Would that Tandlara was with us now, Jemini muses to herself as she listens to the harassed tale of Demitir, I suspect she would have better understanding of the foul wound beset on him. ....still... why is there something that bothers me about this? Wait...?
"I feel that you should have a voice in this, Demitir, but I would like for you to hear my words of caution: we will ride out and bring an end to this Dancing Lady and free her captives, but I would rather that you stay here," Jemini urges. "Not only will it take time and resources that we do not readily have while traveling to tend to you, but I'm worried that there's more to your escape than meets the eye. Creatures such as the Dancing Lady are infinitely cruel and inventive in their torment - I would not be surprised in the least to find that this cursed wound placed on you is a means by which she tracks you; perhaps even divines through you. It could very well be that she engineered your escape in a gambit that exceeds our understanding right now. So consider that joining us in the rescue may very well be what dooms the prisoners."
Akiros, is, as always with any matter concerning the safety of his city or her citizens, very alert and attentive as Demitir begins his story. Though he must strain his ears and lean forward to catch full sight of the warden, Akiros' ears pick up every nuance of the tale. Yet when the young warden mentions the hag, all in the room can hear the crack of teh Marshal's knuckles from his suddenly tightly clenched fist. Any who glance at him see the grim and determined set of jaw of a man who currently looks like he could chew steel and spit out nails. The Marshal does not interrupt though and when the wounded yet brave young warden finishes, and Nikolai stands and locks eyes with Akiros, with a gaze fueled by a furnce of fury, the former Ronan nods in return. The two of them knowing full well that they were riding to war, and that retribution and death would soon follow.
Despite his boiling anger though and his passionate desire to see the destruction of the hag, Akiros does not rush off like Nikolai, though, for he knows that there needs must be further discussion and decision before the war party departs.
When Jemini makes her proposal and theory, Akiros glances at her, his rage cooling fractionally as he considers her very interesting, and very possible, scenario. Stroking his chin in thought for a moment, Akiros finally replies [b]" I for one would not deny Demiter his chance at redemption, for I know well, perhaps more so than any other here, how such things can weigh on a one's soul. So let him come, I say. And let the hell sent hag know we come bringing her death! Perhaps she can then have a taste of the fear she has subjected so many other to!
Those who know him know that Akiros likely does not really believe the hag would truly feel fear at the idea of the founders coming for her. Yet at the same time, they also know his deep personal connection and hatred for all such creatures. Knowing as well that he means every words he says about not caring if she knows they are coming for her or not. For Akiros, there are only two possible outcomes concerning the hag; her death, or his.
Nikolai can tell that every anguished word of Demitir's torture is true. If anything, he leaves out the details of the more horrid things that the hag did, if only so that he does not have to reflect upon them. Nikolai recognizes that same hate, the same confusion and rage that dominated him for years from his escape from Choral to the moment of his death at Stagfall. The thought of Choral letting him escape as a sick joke occurred to him many nights in his fortress, surrounded by thuggish sycophants and drowning in ale. Demitir knows a pain that only Nikolai can truly understand.
Demitir seems relieved that the group seems so willing to mount a rescue. He takes a seat, unable to stand any longer. "Thank you... I may yet die from this wound, but at least my escape was not in vain. This wound festers unnaturally. I am glad that you will take this burden in my stead." He stops to ponder Jemini's words. "Perhaps it is more than a vile wound. I gladly consent to any magical diagnosis that you have at your disposal."
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Quietly, the elven savant listened as the ranger spoke of his nightmare flight from the lair of the Hag. Keen ears listened as he spoke of his companions Yanna and Travess. Letting the flow of words roll over him, the wizard picked out key words. Swamp, marsh and hag. Studiously, the elf allowed his fragmented thoughts to come together before nodding to himself. Coughing in order to draw attention to himself, the Elf frowned pensively. I believe I have some input to add, but first let me examine your wound Demitir, perhaps I could be of some service.
Closing his eyes, the elf took a deep breath in thought his nose and then blew out though his mouth. As he did so he uttered a single word. Opening his eyes, the normally bright blue orbs were suddenly changed to a pale lavender that seemed to sparkle with motes of light.
Turning towards the Banker, Elsir rubbed his chin thoughtfully. I'm able to detect an aura of necromancy on the man's wound. It streams out of him like weeping sore. I'm relatively unfamiliar with curses as they are a vile form of magic and I for one have never chosen to learn such spells. That said, I do have a theoretical knowledge of them and I believe there are spells that can remove such a curse, but it is beyond my power to do so. As for the wound to act as a beacon of sorts for some form of scrying or clarivoical viewing, I doubt it. Turning his head to the problem at hand, Elsir clicks his tongue three times in thought. I may be able however to use my divinatory spells to trace the source of the curse and learn more about it. As to how long it would take to do so, I'm unable able to determine without experimentation.
Turning towards the de facto leader of the Founders Jemini, Elsir nods again thoughtfully. The curse itself would be tied by the caster. It is in intimate thing. If one were to kill the person who made the curse it would often end. Or it may not, some curses can last beyond the grave and are potent in nature, but I don't suspect this is one of those. Usually those are uttered as dying words or in the grip of despair and that doesn't seem to be the case here.
Eyes taking in the gathered founders, Elsir sighs to himself. As to the first matter of some input, perhaps I tell you all what I told Verik and Borodin this evening in my study. Turning to the others, Elsir holds up a hand. Since I will be sharing this with you, I thought perhaps I would show you what it appeared like to me. I'll be casting a spell on the table, its a minor illusion, but one that might better demonstrate the point. Its best if you don't interact with it, simply watch and accept it. Nodding again, this time more firmly, Elsir, draws forth an hourglass from a small leather satchel at his side and unscrews the top, building a pile of sand on the table, before uttering three low syllables in smooth clipped elven. Suddenly the image that Elsir saw two weeks prior comes to life. Waving his hand the elf weaves together the sand, melding it into shadows and starlight, blacks and whites and shades of grey.
::A pulsing lonely eye floats in brackish, still water. Everything is silent and still. Next to the eye, two burned wooden figurines float next to it, while an unburned figurine floats away in a current. Above the image, two withered hands hold three more figurines, carved in the likeness of Jemini, Elsir, and Zander in one, while in the other the carved figures of Nikolai, Akiros, Verik and Borodin are clutched tightly. Suddenly the figurines tumble into the eye, causing all to catch flame and boil the water::
As the water in the illusionary image boils and turns to steam, the vision fades away and so too does the silent image. Frowning again, Elsir nods. Portents and visions are common to me, but this is the strongest one I have had since I returned to this time stream. I suspect that the three figures represented Yanna, Travess and Demitir. The eye was for the hag and the brackish water her swampy lair. The final image of the two hands clutching the seven of us I showed leads me to believe that it should be us who go to the swamp. Because of the separation, I believe it is a probability that at some point we may become divided in the hag's lair, but that could be conjecture on my part. Raising both of his hands in front of him, Elsir cocks his head to the right. It wasn't until I heard of the three rangers that I was able to derive a clear picture of the vision.
Turning to Demitir, Elsir fixes his gaze on the young and wounded but brave man. Ranger, Elsir said quietly. During your report, you mentioned that the hag had made her lair in an elven keep and that you recovered a sword? May I see it? It's possible I might be able to determine from its origins some history tieing it it a place, however unlikely.
Sitting at the table as he listens to Elsir's words regarding the vision, Verik cannot help but be awestruck at how his interpretation makes sense and brings order to the otherwise random and chaotic vision first uttered in private at the Harborage House. It is a useful reminder of Elsir's need for caution on such matters. Burning figurines indeed. Do we all go forward because of this vision...or in spite of it...to wither and burn? Would we do any different even if we had not known?
"Your wisdom in returning to us, and in listening to caution from the Lady Marshal shows just how much you have overcome, Warden Demitir." Verik stands from his seat at the Table of the Founders, adding, "Your sufferings and burdens will not be in vain. Anything you can add or produce for Master Tel'ran here could mean the difference between success and failure for the rescue."
He strokes his chin briefly, pondering the wound and why it cannot heal, but simply not experienced in such matters to know much more. "My Clerks are quite capable, but there is more to try for you than what they could offer. On the 'morrow I can attempt to cure your affliction be it curse or disease, though I am afraid I do not understand its nature at the present time." He casts a furtive look askance at where Jhod sits, and after a moment's hesitation he says quickly, "Even if I cannot crack the nut that is this wound, truth be told that Patriarch Kavken is the best that I know of in the healing arts."
Jhod looks over at Verik with a touch of annoyance in his eyes. Apparently, things are tense enough between the two that the cleric does not appreciate his counterpart volunteering his services (even if they are something he is glad to give freely, unlike the tight-fisted Abadarians). "I can arrange something. Depending on the magical strength of the creature that cast it upon him, I may not be able to remove the curse entirely, but I can likely hold its effects at bay. Hag curses are notoriously sticky."
Demitir looks ashen but determined. "Thank you. I would go with you, but I would most likely be no more than a liability. As for the weapon..." He unsheathes the blade and hands it, pommel-first, to Elsir. The elf archeologist examines it with a critical eye. The blade is of fine quality, for certain; the subtle curves of the blade imply an age long gone in human terms, but only a generation or two removed for an elf. Its age is somewhere between eight hundred and a thousand years old. He runs his finger along its still-sharp edge, smiling softly to himself at the wonders of elven craftsmanship. The sword is made of cold iron and treated with silversheen, so rust has never had the opportunity to take hold. He opens his eye to its magical auras, noting the enchantments making it more effective against the fey.
It is not lost upon Verik that any further words to Jhod, even to agree or tout his skills, may just backfire and prove pointless to the important matters at hand. He nods to himself satisfactorily as one who has confirmed the proper and expected choice has just been made, and diverts his gaze to Elsir's examination of Demetir's recovered ancient blade.
Verik raises an eyebrow and murmurs his appreciation of the quality of the elvish longsword, even from distance. After all, he has spent the last few months in what little spare time he has had studying newly acquired texts on reliable dweomercrafting methods of metal armor and weapons, as well as studying and practicing elvish vocabulary. Seeing the convergence of both his new hobbies of interest, Verik decides to weigh in with what he knows.
"Remarkable craftsmanship...a testament to your people, wouldn't you say Master Tel'ran?" He raises a hand for emphasis for his next statement, confident his newfound muse guides him in his words. "Cenynelv omalair cena il amaan aeylvcelv laanenyn eo anira lilselv wila ane anirilan amirenyir anira cenynelv laelam fa ylanilsaw oem anirilan amirenyir ean ela!"
Borodin has been sitting in the gallery with a grim look on his face as the warden tells his tale of capture and escape. It gets even more dour when Elsir reveals his vision and the interpretation of it.
The introduction of the elvish blade piques his interest and he does walk over to get a better look at it. He is about to comment when Verik boldly states his opinion on the blade in elvish.
"Licking what?" He looks at Verik, then Elsir and realizes the Banker must be taking language lessons. Borodin bites his tongue to keep from laughing as this is not the time for mirth. When he looks back to Verik with his know-it-all expression, Borodin can't hold it in any longer.
He lets out a clipped laugh that he immediately tries to cover up with a cough/sneeze simultaneously raising his arm to cover his face. He turns quickly and leaves the hall for the outdoors as quickly as possible sputtering the whole way.
Those with keen hearing can hear him laugh out loud from the hall, even though he is quite far away.
Berrin raps his knuckles on the table to gain the attention of the others. "We can't all go run off. Someone's got to stay and man the defenses. I'll stay and continue training the army. Plus, it'll make Aylene happy." The snickering doesn't seem to bother him. "Who else should go, and who should stay?"
Kesten raises his hand to volunteer. "I am expecting an envoy from Mivon in the coming days, so I must stay. If the trolls take advantage of your absence, at least Berrin and I can lead the defense of the city. Besides, these side trips are more of your lot's speed than mine."
Hal - their mysterious spymaster, whose performance has been exemplary despite his less-than-ideal entry into their ranks - raises a hand. "Akiros, I can handle the security of the city. I know you've got a thing about hags, so don't worry about anything at home. I'll even assign a few pairs of eyes to take care of your wife if she needs anything."
Taisper looks over from the gallery. The affable young man looks troubled. "I can't leave the city right now. I have responsibilities." He doesn't cite specifically what they might be. "Jhod's not really cut out for such a mission. That leaves five of you who can go: Jemini, Nikolai, Zander, Verik, and Akiros. If Elsir and Borodin go, that should be enough to mount a rescue. Don't forget to bring supplies to feed the prisoners. One might not expect how hungry a man gets after torture and starvation."
"I said it was 'gleaming' not...impertinent lout!" Verik scowls and huffs in frustration at the actions of Borodin Loginov. With a last look at the blade he straightens his robes and vest before continuing.
He looks to his cousin and nods. "Agreed, and I will see to the extra provisions for their return journey, plus what I am able to provide through divine means. That being said...and to Taisper's point indirectly...what are the numbers of the enemy we face, and how far off is this ruins?"
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Frowning as Elsir holds the blade, his face suddenly grows red as the jumble of murdered elven tongue falls from the priests mouth like dung from an ox. Sputtering, Elsir sighs. Perhaps we will practice more on the road. is all the elf says, wary of showing to much criticism and dampening the mans eager street. Much.. much more.. He says trailing off.
Running a hand along the sword, Elsir sighs. Its fine workmanship. Perhaps a thousand years old. I'm not able to tell the creator at first glance, but the enchantments are very powerful and intended to be a bane against fey. Holding the blade in his hand, Elsir tests the weight. Like all elves he had received rudimentary training in both swords and bows, but much to his family's disgrace he had never mastered them the way that most of his kin did. But like so many things he did not speak of it. Half of being a wizard was knowing when to speak and allowing others to come to conclusions on their own.
Something like this is as much a work of art as it is a weapon.. The elf says softly, unwilling to relinquish something precious crafted by his people. Its likely it even had a name and was carried by someone known by my people. Glancing up at the others, Elsir nods. I think its important that I go. Not only because of my vision, but to document my peoples history. If some redoubt or fort had been left behind in this place known by my people as the Telvurin, then its important that one of its people be apart of the effort to reclaim it. Looking down at the blade, the elf realizes that he is still holding it. Frowning, Elsir manages to restrain a grimace before resting the sword back on the table.
[b]Founders, Elsir says, his eyes wandering over the blade. I can't say that I still have as many ties with my people as I once did, its been over a hundred and twenty years since I left my enclave in Kyonin, but I would recommend caution following our exploration of the ruins. Many of my race still hold to the beliefs that such artifacts still belong as cultural relics to them, regardless of where they are found.
Eyes wandering over the blade, Elsir turns his face to the right to bring it out of view and out of temptation. I'll pack a few belongings from the House and speak to my Librarian Ms Okino and ensure that everything is prepared for me to be away for a few weeks. I'll return in an hour.
Jemini is quietly relieved to see that both Verik and Jhod apparently have the means to apply their arts on the cursed ranger; hopefully that was an omen that their journey into the hag's lair would likewise be within the realm of what they could achieve.
"Very well, we shall rid ourselves of the inertia of civilization and adventure again. Somehow it feels like it has been too long. ...Demetir! You have heard Verik and Jhod; with a bit of luck you will be cleared of this curse and recover in the morning. I suggest that you only join us if the infliction is successfully removed - if not, I really would rather you stay and give Jhod a few more days to get it right. With Zander's leave you can immediately pursue us once you've recovered - does that sound agreeable to you?"
Akiros nods his at the organization of the rescue and revenge mission and the fulfillment of the city's need for defense. Although he does almost involuntarily spend a few extra beats in his gaze at the spymaster, wondering if the man had slipped any hidden meanings into his choice of words. He was also pleased with choices offered to Demiter. He did not particularly want the brave lad to go, he just wanted the ranger to have the ability to make the choice for himself.
Slapping his hand down on the table, not loud enough to startle any one, but to emphasize his words while at the same time pushing himself up out of his seat, he says, standing "Well, it seems all is settled then, at least to my satisfaction. Unless there be anything, I needs must have a talk with my wife, and say our goodbyes. I...may be a bit longer than an hour." his face remains its usual iron mask as he says this. Yet after a few beats the corners of his mouth twitch up and a playful glint sparkles in his cloudy eyes for an instant. For Akiros, and those who know him well, this is tantamount to a loud guffaw. It seems the former Ronin is masterless no more and, for perhaps the first time in his life, is truly happy.
With a final nod of farewell to all present, he turns and leaves the hall.
The meeting of the Founders results in an agreement about who would range forth and attempt a rescue to the west. Demitir forges ahead despite his cursed illness, helping Zander with creating a map. His Warden training seems to have meshed well with his natural intellect to give him a cartological talent. The seven of the rescuers spend the evening collecting their belongings and making arrangements for extra horses. The bog will be rough terrain, making great difficulty for wagons or supplies. A half dozen more Wardens volunteer to come with the rescuers, protecting the horses and the supplies; they also offer to stand watch. The rescuers gird themselves with their weapons and armor, as well as their spellbooks and prayers.
The cool morning air greets them as the large group of mounted warriors - practically a small military unit - assembles near the west side of the city. The clear lake water glistens in the sunlight as it softly laps against the shore. The quest into the Narlmarches - forest lowlands that flood frequently enough to be considered swamps for most of the year - will lead them almost all the way to the Hooktongue Slough, though not into the swamp that seemingly grows out of Lake Hooktongue. (For that, they are thankful. The scouting reports by the Wardens suggest that truly massive snakes and other megafauna make it all but uninhabitable.) A few dozen citizens watch to bid them farewell and wish them luck; the citizenry must be becoming inured to the excitement of the heroes of Sanctuary leaving on another adventure, as the numbers seeing them off has been dropping even as Sanctuary's numbers surge. Their return will likely see many more well-wishers, especially if a few hours' warning drives the turnout.
The first day's ride is an easy one. The roads are well-constructed, with packed and raised dirt that makes the most of the gait of the horses. The farmland west of the city dots both sides of the roadway, with smaller dirt roads branching off to the farms in those directions. The road follows the coastline to the south, giving them a continual view of the lake. Tiny hamlets of traders and families have cropped up near the roadways. Curious onlookers emerge from their homes to give food and rest to the caravan of rescuers, speaking to the leadership of the nation as if they are friends. The people of Newhaven seem happy and hard-working to their leaders, with few complaints to air. Many express hope that distant relatives from across the Inner Sea make the journey to immigrate to Newhaven, where they can take advantage of the virtually-free farmland to make a better life for themselves.
They cross out of the borders of Newhaven - unmarked as they are, but clear when the roads end - sometime in the mid-afternoon. By the time the sun is beginning to set, the shore of the lake is out of sight to the southeast. They follow the Skunk River, a lazy and winding river that runs in a curving path to the northwest. In another day or two, they will have to cross it at a ford, but for now it serves as a good camp site. The tall elm and ash trees form a riparian strip along the northern bank of the river, contrasting with the taller black pines that make up the bulk of the forest. The group stops to make camp along the river, feeding the small herd of horses and foraging what they can so that their supplies (intended for relief of the prisoners) can last.
...and that is why, gentlemen - and Borodin - why it has been proven beyond doubt, in all good reason and supportable logical evidence that humanity needs to be governed! Not only needs to be governed, but yearns for it in most cases, provided the governance is just, consistent and provides for opportunities. This is, in fact, a natural state of man in his desire for both community and prosperity."
Verik makes his case as he hammers in yet another tent spike into the ground, the well-crafted new four-man tent a noticeable upgrade from the prior one he had that had been absconded by the Rashkala centaurs back in the spring season. With his heavy plate armor off and carefully set nearby by his saddle and saddlebags, Verik still wears his chain shirt as he works on the tent; a small fire already set in the center of the encampment with three different-sized iron pots boiling water and an assortment of spices prepared for whatever is gathered for the evening meal.
"What men need protection from," offers the barbarian, "is their own evil and the evil of their neighbors. You can have justice and peace without a king. Probably easier if you don't have kings and courts lousing up peoples' idea of justice in the first place. Men don't have a natural desire to be governed, they have a natural suspicion of each other, so they look for some authority to accuse one another. If they weren't petty, they wouldn't need to fight over borders and women and succession."
Nikolai lugs a pot full of water to a hasty firepit. The full cauldron must weigh two hundred pounds. He pushes it into the wood, and then crosses the camp to lift dragonsbreath from his gear.
"Look at Brevoy, Verik. It's the most civilized place for miles. It has generations of courts and nobility and rule. And what is it really? Thieves and murderers dressing their games. What's the difference between having me assassinated, and killing me here on the road? Cowardice and pretense. Their rule is as barbaric as mine. They just cover it with silk flowers."
The big man thrusts the flaming blade into the firewood. Ordinarily, he disdained using the sword to start fires, or magic to travel. But he grudgingly accepted the sword's utility, and was hungry besides.
"I know you cling to governance and all its merits. I tell you a band of men in the woods can have justice and share opportunity, and not sleep with daggers under their pillows."
"I do not disagree with you on several points that you raise Nikolai," answers Verik in a surprisingly conciliatory tone as he pauses his hammering, "but I do not see those points as mutually exclusive to my views. Men can be petty, cruel and selfish it is true, but I believe humanity as a society understands this about itself, which comes back to why they know an orderly government with laws is what they need, even if it means ceding some choices and base desires."
Verik completes hammering in the spike and checks that the rope is taut before moving to the next one, talking as he works. "You are right about Brevoy, especially its nobles and their game of houses. I saw it truly enough when they were all here before your so-called trial. Rotten on the inside to its core as you say...and perhaps not surprising as it was the institution setup by Choral after his conquest of Rostland and Issia after all."
He pauses then and adds, "Nikolai, if you could only see what I have seen with other lands of the Inner Sea, perhaps it would moderate your view of rule. Taldor is often mired in their past, but my homeland of Absalom, the realms of Andoran and Varisia, or even Alkenstar where my cousin hails from...there are places proven where this can be achieved and sustained."
Once, Verik knocked on Nikolai's door late at night asking to speak with him on some unknown matter, but presumably suffering from a foul mood or nightmares Nikolai bade him to go away. It remains a curiosity, and so far Nikolai has not been able to tie Verik's change in stance to any political ploy.
Borodin has been on the periphery of camp dressing a handful of coneys that he caught earlier. He brings them towards the fire for roasting, setting them down next to the pot Nikolai set down earlier.
”Sorry Verik, I agree with Nikolai.” He can see Verik about to retort but raises his hands to ask him for time to finish his statement.
”Now I won’t argue that you’ve done a fine job of raising up New Haven as an orderly society. But what you fail to realize is that the society in question is only as good or evil as those in charge.”
Looking at his hands, he realizes they are still bloody from his work on the rabbits. He takes a few cups of water to clean his hands and knife all while talking.
”Just look at some of our neighbors in the River Kingdoms. I doubt folks in Pitax, Daggermark or Artume would share your view that society necessarily keeps one safe. There are so called ‘rules of law’ in those kingdoms, but they are not for the betterment of the people. Rather, it keeps those few in power, in power.”
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Watching Verik place the tarp and wood poles on the ground, Elsir's mouth quirks up in a smile. Ah... a tent, how quaint. The mage though. Setting his small leather satchel on the ground, the elf withdrew a rope and laid it on the dirt in a small clearing. Holding his darkwood walking cane in one wand, Elsir closed his eyes and whispered an arcane word of power while gesturing to the rope with his cane. Suddenly the rope floated from the earth like a snake climbing a tree until it was up twenty feet before anchoring itself to an unseen portal. Smiling again to himself, Elsir sighed. Magic could be so very, very useful sometimes.
For those of you less inclined to sleep in a tent tonight, I have enough room in my shelter for seven other people. It is impervious to rain, wind and tends to remain fairly warm. The wizard announces with a satisfied look on his face. Moving towards the fire that Nikolai had just finished building, the elf steps forward and places his hands outward to warm them from the cool fall chill.
Listening quietly to the exchange between Verik, Borodin and Nikolai, Elsir watched the flames as they crackled and moved, alive for the brief time that they could consume what they burned. I think that you all perhaps are taking the short view. It's to be expected I suppose, when humans live such short lives. My people follow more of a quasi-feudal state. We do not hold fastidiously to laws and tenants, and rather than relying on laws, the communities as a whole work together to find resolutions informally. We are all beings of the natural world, and the natural world is one that cannot be shaped by the laws of men. It is untamed and wild. But I do think there is an honor of sorts in such a world, where a man or elf can be defined by his or her actions. If I had to agree with anyone on this subject, I think I would lean towards Nikolai. The race of man is young as far as this world is concerned. You all constantly fight for your own supremacy, subjegating and demeaning when you could be leading and uplifting. Present company aside, I find that many humans are brutish and nasty. If humans could find common ground in their species and live more in harmony with each other respecting each other and understanding that each man, woman and child has the right for a chance at a good life to work their the land without oversight and find their own happiness then I think that human race would be at the cusp of something great. Pausing softly, Elsir's eyes watch the flames crackle. I think that Newhaven offers that.. or it might, at least one day. That's one of the reasons why I want to be apart of it.
"I'll take you up on that, Elsir," Jemini says, as she tugs experimentally on the rope that leads into a pocket of mysterious nothingness. "Though truth be told, the fanciful tales of magic from far away lands promises whole palaces to spring up from the words of conjurers. I always thought that had to be a bit too good to be true. This seems far more practical."
"I guess that is one of the interesting things about humans. The... unlimited potential. For anything really. As if a whole species just decided that instead of excelling at one thing, wouldn't it be grand if there was no limit to what we do. As if we excel at potential. Perhaps it is blasphemous coming out of my mouth, but I have heard it said that some humans put angels and demons to shame in their pursuit of righteousness and depravity. The potential is so limitless that some, like Irori and Iomedae, even transcend their own humanity. Although that means a certain chaotic element, I would hope for this to be a trait to remain with humans even once they've grown ancient as a race."
"Of course you are all entitled to your opinions and philosophies," says Verik in a clear tone that he thinks their opinions are completely wrong, or at least those besides Jemini by his look. "In the meantime, I shall be putting forth my efforts into codifying the laws and traditions of this realm. Bit by bit." He waves a hand at the tent and gives a tug of its ropes with the other. "Just as with this tent, so it is with Law. Adjustments must be made, and work must be given to produce shelter. Sometimes it needs to be shifted to better fit the ground. Sometimes there are setbacks, but the alternative is to sit in the cold and dark without shelter."
Nikolai spits a bit of bone from his mouth, raising a drumstick of cooked meat from his lips to retort.
"But the tent isn't crafted of power-hungry canvas charging you taxes and shaping its seams for its own benefit while you quietly snore away its scheming. That, Verik, is the flaw. Placing imperfect people into a supposedly perfect structure, where some of those people rule over the others' imperfections. Everything is for the poor. Everything is for the children. Everything is what your king is doing for you. So says those who maintain their authority with taxes and swords."
Verik shrugs as if considering something. "My opinions of taxes and kings aside, I personally do not see a civilization with perfection in Law as the final solution, even if that rarest of pursuits could ever be achieved. Many of my brothers and sisters of Abadar think otherwise and theorize on it extensively as a lifelong ambition," he says resignedly.
"For this to truly work here, belief in the greater good must also be established. That is what shall bind us together, with effective laws and taxes that shall help us all thrive. Jemini knows this better than most, the power of belief and inspiration. But for Newhaven to survive after we are gone, even if we can defeat its many enemies in the here and now, it must have belief beyond one man or woman, beyond one ruler...and most importantly it must believe in something, not merely believe against something else."
Coming back into the camp just Nikolai and Verik contibute their most recent two pieces to the ongoing debate Akiros looks from one to the other. Clearly he is not quite sure what they are talking about. It is also fairly clear that he doesn't much care.
"The perimiter is clear." he announces, he milky white eyes catching the firelight briefly. "If the two of you plan to argue all night, at least be quiet about it, some of us need to sleep." and with that he moves to his belongings and begins quickly setting up his own tent. He glances at the rope leading straight up into nothing, states at it a few moments, grunts, and then goes back to his task. With his years of experience being on the trail and sleeping in the outdoors, his tent is up in virtually no time.
He then grabs himself something to eat, sits in front of his tent and eats without rushing, but quickly. It has already been established on thier last several outing that, with his ability to see in the dark, Akiros will take the middle, and darkest, shift.
"We are not arguing Akiros," answers Verik in some display of irritability at the comment. "At least not in any serious...what's with you anyway? You haven't strung more than two words together today, unless I've missed that you were talking to Kydal in muttered whispers! Why, one night without your wife and you're adrift in the ice and shallows is it?"
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One of the Wardens snickers from the perimeter. "Least he's got one. Couldn't pay me enough to be celibate."
The second day of travel starts somewhat early as the Wardens on watch sound an alarm. They quickly drive off an owlbear that wandered too closely to the camp in search of food, though they don't chase it farther than necessary to ensure the group's safety. The Wardens perform an admirable job of guarding the camp, refusing to be relived by any of the Founders or their companions. The rescue expedition awakens and prepares for the day's travels. They break the nightly fast with a slaughtered deer caught by the Wardens. Most of the provisions are reserved for the prisoners they have set out to rescue, so the Wardens hunt and forage while they scout ahead and guard the horses.
The trek through the woods moves somewhat slowly. The trees and undergrowth are difficult to maneuver through as both grow denser the farther west they ride. At several points, the group has to split or ride in narrow columns in order to make it through the woods. They cross the Skunk River in mid-day at a narrow ford caused by a sudden curve in the winding river. No hydras were spotted. At sundown, the group stops to make camp and have supper together. Elsir summons his extraplanar haven again, while several of the others use their tents.
The third day of travel is a quiet one, buffeted by an overcast sky and heavy winds. Verik prepares endure elements as many times as he can muster as the temperature drops. A light snow starts trailing down at times, but the heavy canopy keeps the worst of the elements at bay. The tree coverage makes the sky seem even darker and more overcast. The forest grows even more dense and the undergrowth gives way to more frequent marshy ground.
The weather shifts to an ugly mix of rain and snow flurries, with the wind blowing hard upon them. Verik's magic - now aided by Elsir and Jemini - keeps the worst of it from affecting any one of them, including the horses. They can feel the bite of the cold air and wet snow, even with magical protection. The trees are dense enough to force the group into riding single file for most of the day.
The poor weather gives way to a cool and clear day on the fifth day of their travel. Demitir's maps suggest that they are very close, as they tick off landmark after landmark. Zander estimates that they will arrive sometime before noon. Fortunately, none of their spellcasting resources have to go towards environmental concerns on the day in which they expect heavy combat. The dense forest begins to break late in the morning, leading to a much looser formation of trees. However, the ground becomes far more marshy, with their progress vastly slowed by feet and hooves sinking occasionally into the ground. The frozen conditions of the previous day make the ground harder than usual, giving them a small blessing.
With the sun hanging overhead and visible through the looser canopy, the group comes to a halt as the elven fortress comes into view. The soft earth of the forest gives way to wet marsh, with large pools of stagnant water on either side of the narrow patches of solid ground. Sunken into the mire is an old stone building. Its ivy-covered wooden door faces them, but is half buried. Most of the door is covered by mud and grime, but the image of two elves facing away from one another is clear. The top of the entrance to the fortress – now only about four feet above the ground – bears mud-caked windows of opaque colored glass. The windows are only about a foot high. The stone roof appears sturdy despite the rest of the building’s appearance. Elves create lasting structures; this one was likely built many thousands of years ago and very slowly settled into disrepair.
The abandoned elven fortress juts upwards out of the swamp behind the entrance. Many of the spires for which elven architecture is known raise out of the fortress, ending in pointed arches. Ancient as this place is, it still holds great beauty and power. Like many of the structures built by the few elves who remained after Earthfall, the fortress is not open to the sky. Verik's flight magic will not be useful for finding a way into the fortress. Unless they can find a hidden entrance or summon a way to burrow through the walls, the only entrance is the partially-buried doorway to the entrance hall.
Verik, fully armored and already dismounted from Giles due to some of the recent patchy ground and brush they passed through, calmly looks on while strapping his heavy shield to his right arm. His left hand checks for the presence of warhammer and handaxe on his belt's left and back side, as well as a small tied satchel on his right side where two wands are jutting out, each one set with a colored embroidered tassel for clarity. Golden key symbols adorn both plate and shield, but this day a sturdier silver disc symbol replaces the more elaborate and delicate set of golden keys around the belt or heavy golden medallion that he usually wears in town.
Jemini nods to Verik as she secures her own heavy shield. Her sword still rests in its scabbard, but she is ready to unsheathe it in a moment's notice. Keeping her voice low, in spite of the content of her words, she says, "I expect it is too much to hope we've arrived unnoticed. Even so, there's no need to unnecessarily announce our presence. If we're lucky, our enemies underestimate us and won't show a combined resistance. I expect the wardens will secure the perimeter around the castle and deal with fleeing enemies, and keep fleeing prisoners safe." On a second hunch she adds, "There's no easy way to definitely tell enemies and prisoners apart, should they pretend to be liberated prisoners. We will try to give actual prisoners a passphrase that hopefully will help keep imposters at bay. How does that sound?"
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The wind blew mournfully as the gathered group of founders and new additions stood before the mire and the remains of the abandoned elven fortress. Standing straight backed, Elsir, old for his years stood behind the founders, his azure blue eyes wandering along the pointed towers and soaring spires that comprised what remained visible of the once grand structure. Cursed by thousands of years into a pale shadow of what it once was. The elf whispered half to himself. How very much like our own people. Frowning pensively the sage studied the stone and the towers. The fortress is post earth-fall. The wizard said. You can tell because of the lack of opening to the sky. It was an architectural shift that was prevalent following -5293 AR. Rubbing his hand along his chin, the elf frowned. Based on the settling of the earth as well as the blade that was found inside, the fortress must be at least three to four thousand years old. One of the old bastions erected in lands my people still claimed as their own. Shrugging, the elf sighed. Once we get inside I'll be able to tell you more than that, but thats as far I am able to tell just from laying eyes upon it.
Walking back and forth along the edges of the group, Elsir thought about what he knew of his people. As I said before, this area was once known as Telvurin, so it makes sense in a way. Likely my people still have records of what this place was known as among the libraries of Kyonin. Raising a hand and muttering several quick invocations, Elsir's eyes flashed amber for a moment and he gazed towards the structure with his second sight.
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Akiros grunts noncommittally at Verik's denial of not arguing with Nikolai. However at the mention of his missing his wife the Oracle's head flicks up, his eyes holding no less of their usual iron despite their colour. For a somewhat tense moment it is unsure what his reaction will be. Yet after a few beats he chuckles and smiles ruefully "Ha! I think you are right, priest. Perhaps you are wiser than you pretend be. I guess...I guess I've never had a wife to miss before. I mean, we've already been together for quite a while now but this feels, I don't know, different somehow. I guess you wouldn't understand." unaware of any unintentional offence, he continues.
"And you make a good point, I must get my head straight and focus on what is here before us now. I know Elspeth would want no less than that from me. Thank you, Verik."
Putting his attention back on his meal, the former Ronin is still quiet, but less specifically so. As well, a smile, somewhat rueful smile continues to poke the corner of his mouth.
Akiros, always sensitive to the needs of his dear steed and companion, has also chosen to walk with Kydal the last bit of the journey. Being completely unnecessary to handle Kydal's reins himself, his hand has rested on the pommel of his sword. He too now secures his shield and commands Kydal to remain back with the other mounts and wardens as he himself moves forward.
With the knowledge bestowed upon him by his Goddess as well as his own studies Akiros too is able to cast a critical eye on the structure, as well as attempting to determine the best way to get inside. As he does so he whispers a small prayer of to aid him in his task, then says"Have any of us thought to bring digging materials? Iomeade's blessings should allow me to help dig though that mess is not too long, but I'd rather not use my shield to do so."
K Engineering to figure best way to clear entrance (and/or aid Elsir):
As the Wardens work on forming a perimeter and guarding the horses, the rescuers assess the abandoned elven fortress into which they must delve. The fortress is larger than Castle Sanctuary, though the exact size is difficult to truly gauge because of its sunken nature. The front door is overgrown with ivy and likely hasn't been opened in many years. Based on Demitir's description of his flight from the fortress, there is a hidden entrance somewhere; as he did not recall much about it, they would have to seek it out themselves. Such an undertaking might takes days or even weeks, as the subtle elven architecture can make a hidden entrance almost imperceptible.
Elsir knows that this land was once part of the domain of his people, and that this fortress was one of many in the area to protect the inhabitants. The entirety of the forests and rivers of the River Kingdoms (as they are now known) were claimed by the elves, but they vacated it long ago. Most of the elves left Golarion prior to Earthfall, leaving the lands to humanity and other younger races. When they returned, two thousand years before the present date, they returned via the Elfgates and reclaimed much of what they once held. This fortress seems older than the return of the elven population, suggesting that it was built by the few elves who stayed behind on Golarion but did not succumb to the dark taint of the drow.
Peering at the entrance, it seems that the only way into the doorway is to manually dig it out. It shouldn't take terribly long, especially if they borrow shovels from the Wardens' gear. The door looks difficult to open, as it will require stripping away the vegitation and pushing hard to overcome the mud; between Nikolai and Akiros, they should have little issue. He tries to look through the shimmering, multi-colored windows, but can't see through them. They radiate a powerful aura of evocation magic, which is unsurprising to him considering the difficulty of binding magic to glass in a way that will cling for thousands of years.
Verik has set his heavy shield back down and works to get his light crossbow and bolt case securely stowed upon his back, nodding as he listens to Jemini. "Good idea on the passphrase. Though it may be that our enemies that would seek to escape would not be human by the look of it."
He finishes stowing his crossbow and picks his shield back up, ready to advance. "Know you all that I have prayed for blessings and powers to ward off some afflictions, and with my craftsmanship I can bolster our resolve against the agents of Woe, but you must be close enough. If you stray far from my hand or gaze, I cannot promise you protection." He says that last part with an eye askance at both Nikolai and Borodin, who seem to him to be far too apt to run off headlong into danger.
"I agree, there's no guarantee with passphrases - but maybe it'll make the difference in one or two cases."
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Frowning softly, Elsir raises a hand to stall the advance of the party. The windows carry with it an aura of magic, unsurprising in that it would take some sort of enchantment to allow them to remain intact for so many years. More of a concern however is the entrance. Elsir points, directing the groups gaze towards the door. Note the tree stumps? The stumps are actually a form of arachnid that disguises itself. I'm not sure how many there are at this range, but its a large group. I suspect they are territorial in nature and if we approach much closer we will draw their attention. Thoughtfully, Elsir thinks back to the previous description of the Wardens escape. Warden Whitestag, did your man say if he exited the complex from this route or was there another way?
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Borodin dismounts as well and checks his gear for readiness. He moves closer to Elsir so that he can get the same perspective on the "stumps".
He then looks around the clearing to see if he can find any other traces of ingress/egress.
Curiously, Demitir did not mention how he and the others gained access. Had it been a secret entrance that they discovered, it is unlikely that he would not have mentioned it. Perhaps the entrance is not as abandoned as it seems, but may actually be a cunning trap. The presence of the spiders may not be coincidence.
Borodin surveys the area around the clearing, looking for tracks. Alas, it has been weeks since Demitir escaped, and time is unkind to tracks. The rain and snow of the previous few days have made tracking nearly impossible, even taking away the benefit of moist ground. With all this time passed, the greatest trackers in the world would have difficulty finding the subtle signs that might lead them to an entrance.
"Spiders?" He peers off in the direction of the entrance, and reassures himself of his shield-grip, even as he rests his gauntleted left hand on the top of his warhammer slung at his belt. "Cogs! Well, even if there is a hidden entrance somewhere, would not looking for it and avoiding these things just bring them on our backs at the worst moment?"
"If these creatures work in the service of the Hag, and they bar our path, then I say we destroy them now while they are at distance." as he puts his hand on the butt of his crossbow and takes a determined step forward.
Nikolai hefts Dragonsbreath, the weight of the blade comforting after months of mere exercises. "I've fought spiders before, but none that pretended to lie in wait. Best they don't breed any closer to home. I say them first and then the door." He starts off toward one without waiting.
Akiros
Borodin
Deadfall Dweller
Elsir
Jemini
Nikolai
Verik
Zander
Akiros Reroll
When Nikolai steps forward, flaming sword in hand, he triggers the ambush predators' attention. Three of the creatures burst out of the half-frozen mud, freeing themselves from their disguises. While Elsir's keen attention identified them and prepared the group for battle, none could have predicted the speed of the quasi-arachnid predators. Three of the 'spiders,' all of which have mottled white-and-brown carapaces, rise up on dozens of barbed branch-like legs to their full size - larger than a horse. They click loudly and rush forward hungrily towards the interlopers like shambling, frost-covered spiders.
The first of the large beasts skitters forward to engage the warrior wielding a flaming sword. Its clicking mandibles snap as it lunges for Nikolai. He holds it at bay - barely - with his free hand, pushing it away from his flesh by mere inches. If not for his extraordinary reflexes, borne of years of pain under Choral's tutelage, the spider would have pierced his flesh. He strains to hold the deadfall dweller back, but it is just as strong as he is. The arcanoid skitters back and spits a stream of freezing spittle at him. He bats it away with his flaming sword, from which the creature starts to back away from.
The second of the three deadfall dwellers creeps towards Akiros deceptively quickly. The warrior is still flat-footed as the creature emerges into his clouded sight. Flat-footed or prepared, the beast's sharp bite is too powerful to dodge. He brings his shield up to try to keep it from his neck, but the creature bites his shield-bearing forearm. Akiros feels poison enter his blood, and feels the energy sapping out of him. As with Nikolai, the spider spits out a glob of frozen mucus, but it sprays against his shield harmlessly.
The third of them skitters towards the priest of Abadar, who is the next-closest. His full plate makes him slow, though most of that is his natural lack of athletic talent. Strangely, he has a memory of the tatzlwyrms rush back to him at that moment. The spider creature bites down at a weak point in his armor, leaving a bloody gash in his skin. The wound sizzles with the dripping poison, and he can feel the ache in his muscles start to take hold. The beast rears back and launches a frozen spray at him. Unable to dodge out of the way, he feels the cold rush against his armor, and feels the ice start to build on both the metal and his own joints.
Jemini rushes to Verik's side, her sword flows freely from its sheathe into her hand as she does so. She swings at the strange spider and, although her sword carries lots of force, the attack goes wide. Perhaps it is enough to divide the attention of the oversized nope.
Nikolai steps forward, leaning all of his weight on a downward swing. The things clumsy strike worries him little, but its size and strength register immediately. The thing shrieks as the great blade cuts deep, but its damp hide protect it from the worst of the magical flames. His second blow is just as brutal, cleaving deep into the spider-thing's carapace.
Borodin is in a half crouch examining the ground when the monsters attack. He imbues Augur with arcane energy as he draws it from its scabbard. The blade flashes momentarily with extra light.
Borodin traces a magical pattern in the air and mutters a few arcane syllables. The air becomes charged with electricity, Augur’s blade now crackling bright blue.
He rushes to the closest foe engaged with Nikolai. He swings his blade and strikes the arachnid but does not cut through the frozen hide. The strike is enough to discharge the electrical energy though. There is a large cracking sound as the hide on one of the legs explodes as the current passes through it and out the other side.
Verik lets out a gasp and shudders both at the pain of the burning bite and the spittle that threatens to freeze him dead in his tracks. As Jemini joins him however and stands next to him in battle, her presence seems to jolt the cleric to find his own resolve. Recalling his year's worth of combat training and the battles that they had faced before, he lets out a defiant shout at the dreaded beast and wills his body to not succumb to the assault.
Verik draws forth his warhammer in a fluid motion and swings upward at the deadfall dweller with great force. While the beast's head is well clear from the swing, its massive legs cannot nimbly move aside and it takes a cracking blow to one of them. Verik lets out another brief shout and readies the rim of his shield higher to the level of his eyes, this time determined not to let the monster breach his defenses.
Zander launches a flurry of arrows at the arachnoids, drawing and releasing them in a burst of speed. The first two arrows - fired together, in a feat of truly impressive dexterity - slam into the spider-creature that threatens Nikolai. The arrows sink deeply into its carapace, wounding it badly. When Nikolai slams his flaming sword down into its flesh, it crumples and draws its spindly limbs up in agony. The next arrow hits the one that Akiros is engaged with, wounding it sightly by not sinking deeply enough into its tough hide. Zander hesitates at the last moment when Verik slams his warhammer into the third spider. He aims around Verik, but shoots the arrow too wide to hit the beast.
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Momentarily Elsir stood still. He watched as the tree stumps rushed forward dropping their guise of woodland debris and instead charge towards the group with an savage aggression. Slowly blinking, the elf took in the sight. Somewhere inside of him he knew that he should be afraid, but in truth he felt at peace. Hand hesitating over the wand carried at his side, the wizard frowned. It seems like the rest of the founders had the situation well in hand. In the briefest of seconds one had been dispatched and based on his calculations, Elsir determined that there was less than a three percent chance that the other two would remain live for less than thirty seconds.
Pursing his lips together, the wizard watched as the young human, Verik, whom the elf had started to befriend threw his warhammer down upon the one locked in combat with him. In the short time that Elsir had known the Banker, he had come to realize that the young man was no warrior, at least not the degree that Borodin or Nikolai was. No, Elsir decided, there was minimal risk to the man, but his calculations had been wrong before.
Very well then, time to adjust the factors. The elf whispered to himself while flicking out hand in a quick series of complex gestures and muttering short but forceful incantation. Suddenly, three bolts of blue light burst forth from the elfs fingers, two streaked in towards the creature locked in combat with the priest while the third flew towards the other whom Akiros fought. As the first two bolts impacted the creature it rocked it with a shuttering force, flipping it over and knocking it to the ground. Unfortunately however, Akiros was not as lucky. The third bolt arced towards the spidery creature and struck it true, but somehow the beast managed to resist the impact and remained standing.
Caught off guard by the creatures amazing speed as it suddenly comes racing into his limited view, Akiros manages to stop the arachnids fangs from sinking into his neck but takes a bite to his shield arm instead. Immediately he feels the poison coursing through his veins, trying to sap his mobility, yet the former ronin is not one to give up the fight so easily.
Roaring his defiance as his blood surges, burning out the poison, Akiros steps forward, bringing his broadsword down in a vicious cut into the creature's neck.
As his sword cleaves through carapace Akiros uses his battle awareness to move into position to flank the spider with either Nikolai or Borodin.
Shrugging off Elsir's force assault and Akiros' sword stroke, the deadfall dweller rises up and shreds Akiros with another bite from its crushing maw. This bite takes him in the right leg, in the vulnerable joint. The poison burns through him again, threatening to sap his reflexes. The arachnoid brings up several of its barbed claws, slashing at his face, but they glance harmlessly off of his dragonscale full plate. The beast skitters backwards as Akiros raises his shield again to protect himself. Its frozen discharge is not aimed for him, however. It hits Nikolai - turned away and focused on killing the first of the brood - squarely in the back. The mucus envelops his back, sizzling when it comes into contact with his sword.
The third creature turns his attention from Verik to Jemini. Elsir's force missile knocked it off balance momentarily, but it flips over immediately on its dozens of barbed legs, quelling any momentary advantage they might have had. Jemini's mithril chain shirt and her shield do little to prevent its mandibles from clamping down upon her shoulder. The greenish-black poison drips from her wound as it takes hold in her veins. Its clawed limbs rake at her, but she steps out of the way easily. The spider-like beast turns and follows its broodmate's example, spitting at Nikolai. The rudimentary tactic works as the stream of freezing fluid hits him in the legs and threatens to envelop him entirely in conjunction with the first attack.