"Beg pardon," the sword cane says, its voice returned to its normal iron. "I am... raw inside, between masters as I am. No offence to you, Zakarras, but you are... not a Greer. And I am of Greer. I shall endeavour to control myself better."
"Ha! Manure cart mule shoes. That am funny. Well, we am not getting treasure for any reason staying here. We am going to find Marysthan and getting our reward, now?"
After you come downstairs, Marythsan approaches your group. "It's time. Whenever the five of you are ready, the Rite of Victory can begin." His face grows solemn as he senses your mood. "Has...has something happened?"
"My master will not be joining us," Grovnaidel declares, the blade's voice ringing hollow. "As a lifelong servant of the Greer family, I shall serve as the executor of his estate and his representative."
"Poog am ready for victory, though."
"Simon Greer passed to Pharasma in the night," Asha says quietly. "Grovnaidel does indeed speak for him in our company."
Zarina stands by silently, waiting on the ceremony to begin in earnest.
Marythsan looks pained at the revelation. "I knew he was...unwell. I didn't realize just how severe that was. This is an unusual turn of events, but not unforeseen. I know there are clauses that allow for someone to claim the reward due a Victor, so long as that claimant fought alongside the Victor. I daresay you fought with him closer than any here, Grovnaidel." He bows his head and touches the Iomedaean icon on his brow in silent prayer for a few moments. "I'll have someone see to his body while the Rite begins, and there will be time after to make the necessary arrangements with House Greer, but for now, please, follow me, so the Tournament can truly end."
He leads you back into New Harbor's streets. Outside, a crowd has gathered , watching you from either side of the street in reverent silence as Marythsan leads the four of you to a small temple to Abadar. On its steps are the Emissary and a middle-aged woman with gray at her dark straight locks. Her robes of office are immaculate, and she bears an intricate gilded symbol of Abadar about her neck. The two of them approach and bow to you deeply. "Sifu Xho Nuo tells me that you have not only won the Tournament, but safeguarded its legacy," she says. "It is always the privelege of the Archbanker to bless the victor of the Tournament, but never before has the Grand Bank owed a group more than you four. You have our thanks."
The Archbanker performs a lengthy rite that closes out the Tournament, and entrusts you with the promotion and protection of the Tournament as its Champions for the next decade. It takes the better part of an hour, but the Archbanker has a way with words that it seems to pass swiftly for everyone (save Poog, of course). At the end, she asks you to join hands with her, and she says a single word.
The next moment, you are no longer in New Harbor. You're in a stone building, and crystals affixed to the walls emanate a soft bluish-white light. Before you stands an immense vault door, emblazoned with the familiar crimson phoenix upon it. "Hao Jin's legacy stands beyond that portal," she says, approaching it. "Normally, the tournament victors are allowed only a single item from it. However, given the debt we owe, I have amended the agreement in your favor. You may each select an item. I trust there are no hard feelings in this breach of the contract?" She approaches the vault and removes her holy symbol, and you quickly discover it is not just her badge of office but also the key to the vault.
The door swings open. Beyond lies a collection of treasures rivaled only by Abadar himself.
"There!" Grovnaidel suddenly shouts, the sword cane seeming to jump in Zakarras' grip. "" The cane vibrates and pulls at the archer, pulling him towards... a big, black bottle with decorations made of what looks like cold iron, beaten into rough, primitive shapes.
"Master Gregory, mistress Alice, master Barry, master Eric, mistress Victoria, master David, mistress Yelizé, master David," the sword cane rants, its metallic voice clanging with emotion, "master Simon...! We found it! We've finally found it! Curchanus' Flask of Purified Night! It's real! It's here! It's finally, finally here...!"
The living sword... sobs. "This... Open this, pour it over tainted land as the sun sets, and it will cleanse that land of all evil over the course of one night... It's one of the last remaining creations of Curchanus, lord of beasts... It's here...!"
Poog's eyes grow wide as he looks around. Seemingly unerringly, he is drawn to a crystal vial, a bluish flame seeming to dance within. Uncorking it, the goblin greedily suck down the flame, steam rising from his skin and his eyes turning yellow as the sun before they start dancing with flame.
A second later, he burst into flame, a flickering sheath of fire surrounding him, and reflecting off his white teeth as he grins.
"Now Poog am powerful as fire!" he says with a cackle. "They am regretting that they am thinking Poog am not strong enough to be part of goblins!"
Hearing It yap, he turns to the dirty terrier and lets it lick out the remnants of the vial. With a small whine, the canine bursts into flame, the sturdy dog transformed into a dog-shaped creature of pure elemental fire!
After a brief hesitation, Zak sorts through a collection of impressive weaponry, selecting a fine short sword from the lot. "Not my typical weapon, but it's magic will serve my purposes." Luck blade in hand, the archer retreats from the horde. "Let's go lift a curse, Grovnaidel, a few extra wishes are sure to help us with that." Brimming with confidence, Zak pats the sword cane as the lure of an untraveled road already begins to pull at him.
Asha watches the others collecting their spoils with a small smile, seemingly content to merely wander through the collection and admire the many of works of great beauty contained within it. In one dark corner, though, her eye catches on something - and her breath catches in her chest.
It is a glaive, made of black iron and polished to a mirror sheen. Etchings of tiny clusters of flowers mark the blade and circle around the shaft. The etchings are rich and complex, seeming almost to sway in an unfelt breeze; the entire weapon truly as much a work of art as it is a weapon of conflict.
On seeing it, Asha gasps. "By the Rose," she whispers. "An amaranth's kiss?" She reaches out, her fingers brushing the handle; the etched flowers ripple and blur at the contact. Asha pulls her hand back, then, biting her lip, grasps the weapon firmly and takes it.
Instantly the clusters of tiny flowers shift and twist, becoming roses amid interweaving thorns. The thorns burst out of the shaft and straight into her hands, causing her to cry out in surprise and pain. The blood that flows from her hands begins crawling up the shaft, turning the roses blood red, until it reaches the glaive's blade and drips up along the edge. Asha utters another oath and tries to let go of the shaft, but for a moment the thorns hold on, still driven into her palms - then there is another flicker, the roses are amaranths instead, and the glaive clatters to the floor.
Zarina watches her friends, smiling at their joy. What could make this more perfect? With an even broader grin, she nods as she decides, that she could not think of anything else she desired. Her father was proud of her, her friends were happy, and her family's honor was restored. She stepped away from the vault, emptyhanded, but happier than she had been in years.
After the endless ride through the grassy hills, the only sounds the sighing of the wind in the tall, weaving grass, the buzzing of busy insects, the cry of the occasional kite overhead and the chime of your mounts' harness, the sword finally speaks up:
"It's over the next rise."
The first thing that you notice over the next rise is the silence. Even the wind seems to fall still on the lands of Greer, and the birds and the bugs appear to be keeping their distance.
The second thing you notice is a sensation of dread and pressure, as if something is leaning on the world near here.
The House of Greer, Simon's ancestral home, is only the third thing you notice. It looks to have begun its existence as a manor house, but it has been expanded over the years, and has apparently needed a lot of repairs. No two sections of the roof use the same colour tiles, there are pale scars on the façade where cracks have been filled in, and even those without training in architecture can recognize five different kinds of woodwork.
And then the pressure seems to grow tenfold as you notice the Abomination. The House of Greer stands on the edge of a cliff, overlooking what must have once been a beautiful, fertile valley. Now, the air above this blight on the land is stained black and purple even by day. You can dimly see things slither and crawl that ought to lie, and other things walk that ought to crawl. The very earth shudders and seems to moan soundlessly. A river runs through the land, but it is a river of blood and unspeakable foulness. When a mercifully brief gust of wind comes out of the valley, you find yourselves coughing and wiping tears from your eyes at the stench...!
"Home, sweet home," Grovnaidel says, its metallic voice glum, from where it rides at Zakarras' belt. When you all left Goka, the sword was quiet.
You were all invited to a ceremony in the back woods, where the priests of Qi Zhong worked together with a priest of Mirarae, wrapping your comrade's spice-rubbed body in a shroud and hung it in a tree to be mummified by the elements. Although the sword said nothing then, you could sense its sorrow.
Gradually, the blade loosened up a little during the voyage back to Avistan. It was never exactly garrulous, but it told you about the Lands of Greer that it had known when it was still young. "I was a longsword then, if you can believe that," it said, actually managing to laugh. It had also told you about the Lands of Greer as they are, and how you could get there. But as you drew nearer, the sword grew taciturn once more -- and now, you think you can see why.
Finally, there is the fifth thing you notice: a procession of people, all dressed in stark black and armed, marching out of the house to meet you. For a moment, you feel an odd sense of déjà vu as you see the slender figure striding at the head of the group. Clad in a greatcoat over black, a Ninja's mask hiding its face, this person looks to be dressed the same as your fallen fellow Warrior... But as the procession draws nearer, you can spot the differences; this is a young woman, not a man made old before his time.
"Strangers," the masked woman says as she looks you all over. "I see you come bearing my ancestral blade, so I need not warn you not to enter into the Shame of Greer. But because you carry the sword of my fathers... I assume you bring me bad news." You can hear the woman is still quite young, but her voice is turning bitter and resigned. "Such tidings may as well be given over supper; if you will swear to honour the laws that bind host and guest, I shall invite you into our ancestral home."
"I swear to honour the laws. Please, call me Zakarras, I was fortunate to know Simon and I would do right by him and his family." Zak glances at Poog and quickly pokes the goblin in the ribs. "Right, we'll all swear to honour the laws."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"Hmph. What am laws. Poog am not swearing to dance naked for hosts entertainment."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"I give my word. I'll follow the laws of your home. Poog, I assume the laws are concerning our behavior and not being violent. I doubt they care much to see a naked goblin."
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
"You am not knowing! There am people who am liking that! Poog am liking to see a naked goblin sometimes."
Asha, leaning on her new and slightly malicious-looking glaive, smirks down at Poog. "Who doesn't?" she asks agreeably. Turning back to the woman, Asha bows. "My oath to your guest laws, milady, and my condolences on the news we bring, matched though it is with hope."
"Such a display will not be required," the young woman says to Poog, her nose wrinkling in an expression of distaste. "Rather, you will agree to do no harm within our home, and no harm will be done to you." She removes her mask, revealing a face too stern for her age; she can't be twenty years old yet! There is a noticeable family resemblance to Simon there, although her hair is a lustrous black with a coppery red sheen. "I am Sand, of House Greer. Follow me to the House. Please."
The 'please' sounds very much like an afterthought; you get the impression that the current Head of the House is feeling out of sorts. Nevertheless, she precedes you to the house, where the other people busy themselves getting your mounts into the stables while Sand leads you inside.
The Greer family home feels as if it is on the verge of becoming a mausoleum. No one seems to live there apart from the people you have already seen, and the corridor Sand leads you down is decorated with paintings -- all with black ribbons indicating a family member slain in battle or by some other calamity. As you enter, Sand casually pulls a covering cloth from a painting close to the door and lets it fall to the ground.
It is a painting of two young men, the resemblance between them so strong that they must be brothers, one older, one younger -- and the younger one is just barely recognizable as your own fallen comrade. The two of them were painted standing in front of this very house. The older brother is painted smiling -- or at least trying to smile -- and raising a glass of red wine. Young Simon looks grim and dour, and is leaning on the sheathed Grovnaidel even then.
As you pass the paintings, you see they are all of pairs of siblings; brothers, sisters... And in each piece of artwork, one is trying to smile and hold up some symbol of home and good cheer, while the other's eyes are filled with pain... or fear... or misery... or bleak despair... and leaning on the concealed family blade.
"I actually half-expected you to come," Sand says as she leads you down the cool, echoing corridor, her voice sarcastic. "You see, you are not our only guests today. It is quite the festive occasion for this house to see so many in one year."
You enter a cavernous dining room, great tables set out to accompany many people, one of them seating one single guest -- and two more Greer staff members, both with blades drawn and slanted diagonally across their chests, eyes staring steadily at the 'guest' from behind their masks. The man in brown cloth robes, the symbol of a three-eyed jackal on his chest, looks as though he would much prefer to be somewhere else, anywhere else, but he is trying to smile and be charming. And failing.
"Allow me to introduce Har'kan-Za, priest of the Mother of Monsters," Sand says, her voice still sarcastic, "who for some odd reason chose this time to come visit us and tell us of the mercy and forgiveness of his patron. He has assured us that the curse on our lands and family line can and will be lifted, if we but swear to her service and beg her forgiveness 'for crimes committed against her by our blood'." Her voice goes from sarcastic to cold steel. "I knew then that my uncle must have died doing his duty towards the family."
"Indeed he has, good lady," Har'kan-Za says in an unctuous tone, unconsciously dry-washing his hands. "And the Mother took note and wished to extend her hand of forgiveness to you, the last heir, so that your pain might be mitigated by salvati..."
One of the guards clears his throat, and the priest subsides, sweat beading his brow. Clearly, this visit has not gone the way Har'kan-Za had expected...
Asha's grip on her glaive goes white-knuckled.
Poog shrugs.
"Then all am good, right? You am saying words, and he am lifting curse. What am problem?"
"So we am good, then? We am leaving snotty sword and going home?"
"No one is swearing to the Mother of Filth," Grovnaidel growls. "Show them the bottle. Show them the bottle!"
It is clear the sword is talking to someone who actually has hands...
"What, this bottle?" Zak pulls out the flask, "Where should I dump it?"
"This is the right flask, ain't it Grovy?"