. That is what he personally loses, because our friend had to die today. Because a companion that waited at my side for longer than his life had to die. Because bloody Akiros of gods-cursed Mivon was too f%+&ing stubborn to listen to reason and honor.'
She turns towards the blind man now, her face dangerously blank but her eyes wild, the green visibly swirling and moving as her voice raises shrill and high. 'The Stag Lord was an animal, rabid and dangerous, but you chose to let him run free and men died for your misplaced pride. Be glad that I do not take more from you, though in truth maybe I should return your sight, so that you can see the damage you have done.'
Tandlara storms off down the hill then, seeking her mount, her mind falling over itself in rage and pain, her thoughts unfocused, her eyes glaring powerlessly at the world.
With Akiros well in hand, and more importantly his cousin and friends seeming as if they will not take out their grief upon the Mivon swordsman, Verik turns back to look down at Jemini. Tears start to well up in his eyes once again as he looks at her with Berrin. He doesn’t hear Berrin’s words about 'Choral' or notice he’s even moved away to pick up something off the ground. He no longer hears his cousin ask about the blindness of Akiros, or the practical need to claim weapons of war. All he can do is stare at her, her horrible gaping wound, her beautiful, serene face.
Wasn’t here, was I? Going to be a good little bureaucrat and do what Bishop Vinodragov says to do and plan out a fine shining golden city with my copy of the Manual, broad cobbled streets and all. So, so proud, so easy to leave my friends at their time of need. Berrin knew it for truth though, didn’t he? Oh he told me what was what, and J…Jemini did too. But did I even listen? No I did not. Oh but I prepared dutifully for a fine Taxfest, didn’t I? Only there was this one problem – we hadn’t actually tamed this land and driven back this beast of Chaos and Woe. Just one small detail not worked out on the lists and plans there, you puffed up fool! What’s the moneylender’s exchange for blood this day eh? She was where she had to be, and so was Taisper, but where was I when the Scales had to be…
Verik’s tear-stricken trance is broken by a mumbling of words, and then his brain catches up to him and he hears Berrin, and feels his hand upon his shoulder. Verik looks to him silently, nods and clears his throat. “R…Right Berrin. Right you are. Work needs to be done.” He takes a deep breath and resolutely walks over to Corwin, hastily wiping his eyes so as not to have everyone see.
Keys and locks, locks and portals, portals and vaults, vaults and banks, banks and streets… Verik mentally recalls a simple mantra he learned early on in the Temple to clear and order his mind as he checks on the brave fallen warrior, reminded that the Stag Lord did not strike down only one with his blade this day. “Gods and Keys,” Verik mutters, “and I thought Berrin was a sight to be standing, but you should already be dead by this…” He puts forth his hands on Corwin's chest and utters a prayer to Abadar as the golden light emanates through his fingers and down into the jagged wound, mending sinew and muscle from the base of the gash, allowing his one lung to bring in air once again, but knowing it will not be enough to mend much more than that.
Verik only has one more attempt within him to channel, and he knows it may be better served with the wounded at the other end of the battlefield – and he dare not move Corwin yet to the others. As he works to sop up some of the mess of bone and blood from Corwin’s neck and shoulder, he sees his cousin approach him, and pauses to listen to his words and note his demeanor.
Good, cousin, spoken like a Justicar of Lastwall, and you have your measure and focus about you now…hmm now why didn’t I think of that? He looks around, and envisions several possibilities, as the ground is fair and wide.
“Yes Taisper, I understand and you are quite right. This place will have something to stand for…her…and all the rest who fought and fell here. This is where Order and Light threw back anarchy and wickedness, and that lesson must be made permanent. I…I don’t know if this will be the park of a new city, or the central square of a town, or even the gardens of a warden’s post, but by the First Vault of Creation we shall build something here to stand, strong and true. You have my solemn promise on that, cousin.”
Verik stands up and sighs, watching Tandlara in the distance. “Soon I will tend to Jemini and the others that have fallen, once I see to the living I can heal with the last of my channeled powers, including Jhod. I dare not move Corwin right now unless we can make something suitable to bear him over with delicacy. I’ll stand vigil tonight where we lay the fallen to rest, and on the ‘morrow I will consecrate the ground with Abadar’s blessing. Some of the men would prefer Erastil’s blessing of course, but Jhod and I will work that out.”
Before Verik leaves back across the field, he looks to Berrin and Taisper. “Someone needs to tell Zander. He…he shouldn’t find out this way just by heading over here. Looks as if we also owe a tally-debt of some kind to the Chelaxian.”
Jemini nods, absentmindedly, "There's so much I wanted to do still." She's quiet for a moment, "Though I suppose that is how it goes for most that come here."
She almost ignores the presence of the other for a bit. She starts with Verik, "Poor Verik, he'll blame himself for sure. He has that habit, you know." She caresses, symbolically at least, his cheek. "He may not know it yet, but I always thought Verik had it in him, the potential to become a paladin."
Taisper, standing so close to Verik, gets her attention next. She holds his face as good as possible, and tries to stroke away a frown on his face. "This is a man of great confliction. Did you see the battle? I suppose not, but maybe you're everywhere metaphorically speaking. I just couldn't let him die. Not yet. I'm worried about him, and his future. But if he had died here, today, I cannot say if he would've found a good home beyond the veil. I just... I couldn't let that happen."
She moves over and tries to give Tandlara a hug, "This is Tandalara," she adds conversationally, but her voice wavers a little. "Our token non-human. And the smartest person I know. She didn't speak much of her past - but it is strange, the ways and the age of the elves. I believe if you know what to look for, you'll be able to find legends and heroic tales that feature this woman. Somewhere along the line she gave it all up; this time, spent with us, have woken up something in her." A little smile plays around Jemini's lips. "Ah yes, and Riddleskin. You should see him, he's so cute - old and rumpy, I think he only stays around to make sure Tandlara is not lonely - but he's got a real man's rival spirit. He's adorable."
"Berrin here," she hugs from behind then gives him a rap on the back and a tap on the butt, "he's like the silently beating heart of the group. Strong, dependable. And a head that is screwed on right. He's the man you want to captain your favorite squad. He'll ensure that things get done, and everybody gets home alive."
"Zander... I wonder where he is. He's the other one, the last one of the original group. He might be the reason why I am here today. I mean, why I didn't die years ago. But he's hiding it. It doesn't make sense. Something has not been said, and I'm afraid that now it will be left unsaid. Alas."
"Corwin here," she points, "is new; but his blood shows that he's willing to do what is right. I don't know who will -- hehe, listen to me, Verik is right, I have a hard time not claiming my birthright and lead."
"So that leaves you. Ser John Kirkwood. You don't strike me as the traditional ferryman. Are you just the way, or are you an opportunity as well?"
Gurgle
Gurgle
Taisper's grim work lasts into the darkness, as the captive bandits dig individual graves for the fallen. Verik keeps busy as he organizes gathering the broken, bloody bodies and separating them into two groups. The soldiers strip the bandits of their weapons and what armor remains undestroyed. Verik arranges for some cloth to cover the corpses, to allow them some dignity in death. Even the Stag Lord's brutalized body gets the benefit of a covering, if only to block the horrifying sight from view. For Jemini, however, he gives his own cloak, tenderly wrapping her body with the cloth after washing as much of the blood off her as his conjured water would allow.
At Jhod's request, a few of the soldiers ride to Oleg's and fetch some shovels and tents. Kesten sends a man northbound to retrieve the women and children, and to deliver the news of their victory. The uninjured soldiers tend to their comrades, while giving cursory assistance to the injured bandits. By the time night has fully settled on the site of the battle, several dozen fires brighten the darkness. Jhod mans a makeshift infirmary, trying to keep the wounded alive. With their reserves of magical healing drained completely, bandages and mundane healing techniques will have to do. Even if they had a team of clerics, there are simply too many injured and wounded.
Corwin lays unmoving in the infirmary. Even after receiving magical healing, the Stag Lord's brutal stroke nearly killed him. If not for the solid construction and magical runes of his now-destroyed breastplate, he would be joining Jemini in the afterlife. His breathing is labored and ragged, but it is more than any man could expect after receiving such an injury. He will awaken in likely another day or two, but will definitely sport a huge scar across his chest and shoulder for the rest of his days. The magic healed the worst of the injury, but Jhod had to manually stitch his skin together to prevent any further separation after picking out shards of bone for an hour.
Oleg, now only having one arm, quietly sits in the corner of the infirmary tent. Zander seems to be hovering remarkably close to the man, while having forgotten completely about the magical disguise that still graces Jemini's body. Despite his injury, Oleg remains taciturn and stoic. One of the soldiers asks him how it feels, to which he only replies, "It's gone, and there's no sense crying about what I can't change."
Akiros stands still as a statue facing the north. To an onlooker, it would appear that he is surveying the land, but his blindness prevents this. He simply stands, waiting for judgment. He does not complain, nor does he beg. He simply waits.
Under Taisper's watchful eyes, the exhausted prisoners finish rows and rows of graves for the dead. The impromptu gravesmen inter the bodies of the soldiers and bandits in the separate areas, wrapped in bloody cloths. They pause when only two bodies remain: Jemini and the Stag Lord. They look at their overseer, wondering what to do with the pair.
Kirkwood turns, his dark blue cloak regally swirling around him. He looks back at Jemini with a smile. "I see the trials you are going to go through. In life, I was a soldier like you. I marched against Choral the Conquerer with your ancestor Joren Lebeda. We fought and lost, but it was a good fight. You and I are going for a little trip, because you need to understand what you are facing. However, we're not going alone." He stops and points to the spot where she and the Stag Lord both lay.
"Nikolai Rogarvia, rise!" Suddenly, a man stands before them. He is handsome, with regal features and thick black hair. Most striking, however, is his size. He is a mountain of a man, with a powerful build and wide shoulders. His size makes him instantly recognizable to her. The Stag Lord stands before her, free of the burns that marred his body and the helm atop his head.
Knowledge (history) 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 20
Jemini bows, formally. "Lord Rogarvia. It seems it is true what they say: you only ever meet twice. At this point I imagine there is no need or purpose for hostilities. Accept my heartfelt condolences for your death."
The Stag Lord, apparently also called Nikolai Rogarvia, seems to hear her words. He is calmer in death than in life, though there remains an edge to his voice. He barks out a short laugh. "Death... It comes for all men, and women too. I had hoped to reclaim the throne that should have been mine before my death. I suppose I'll be judged now, while your friends and family rush to pay their gods for your life. I prayed once upon a time, begging for death or release. The gods did not answer my prayers, but my patron did."
"Jemini will be buried by us. She must be properly interred in accordance with the appropriate rites. And as for your former lord, he does not get burial. I have a message to deliver, and his body is going to let me do it. Now get in line. It's to the prisons for you all. Your trial was when you set foot on this battlefield with weapons drawn against us." The inquisitor walks over by Jhod, and gestures for Tandlara.
"Hey guys, so, I want to make sure that those who supported the Stag Lord know he's dead and know we did it. Know we won't be pushed around. Tandlara, you remember those ancient and evil fey we saw in the mountains? I want them to know, too. Anything special we should do with his body? I reckon putting what's left of his head on a pike won't have the desired effect..."
'The timeless penance... Jhod or Verik could fill his body with negative energy, raising him as a zombie. Then we have the zombie do the rounds of Oleg's every morning in gestures of prostration. I can keep the flesh fresh with magic...' Tandlara mutters darkly as she walks over to Taispar.
'But that will not win us many friends... I'd happily have him dance a jig for us, but we're trying to do more than intimidate small-minded men. Just hang him in a gibbet for a few weeks, then bury him in an unmarked grave. Let him be forgotten by time.'
As he moves from body to body, performing pre-burial rites on each of them, Verik hears Taisper’s pronouncement of judgment for the body of the Stag Lord. He sighs and shakes his head, but continues to finish his prayers on the farmhand lad before him, intoning prayers of Abadar to speed his journey. He noticed earlier that Tandlara returned and is glad for it, and now sees Taisper confer with both Tandlara and Jhod, though he cannot make out what. “Oh he wants to make sure I have the right of things with Jemini,” he mutters softly, almost as if he’s talking to the row of fallen men before him, “but when it comes to his enemies he doesn’t come walking and talking this way does he? Another entry on the list now of things I have to do tonight…”
A little while later, Verik stifles a yawn, and walks over to Taisper. “Taisper, a word if you please?”
They move a little distance off from the rest. “At dawn, Jhod and I will move down the line and perform last rights for each man now that they are buried, with Oleg and some of the men standing for them in witness, as is custom. Kesten Garess and the soldiers that can walk all wanted to say something for Captain Walthon, so I’ll perform last rites with them next, and after that…well then we'll need to say goodbye to Jemini. Maybe you can get Berrin and Tandlara and let them know, and I expect Garess, Oleg and all the rest will gather for that.”
Verik pauses before his next words, as if working something out in his head. “I heard what you said about the Stag Lord’s body to the prisoners. You have authority over them and they fear you, so I did not want to say anything at the time to counter that. But since there’s plenty of darkness left, I’m going to take what’s left of him and give him a burial, since that’s what is civilized and decent. I have my reasons, several in fact. You can take his helm and make a trophy of it, if that’s what you need for your message. I won’t make a show of it or clearly mark his grave...and I’ll do it alone if I have to, but I thought you should know.”
Looking over the swords offered by Taisper Berrin hesitates before accepting either of them, 'They are fine weapons, fine weapons indeed.' he mulls. "I have half a mind to have them both melted into pots and cutlery, one was wielded by a man who slew two inocents and the other wielded my the man who slew Jemini." he finally replies. "But they are both fine blades, and a blade should not be blamed for the actions of it's owner. I'll take the greatsword Taisper, after seeing the devastation caused by it I think I see the wisdom of the heavy blade." he surmises and accepts the Stag Lords sword. Taking the weapon he straps it on his back to carry for all to see, the Stag Lord was dead and his possessions were their spoils to distibute amongst themselves. Grabbing Taispers arm before he heads off Berrin leans in and speaks into his ear, "Be careful with judging Akiros. Jemini saw something in him, I believe she thought he could be swayed to our cause and giving the Stag Lords second in command a chance to redeem himself will give others hope for the same. Give him a chance to atone, Jemini would have wanted that. He has shown that he takes his wows deadly seriously, if he could be persuaded to give them to us it would be a great boon I believe."
With the blade on his back Berrin goes over to the Stag Lords corps and starts to strip him down of all the things Taisper told them were magical, "He won't be needing this where he's going." he says and gathers his items into a sack which he leaves by his side and props his stag helmet on top of it.
Done with that Berrin goes out amongst the soldiers and commoners of their makeshift army, clasping hands and muttering praise and encouragements to familiar faces. Clasping hands with Kesten Berrin gives a one-armed embrase and bangs his fist on his back. "The field is won," he says holding him tightly, "The day is ours in no small part thanks to you. There will be a vigil for the fallen, you should stand it with us." he offers him in his own clumsy sense of honor.
Finding Oleg he gives the now one-armed man a nod. "At least nothing important was chopped off." he says, cracking a grin and clapping his shoulder. "Too bad we left the remains of Bokkens ale back at the trading post, a cold beer would go down nicely now."
Seeing Corwin caryed to the infirmery Berrin makes his way to his cot, asking about his condition of Jhod he goes and sits by his side a bit. "Helluva battle." he mutters, not sure if the comatose warrior can hear him. "Staggy, as Taisper likes to call him, he nearly got the lot of us. But we pulled through, we put the bastard down, hard. Don't know if you hear me or not, but you best wake up ya hear. You've stood with us through two battles now, that makes us brothers to me. We're bound by bonds stronger than blood though forged in blood an' I won't have you going dumb on me, ok?"
Coming back to the site of Jemini's death as the prisoner workers stand over the two corpse Berrin spies the two Adabarians conversing, The cousins are at it again, never far between, funny how two men of the same faith never seem to see eye-to-eye.' "Whats up guys?" he says as he aproches them, "Arguing over where to dig Jemini's hole?" he cringes at the incencitivity of his own words, but is helpless to stop them as he hears them from his own mouth.
Taisper frowns. "Tandlara, Verik; neither of you are listening to me, as usual. I know you're both very eager to tell me what I should do, or how I'm doing things wrong, but at least hear what I say; 'intimidating men' -- small-minded or otherwise -- is but part of my goal. I want those great fey, the Old Ones we saw marching in the mountains, to know what we did. I want them to understand they face not just some poor explorers, but an army. A civilization. A Great People. A people not to be trifled with. I don't care if that's true or not. That's what I want them to understand. And as for what is 'civilized and decent', well, the Stag Lord was neither of those things while alive, and deserves no such treatment now he is dead. The rites of burial, Verik, are for the living, not the dead, as I shouldn't have to remind you, and the Stag Lord is not one of us, and can be done with as we wish."
The inquisitor turns as Berrin comes up. "No, no; we're all of one mind about Jemini's remains, I do believe. I am happy to commend her passage to Verik and whoever else. I want to move the Stag Lord's corpse up to the pass where those terrifying great fey were walking, the ones we saw. I want it to be a message to them. Verik and Tandlara want for him to just be put in the ground and forgot. What do you think about this?"
Even in the faint light of fires and magical illumination, Berrin and Taisper can see Verik growing flushed, his eyes narrowing. His mouth starts to twitch. Finally as Taisper asks Berrin his question, Verik explodes in a fit of anger, waving his hands. “I’ll bloody start listening to you when you start talking some bloody damn sense!” Verik nearly sputters the last words with spittle flying out from his mouth, and starts wagging his finger at the both of them, though his voice is slightly lowered. “No, NO! Don’t you bring him into this! What in the Infernal Nine are you talking crazy about with Fey walkers and monsters and…no I don’t care, because it doesn’t matter! I am the Cleric of Abadar here, and unless you want to go find a priestess of Pharasma or become one yourself right now, I will do the Master’s will and bury the dead with respect!”
Verik starts waving his hands again, his eyes bulging with fatigue and rage. “Oh the rites of burial are for the living and not the dead Verik…shouldn’t have to remind me…fah! You all bloody well killed him, gouged his eyes out, mashed his bloody brains into gruel, claimed his weapons…it…I…well fine then that’s your business! Burying the dead on this battlefield though is my business, and by the Order and the Numbers it will be done! I am going to make sure the Stag Lord has his Final Judgment and isn’t chained here like some damned Ustalav spectre because WE didn’t bury him right, or spread parts of him around for some necromancer to play with. Ever think of that?”
“You hear me, cousin? You want to send your message?" Verik’s voice starts to rise again and points to the south. “Go climb up that bloody mountain, cut down trees and stack ‘em on the mountainside so it reads ‘WE KILLED THE STAG LORD’ if you bloody well want to! Otherwise, either aid me or leave off!”
Berrin falls back a step and raises his hands, blank amazement on his face at Verik's outburst. "Hey... Easy there..." he manages, blinking as he looks from Taisper to Verik. Biting his lip he looks at his boots and shakes his head, "I'd forgotten about those gods-forsaken fey out there, do you think that Chorol has somthing to do with it? And does this mean anything to you guys?" Berrin wonders out loud and pulls out the ring dropped by the Stag Lord to show to the group. "Staggy's last words were Chorol is coming. And then this fell out of his hands."
'Actaully Taispar, I just don't care what you do to his body. I couldn't care less. But your not going to send any new message to those fey. They already know we killed the Stag Lord, but he's small fry. Same with Choral, if the Conqueror is involved. Whoever had a vested interest in him knows he's dead already most likely. And won't care. They won't care if we spell our names in his entrails and threaten that their next. They won't fear us, or see us as a danger. And all the better. I'd rather they ignored us until they realised the threat we pose. I'm listening to you, but it won't do anything except maybe frighten the locals. The Stag Lord's importance ended when he drew is last breath. I say burn the body if anything, no necromancy then. You can burn it in the Fey's valley, but I don't think it will make one wit of a difference. And most importantly, you'll discuss it with and we'll come to a concensus. You don't just get youre way, you act like an adult, not because your being told to, but because we all get a say.' Tandlara stares at Taispar, holding his eye unflinchingly for a moment before turning to Berrin, her expression softens then.
'Verik wants to bury him, Taispar wants to make a show of him, I'm happy if Taispar wants to burn him in the valley, just nothing gorey which could harm our ability to rally the people and remember Jemini honorably. What do you think?'
"I say bury him with all respects due." Berrin replies to the group. "He was an enemy, now he's dead by our hand, I think thats message enough. I don't know the minds of fey but I do know men and I think it better we seem merciful than cruel. People will be looking to us for leadership now he's dead, he ruled with fear, I'll do no such thing. I want folk to follow us because they want to , not because they must or because they'll fear us if they don't. We should do whats right, because it's right, not because someone tells us or because we fear the conseqenses, and it just doesn't feel right to mutilate the corpse on an enemy who fell before us on the field of battle. So I'm with Verik on this, let's bury the bastard with all due respects and could someone please tell me who the hells Choral the conqueror is."
Taisper weathers Verik's verbal assault with a level gaze and blank expression. When the other three have all said their peace he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, muttering a single word in celstial as he exhales; "...buuhl..." When he opens his eyes, he smiles warmly and with a heavy-lidded, almost sleepy look. "Sure guys, hey, sure, whatever you want, you know? It's okay, whatever you want to do." He then abruptly turns and walks over to Akiros, speaking calmly and quietly to the Stag Lord's former lieutenant.
"So, what do we do with you now, man? I'm pretty sure I was right about you, can we trust you to help out? I don't care what you've done in the past; you aren't mine to judge, or at least not anymore. Can you advise us on the situation on the ground around these parts? Provide counsel? Or are you going to run off and prove me wrong and start your own bandit fortress? Mm. Speaking of fortresses, I'm thinking we should get a group of people together to go and raid that sucker, take whatever's there and raze the fort if it can't be used. What do you think of that?"
Akiros turns towards Taisper with whitened, blank eyes. "You have defeated me, which I recognize. You have taken my sight as punishment, which I accept. If you feel it is best that I swear fealty to you, I will swear it gladly. I have seen you all as fair and just. I make no apologies for not breaking my oath to the Stag Lord, but perhaps it goes to show how seriously I would take an oath of fealty to your kingdom. I only ask either that you accept my pledge or carry out an appropriate penalty." He kneels down in front of Taisper with his head bowed.
Tired and filled with anger, Verik fails to notice Tandlara as she quietly approaches to his side, even after Taisper mentioned her name. Verik opens his mouth to bring on another heated retort just as Tandlara speaks, which brings him up short. The cleric nearly jumps out of his skin, standing there with his mouth agape as she says her peace, drawn in to the logic, strength and authoritative finality to her words.
She has the right of it, and says it better than I can…she’s now the third of them to speak about those blasted fey and Choral…what did Berrin say about that…and a ring he said? Something that was spoken then at the battle I failed to be with them at. I…I cannot think anymore…hmm never thought about a funeral pyre either. Is that proper? I suppose it is and that would satisfy the requirements…remember Jemini honorably she says…Jemini…
Eventually he realizes his mouth is open and abruptly shuts it as Berrin replies to them all, determined to show he can listen in return, but readying for Taisper’s reaction and his own counter. Then Taisper strangely smiles, speaks, and walks away over to where Akiros is standing in the darkness, guarded by two men who keep a respectful distance. Verik watches his cousin in mute and stunned fascination.
Verik draws a hand over his face then, rubbing his eyes momentarily, but when he is done he appears even more haggard than before, as if drained of his remaining vigor. He looks to Berrin. “I…I am sorry Berrin. I mean I don’t know the answer to your question, though the name is familiar for some reason. If I heard the context of how you all…how you heard it, as I wasn’t there when it happened, but that’s best for me to know later perhaps.”
Turning to Tandlara, he says, “Tandlara, I had not even considered a funeral pyre, but I can find no fault to it, and it would satisfy all the forms in my book. It is not in my way, but I would not argue between grave and pyre, or being some small distance from here. It’s just, well, that I don’t know how to build a pyre properly, and we’d have to cut trees, and I don’t want to make a mistake and burn the blasted plains all the way to Oleg’s by mistake…” He finishes his doubts rather lamely, gives a weak smile and shrugs to them both. “Seems foolish I know, but you two have the right of it, and I could not dishonor Jemini, or start a new chapter on this land with something that sounded like it came from Cheliax.”
Verik will concede that the Stag Lord’s remains can be dealt with quietly after the last rites in the morning, and once the rest of the men and prisoners leave. He will speak to Tandlara and Berrin for as long as they wish to before returning to his vigil on the line of graves. Before he leaves, however, he will give Tandlara the magical headband, his voice sad and weary. “I found this earlier when I was preparing her, and I thought it would be best that you give it back to Zander when you believe he is ready for it.”
Kesten Garess approaches as they talk. He fought well in the battle by all accounts, leading the mounted soldiers. He is uninjured, largely in part to the sacrifice of Captain Walthon, who saved his life at the cost of his own. "Choral? He was the first of House Rogarvia. He came with a barbarian horde and a pair of dragons from Iobaria over two hundred years ago. He conquered his way through both Issia and Rostland. He allied with Nikos Surtova and defeated the Aldori Swordlords. His descendants ruled from the Dragonscale Throne in New Stetven, the same thrown that Noleski Surtova sits on today. What does Choral have to do with all this?"
"So you agree with Ser Kirkwood, I am to return." Jemini turns her head to survey the scene. Somehow, now, the spirit world around her made so much more sense - not the figurative overlay of possibilities. But likewise, the normal realm, her friends, were beginning to take on a hazy outline. It wouldn't be that long, she suspected, before her perceptions would fully turn to this reality.
"There's much I would like to know, then." Jemini addresses Nikolai, "Lord Rogarvia, I had thought that every last trace of your house had vanished; then today I discover that at least one of their number still walked Golarion. What happened? Why did House Rogarvia disappear? Why would Choral return? His soul should have been welcomed to Pharasma's bone yard by now, surely."
The Stag Lord turns to Jemini and points an accusatory finger at her, fire in his eyes. "Your kin will surely rush to their temples and pay the gold to return you to the living. My father, even if he had not disappeared, would not have considered that! He let me burn! I will be judged, while you will return to your warm bed with your loving family and friends surrounding you to tell you how much they missed you! How is that fair? How is it fair that you are to return, simply as an accident of birth?" He is yelling his accusations at this point. "This world cares nothing for those who try to make something of themselves from nothing! I emerged from that cave with nothing, not even clothes on my back! I found the bandits when they came upon me and attacked me, but I fought them and killed many of them until I became their king. What happened then? You, a noble who has never known hardship, and your friends came and defeated me. You think that you would have succeeded if you had been born to peasants, or that you would be returning to life if your parents were common? HOW IS THAT FAIR? HOW IS THAT FAIR?" He starts to break down, the years of his horrible existence coming back to him and overwhelming him. Tears stream down his face. They fall to the ground, where small flames lick out of the ground when they hit. "All for nothing... All for nothing..."
"Oh.." Berrin says in a small voice at Kesten's account of Choral. Fingering the ring Berrin hands it over to Kesten and explains to both him and Verik. "The Stag Lord had this in his hand when he died, and his last words were 'Choral is coming.' but in a more strained voice as the bastard was dying at the time and he always seemed to have his teeth clenched or spraying spittle all over."
Tandlara accepts the headband wordlessly from Verik and squeezes his shoulder with a small hand, her expression weary. He didn't agree. He glazed out. Surrendered. Is there no convincing Taispar? She was too tired to worry much more at the moment. That would have to be a problem for another day.
Turning towards Kesten and Berrin she nods. 'I vaguely remember when the scions of Choral dissappeared, over a hundred years ago. I know little of theses northern lands though, I spent my time further south than Kyonin. Choral is coming could be madness, maybe he beleived that he was going to conquer all of Brevoy himself like Choral did.' She toys with the headband in her hands as she speaks.
Jemini bends down low, to catch a tear before it can sizzle into fire; then lifts her hand along the path the tears follow. Until her hand touches his cheek and Nikolai's face becomes an amalgam of his tortured and his regal self. "He was right. Akiros is right." Jemini explains how previously they had tempted and pressed Akiros, how he in turn had told his story, and what he knew of the Stag Lord.
"Akiros would not be swayed, he believed in you more than anyone. More so, he believes there is the seed of greatness in you. But he also feared the power your mysterious patron holds over you. That your patron does not allow you to come to terms with your past, and thereby denies you a future of your own." Over time Jemini tries to explain how she sees the actions of gods and other powers in this world. "I think Akiros is right about this too - no power, or patron, acts out there in selflessness. Whoever, or whatever, helped you - did so as to act according to a greater scheme. Ultimately, I guess, we all act as pawns for greater powers."
The discussion shifts focus, taking on tones of fairness, birthright, leadership, qualities that instill fear and loyalty, acumen versus blood. "But there is the unspoken truth behind it: we are not just the product of our birth - but also the product of our actions since birth - right up to this very moment."
" You see, I want to believe. If it is true that I will be brought back; all I bring back is the certainty that a grave threat is over our lives. There is no future at all, if Choral will rise again. But I want to believe it is true regardless; and that what Akiros said is truth too: that you are a man destined for greatness, if you could purge the demon that gnaws on you - the darkness that haunts you."
"You see, Choral's return may be an unavoidable truth. But the triumph of his return will be opposed. By the little people. We will fight and we may fall or defeat him. But oppose we will. I... I have a hunch. The inkling of an idea - and maybe this is just the extent in which the gods would involve themselves, for fear of some greater balance. Irori, god of lore and perfection, tends to act in this way. I don't know - but a little voice in the back of my mind whispers to me that if Choral has any weakness, it would be you. Nikolai Rogarvia."
Jemini makes herself comfortable, and beckons Nikolai to sit. "There is time. A fair amount of it; I don't expect to be able to return for a month hence. Please, I would like to spend that time with you; to see if I can help a little, to calm the past inside you. More than a crown, these Stolen Lands need a hero; they need the man who could rise from his own ashes and oppose Choral the Conqueror."
Ser Kirkwood watches quietly as Jemini speaks to her killer with gentleness and comfort. In the afterlife, things as petty as who killed whom are forgotten. He does not speak, but coughs lightly as Jemini finishes speaking to Nikolai. The two of them look at their guide, then look around. The world around them is changed. Where there was once an empty field, there is a great monument in a square, amid a bustling city of humanity. Their visages, Jemini Lebeda and Nikolai Rogarvia together, are etched into the monument. They each hold a sword in the air, Jemini's pointing south and Nikolai's pointing north. At the feet of the statues, hundreds of people mill about and go about their business. "A bright future may await you both. This is but one of an infinity of possible futures, of what might be. You have a good heart to want to redeem him, Jemini, but it will not be easy. Are you prepared to do what is necessary? He has many sins to atone for, sins that may drag you down with him if you choose to fight at his side to bring him back with you. Are you prepared to risk your own soul? Are you prepared to risk your kingdom?"
The world swirls in the mists again. A new city appears, one burning with a horde of savages overtaking it. Her friends and allies fight valiantly in the square, now with a relief on a central obelisk that shows the fall of the Stag Lord. One by one, the barbarian horde defeats and kills them, burning the city as they sweep over it. "You may not come back at all, leaving your friends bereft of a leader. They may fall without you, or they might rise to the occasion. There are so many possibilities, but the only constant remains free will. If you want him to return with you, you must choose to walk his path back to the living instead of your own, and it is a treacherous one. Is that what you want?"
Kesten looks remarkably confused by Tandlara. "It was ten years ago, not a hundred. I know it all must seem the same to an elf. I would say that we should heed his warning. It is almost a sport in Brevoy to make a guess as to what happened to House Rogarvia. I was a youth at the time. King Pyotr Rogarvia and his family were at court in New Stetven, preparing to celebrate the two-hundredth anniversary of Choral's ascension. It was to be the finest feast in a generation, with a magnificent tournament to match. All of the great houses were assembled in the capital. When the sun rose on that day, not a single member with the blood of Choral remained. No one, not their servants nor their retainers, saw them leave. Their clothes, treasures, horses, armor, weapons... They were all untouched. It was as if they vanished in their beds without a trace. Those that married into the other houses disappeared as well, with their spouses being unable to find them. Hundreds and hundreds of nobles, from the king all the way down to the bastards sired in secret by the sixth sons of sixth sons, disappeared that night."
"The morning was the most frightened I have ever been. It appeared that the city was going to tear itself to pieces in the aftermath, with the rest of the Houses in the process. Lord Narajj Surtova was the first to declare himself king, and the one with the best claim to it. Still, if Lord Lodovka had not immediately pledged his fealty, I feared that Lord Orlovsky would have started a civil war then and there. Surtova mollified Lord Lebeda's objections by saying that he would only rule as a regent until King Pyotr returned. As the years have gone by, it becomes more and more obvious that they are not returning. However, this warning will send a chill through the nobility, and send their machinations and plots into even faster and more reckless action. I fear for Brevoy, unless we pledge to keep this information to ourselves."
Taisper nods and helps Akiros up. "Okay. We accept your fealty, and hold your oath binding; you to us, to our new nation."
Taisper then stands to the side and watches the others, wondering to himself if anything the Bishop did helped or hindered them, or is related to the politics the others are discussing...
As Taisper stands alone and watches the others, Alexius approaches the Inquisitor with his intense eyes set upon the young man. The two men are the same age, but could not look more different. Taisper's armor is worn and homespun-looking, devoid of the trappings of his faith, while Alexius wears ominous-looking black-and-silver chain with the unholy pentagram of Asmodeus around his neck. Where Taisper is blond, Alexius's hair is nearly black. Yet for all their differences, Alexius can sense a kinship of similar character. "They don't appreciate your talents, Stosz." His voice is low, so that the others don't hear him. "They fear you, for they see that you are uncompromising. You are incorruptible, and that's something that they can't understand. But I do. I came here to keep abreast of the situation in Brevoy and to report back to my Order, but I think I've found much more in you. I know those men betrayed you, the ones who ran away from their oaths. If there is one thing that I believe in, it is the sanctity of oathmaking. I want to hunt them with you, Stosz. I want to make them pay, to feel Mourne take them. What do you say? Imagine what we can do together, free of their judging eyes? You know what needs to be done in this kingdom. You know that they can't know what you must do for the greater good, and that they don't want to know. I do, though. Shall we join together to do what must be done? Let me share your burden."
'Yes ten years...' Tandlara says abesntmindedly. 'You are right of course.'
Gazing off into the distance, she turns now searching for Zander among the milling survivors of the battle.
'I'd best give this back to him.'
"Ten years, huh? I guess that would make the Stag Lord a child at the time as well, this ring might have fit him then. This sigil, Kesten, does it mean anything to you?" Berrin makes another attempt at showing him the child's ring.
Jemini takes to the changing scenery with surprisingly little difficulty. Death, and this strange world beyond, certainly grants a new perspective on things. Perhaps this is part of a greater plan. She nods to Ser Kirkwood as he demonstrates the intangibility of destiny. This is almost like the spirits I see - but... but the scale is so vast! The whole world, no, everything is captured by it.
When Ser Kirkwood concludes his explanation, she turns to the former Stag Lord. "Nikolai" "You see these possibilities as clearly as I do. And I suspect you may know more about it than I, for that matter. I can wait for my privileged life to be granted back onto me; and by the looks of it - I'll be welcomed back by an eager people willing to crown me at the next opportunity. A new kingdom will form, a nation will blossom quickly, cities will be raised, roads laid, hopes for a better future made. But what does it mean? Nothing."
"Nothing! Nikolai, nothing. Rulership is not about power, or money, or the freedom to do whatever you please. Rulership, when done right, is not a privilege. Rule is a burden. A great weight that rulers carry: the weight of a nation, of a whole people. The well-being of a kingdom's future is the greatest concern - but if I return, there is no future for my people. They will instead be crushed, trampled under the heels of a returned warlord; nothing but a small bulwark to be vanquished by Choral on his way to conquer all of Brevoy. I can and will not stand for it. If I would be queen, then I am the first servant to my people."
"I said before that I believe you are more than a tortured shell. There's more to you than brimming, barely contained anger. Nikolai. I don't give a damn about returning to life on the easy. I throw it all away. I will fight my way back the hard way, and should Pharasma herself comes before me I will oppose her too. I cannot be dead yet. But neither can you. I have a duty, a task to fulfill. And so do you. Will you join me, Nikolai of Rogarvia? Will you overcome your past, your anger, death itself? Will you fight Choral with me?"
Seeing Corwin caryed to the infirmery Berrin makes his way to his cot, asking about his condition of Jhod he goes and sits by his side a bit. "Helluva battle." he mutters, not sure if the comatose warrior can hear him. "Staggy, as Taisper likes to call him, he nearly got the lot of us. But we pulled through, we put the bastard down, hard. Don't know if you hear me or not, but you best wake up ya hear. You've stood with us through two battles now, that makes us brothers to me. We're bound by bonds stronger than blood though forged in blood an' I won't have you going dumb on me, ok?"
Corwin is breathing very shallowly and Berrin is not sure he is even conscious until he cracks an eye open and focuses on the taller warrior.
.. nah .. no big deal .. just a scratch .. be right as rain
.. staggy hit like a girl...
Then he seems to remember what happened.
.. ah gods Jemini ... well... we'll build a place she'd be proud of .. Í'll make you a proper army for next time .. see if I don't Berrin..
Even with magical healing its several days til Corwin is able to walk and it seems the stiffness of his wound will pain him for some time.
Verik wanders off a little ways from the rest as they continue to talk about Choral and the mysteries of the Stag Lord’s last words, intent on going over once again each of the men’s names and their turn in the last dedications. As much as he enjoys his lists and books, the rote repetition of writing also helps him to remember details he would otherwise forget. Blast this darkness and no quill and ink besides! Not like I was planning to record these bloody events like some Pathfinder historian from home. Ahh I wish I had Taisper’s memory for this…now order your mind…let’s see it is Nicholas first, then Evan, then Matthias, followed by the brothers Lem and Travers…
At one point he looks up from his mental recitations to glance at Taisper, with Alexius standing not too far away from him, nearly unnoticeable in the gloom. He mutters and shakes his head slightly, but continues with his work.
Eventually with the fallen’s names committed to memory, he returns to the infirmary tents for some water and a brief sit, checking again on Jhod’s injury, as well as Corwin who seems to be slightly conscious but in a dreamlike daze. “That’s a tough nut there truly. Here, Jhod tell me again how to mix the herb-poultice you had me do earlier so that the application upon the wounds is most potent?” Verik works patiently to Jhod’s words about healing so that he can commit the process to memory for his notes later. He changes Corwin’s dressings and gets a bit of water to him, before starting on the cleaning of some rags nearby.
After a time though, he can tell that the Erastil cleric is drowsing off. “Here, let me create some more water in the buckets, and then you have a proper rest so your brains can settle in that thick skull of yours. A long night still before dawn, so time enough while I maintain the vigil.”
Verik eventually leaves the tents to start back along the line of bodies and graves, magically illuminating stones in a pattern around them while reciting a prayer to Abadar as he walks, settling into a slow and steady rhythm.
Zander gives what comfort he can to Oleg. He knows of physical loss and the recognizes the brave face Oleg presents to the fellow warriors. Zander stands at pats his shoulder, "It doesn't change who you are."
He makes his way to over to where Jemini lay and kneels beside her. I should have been here. We were a team. The battle would have resolved itself if we stuck together and dealt the decisive blow. He does not totally beleive this, but it is the form his grief has taken. He finds a wet rag and uses it to clean the blood and dirt from her face. "She showed that Nobles can choose to be noble."
He then makes his way to the remains of the Stag Lord. On what remains of the face, Zander can see the scars that once covered the Bandit Lord's face. "Looks like Taisper's handiwork....Not so different, the Stag Lord and me. We both have our masks. Was he a monster to match his appearance or did his appearance come to match his soul? I wonder if he lashed out at a world that turned its back on him..."
He looks around at his friends, some stirring, some not. So it seems, is the price of change."
Ser Kirkwood smiles at the two of them and nods his head. "All right, then. Let's get going. You have quite the walk ahead of you. I can bring you to the door, but it's up to you two to walk through it."
With Verik marking the graves and preparing the fallen for their final voyages, the camp quiets down. The victorious troops huddle around a half-dozen campfires, reliving the battle through tales that only grow bolder and more brazen with each retelling. Toasts are lifted to the fallen and the injured, the loudest of all to Jemini. Already, the paladin's fall has become a legend, one destined to echo through their new kingdom. The survivors of the battle have been forged in the heat of the conflict, emerging as the pathfinders of a new nation. Kesten Garess raises a mug and climbs atop his horse. His voice booms over the plains as he gives his toast. "To the men and women who have emerged as the leaders of the new land, who fought and bled and died for it! To Jemini, who died so that we could live in peace and freedom! For Newhaven! FOR NEWHAVEN!"
The response is instantaneous. Even some of the prisoners join in, swept up by the moment. The cheers of the soldiers echo over the plains, likely carried all the way into the halls of New Stetven. The night fell upon the Stolen Lands, but the sun will emerge in a new dawn upon the kingdom of Newhaven.
Jemini's voice has a soft kindness to it, even when it speaks bluntly, "It's not that I intend to hide you from what you deserve; just that I want to help you accept it - not as a destined retribution, but as a path to redemption. Besides," she chuckles, "I'm closely tied to gods of goodness and law - I would not be surprised to see forces of darkness be drawn to me like moths to a flame. I might have to rely on you as much as you on me."
She adds, more seriously, "If, at the final step, we aren't truly ready to return. Then I'll stay with you. Both as a guardian and a protector."
That was very, very enjoyable to read. You guys are awesome.