Anton's rain of holy fire completely obliterates the creature's head, killing it instantly.
One of the cocoons hanging in the tower starts to wiggle and thrash about.
Anton nods in satisfaction. He had no idea what the monstrosity was, but he felt no remorse about removing it's taint from the world.
As the creature slumps to one side, disgusting pus oozing out of the wounds, Antons attention is drawn to one of the cocoons. He draws an arrow and trains it on the moving sac.
What's that? Is it another on? he shudders. Babies even?
Dantrian drops into a predatory posture as the monstrous creatures bursts up from the ground, but it's little more than a pile of twitching flesh and chitin by the time B'yelka's magics settle over him. As Anton glances up at the twitching sac, Dantrian strides over, ripping the Desnan free from the sticky webbing that hardly seemed to hinder him.
"Likely a recent victim who is lucky we came near, Anton."
Once Anton is shorn free from the webbing, Dantrian approaches the wiggling cocoon and calls out, "Stop thrashing!" If the cocoon goes still, he gives a telling nod to his companions to keep their weapons ready, then he reaches up and pulls the web-woven sac down, the strands supporting it breaking with a loud snap.
The web sack settled to the ground, landing with the dry rustling of its hardened exterior. However, whatever is trapped inside the dense webbing remains so, though is now motionless.
Seeing no further motion from the cocoon, Dantrian cautiously produces his dagger and pierces the webbing near what he presumes is the lower end where a humanoid's feet would be. Slowly, he works the dagger up the length of the fibrous encasing, his face an ever unreadable mask of stoicism.
An engraved silver mask is exactly what meets Dantrian's gaze in return, for the unfortunate soul was bound upside-down in its cocoon. A moment later, the figure trapped inside the cocoon implodes in a haze of inky black smoke and motes of starlight, reappearing in an explosion of shadow and starlight ten feet outside of the tower. As the haze of the dark tapestry fades, it reveals a tall humanoid clad in layered robes of worn black fabric. A mantle of equally dark feathers is draped over his shoulders, hood raised and face concealed behind an engraved silver mask of unusual design.
"Eth en saerel." The words, laid like a curse, reverberates through the mask. The shrouded figure swiftly raises one gloved arm as a haze of swirling gold light dances across the black fabric. The lights burst outward like a pair of lances, quickly twisting and contorting into the recurve shape of a might bow fashioned from golden energy. The figure trains it on his rescuer, drawing back a near-invisible string as a shaft of light swirls into being in the form of a nocked arrow.
"Araleth, asher'va—" The figure cuts himself off, turning subtly to look over his shoulder. There is a moment of silence, then the tension in the figure's bow arm relaxes and the nocked arrow dissipates into motes of gold light. The bow, too, dissipates along with the whispering chorus of dozens of elven voices all talking at once. The masked figure's posture changes almost immediately to lose its hostile edge, though still retains a sense of discomfort.
Then there is nothing, and the masked figure waits wordlessly just outside the tower.
__________
Though Ashan is speaking elven, his pronunciation of some words is highly unusual. It is as though he is a native speaker, but speaking a foreign dialect.
"You will not have me."
"Ancestors, I call on—"
"That sounded like Elven. What did he say?" Not being one to trust a wizard Maybe?, especially after an introduction like that, B'yelka steps slightly, to put Dantrian between her and the newcomer. Obviously we helped you out of a bad situation. Some appreciation would be nice, I think. Do you have a name, Wizard?"
Anton very nearly looses his own arrow as the creature's golden bow spring into life but he hesitates for a moment longer and is rewarded by the weapon dissipating into motes of light. Still, if nothing else, his adventures thus far have taught him to be cautious.
Hold there now, sir. he says, only guessing at the gender behind the mask. We are not your enemy but do not make us so. Do you speak the Common tongue?
The mask might hide his face but it is far more difficult to mask the intentions of one's heart.
Slowly, the figure regards Anton, then turns to face the young bard. For a moment there is nothing, just the empty-eyed stare of an etched mask. Then, echoing from behind the antique steel, a voice stilted with thick accent. "This one has a name, as do you, B'yelka Morfaine. I am Ashan." Without much pause he adds, "It appears I was not fated to find you. But rather, you to find I."
____
Dantrian's posture snaps from that of a predator to that of a professor as the figure vanishes only to then speak in an antiquated dialect. As B'yelka shuffles and Anton holds taut his bow, Dantrian calmly sheathes his dagger. His hands remain at his side, unthreatening and he allows the masked figure to take aim without complaint.
As Anton regards the stranger, Dantrian nods at B'yelka's question and addresses her from over his shoulder, "Yes, B'yelka, it is elven. I would have hoped my lessons would have left you fluent, but I suppose I should find some satisfaction that you at least retained enough of what I taught to recognize it. He said we 'would not have him' and then he proceeded to call upon and invoke his ancestors."
His eyes widen slightly as the figure asserts it knows his former student, but his own mask, one of flat stoicism, quickly returns.
In a stage whisper to Dantrian, Ok, that's creepy.
Addressing the masked wizard she says, "Fate? So far as I know, we've been making our own. And - wait, are you saying you were looking for us? Why?"
"Family ties bind us," is as good an answer as any. "The death of Professor Lorrimor is felt by many. I know of you from his scion." Looking over at Dantrian, Ashan adds "I mistook you for the Way. Era serana-ma."
______
(Very formal) Excuse me.
Dantrian nods, the gesture one of understanding and acceptance of the apology. "Indeed. It is fortunate for you that we are not, Ashan. Do you know of all of us or just Ms. Morfaine?"
"All. Some more so than others..." is purposefully vague. "I count your numbers short by one." Ashan seems careful not to speak the name of the party's recently departed member. There's an air of sympathy and polite custom about the choice. Yet Ashan does not speak aloud his presumption for that absence.
Janos is stunned by the sudden and mystical arrival of Ashan. He's even more intrigued by the sounds of the elven language. He had heard a few words before, but never really it spoken fluently. Besides his ears and eyesight, he had never grown up with anything elven. In fact, it was the cause of his mother's exile, his abuse by the town, and eventually her death.
"Who are you again, Ashan? You knew Petros? And you know us? And you know of the Way." The last was not a question. "Do you know what they did? Do you know what they're planning?"
"I am elgar'halam," Ashan states matter-of-factly. "I know the Way and what they have done, but I do not know what they do." The distinction of past and present tense is given purposeful emphasis. After he makes that assertion, Ashan takes a few steps in approach to Janos. The masked figure's head tilts to the side subtly, then peers off towards the road before looking back at the ranger. For an uncomfortable length of time, there is only silence. "Ir abelas, ma da'len," is all Ashan has to say to Janos afterward, and it seems awkwardly stated and with uneven delivery.
Ashan turns to Anton afterward, motioning to the archer with a gloved hand. "I have been looking for your group," he speaks of Anton as if he were in charge, "since you were last in Ravengro. I am a long-time foe of the Way, and suspect they are involved in Petros' passing. I knew him most of his life," belies the masked figure's age some, "and would see his last wishes honored."
Then, more to the group as a whole Ashan adds, "Ma melava halani. I am in your debt."
____________
(No exact meaning in common; literal translation) "The spirit's end."
"I am filled with sorrow for your loss, my child."
"You helped me."
Elgar'halam is an elven societal title used prior to Earthfall. The title represented those bestowed with supernatural gifts by the gods that allowed communion with the spirits of elven ancestors. Each elven settlement had two elgar'halam, one practicing and the other in training. When the elder elgar'halam perished, the trainee would ascend to the title and begin searching for his successor.
Anton has some difficulty following what the man is saying, but his overriding impression is that the man, though odd to Anton's pragmatic mind, is not evil.
You are more than welcome, Ashan. We have a purpose here but that doesn't mean we would sit idly by whilst this creature lured travellers to their deaths.
We too have reason to believe the Way was involved in Petros' death, a journal by his own hand suggested he was investigating their activity in Ravengro. We don't know what their final goal is, but it can be nothing but nefarious.
I am Anton Klasnic, traveller and servant of the Song of Spheres. I wonder just how many poor souls were lost to this foul thing before we happened along...
Finding confidence in the non-killing discourse B'yelka moves away from her involuntary shield and says, "Then from new foes of the Way to the old foes. We are happy to meet you and want to at least offer you some company for the day. We can figure out what to do about the Way as we travel." He's no Tibideau, but that mask is dramatic at least!
Dantrian observes the various exchanges with Ashan stiffly, though he does arch one eyebrow curiously at the masked figure's rueful words for Janos.
It seems our companions are quick to trust a masked stranger in verifiably dangerous woods, Mosswick.
Ashan seems to know much, but it is no more or less than an agent of the Whispering Way would know. And thus far, our presumed elf has offered us little but riddles and vague allusions, neither of which assuage my suspicions.
Desna's granted Anton the ability to search out a person's heart, it's true. Such gifts can be thwarted though, and I would expect no less from our foes.
I cannot say, Mosswick. More than a simple, hapless victim, at the least. Regardless, we should be watchful, you and I.
Indeed.
Janos eyes the masked man. He clearly could sense something uneasy about him. "Ashan, only Dantrian speaks Elven, I think. How about you take the mask off. It's generally more friendly in Ustalav for people to see your face and your eyes."
"If you knew Petros, he never spoke of you. Though, the man had more than enough secrets, I suppose. You looked for us at Ravengro? We lingered there for over a month...." he eyes the man, warily. As the others invite Ashan to travel with them, Janos shrugs. "Come then. We're heading to Ascanor Lodge. Do you know it? We can talk more on the way. I'm curious what you know about the Way and Petros."
The Ranger helps Anton cuts down the others sacs, looking for other survivors.
In the meantime, Mosswick, would you mind investigating the tunnel this creature emerged from?
As the others begin to busy themselves with the remaning cocoons, Dantrian turns his attention to Mosswick and the tunnel. Verbally, he calls after the homunculus, "Have a care, Mosswick. If there are young, avoid them and come back out as quickly as you may. We will deal with them." Dutifully, Mosswick offers Dantrian and the others an animated salute and raspy laugh, the combination surprisingly reassuring, before vanishing into the creature's tunnel.
Anyone who opens a cocoon discovers the grisly remains within. The six cocoons contain the corpses of three goats, a horse, and two humans hanging upside down, their blood drained. The hole in the f loor leads to the weaverworm’s lair beneath the tower.
The more recent of the human corpses carries a sealed envelope half soaked in blood. The envelope contains a severely damaged letter and is barely
legible.
Sof webbing wreathes the walls, ceiling, and floor of this subterranean chamber. Several lumps bulge outward along the floor, unidentifible under layers of sticky webs.
"It is not wise for me to unmask," Ashan turns to watch some of the others re-enter the tower, his hands flexing momentarily in anticipation. "Of course Petros Lorrimor wouldn't speak of me," is likewise a matter-of-fact statement, as if Janos were noting the obvious, "it was our agreement." Stepping forward, Ashan intends to join the others in the tower, though he still addresses Janos, even if he does not address him directly.
"As for Ascanor..." Ashan shrugs softly, his feather mantle ruffling with the gesture. "A human thing; ephemeral, fleeting—Like dreams." Entering the tower archway, Ashan is a ways behind Mosswick's progress, his pace languid and tentative. Briefly, he looks back to ensure Janos is keeping pace, then returns his attention to the stone archway, running his hand over the chiseled stone.
Ashan lingers here, listening to the sounds of the forest, the stone, and the dead. "I've fought the Way since..." there's an awkward silence that lingers for too long. "For a time. They have had their victories, and I mine. Each at a cost. Petros is a human," Ashan shrugs again, "da'vhen, ge'an shem."
Ashan looks back to Janos, and though they stand not too far from one another, Janos cannot see eyes within Ashan's mask. In fact, given that he is covered head to toe in clothing—even his hands concealed beneath embroidered, leather gloves—perhaps there is no man within to see; a spirit of this place. "Why do you fight the Way?"
_______________
(literally) Children, gone so fast.
"Let me see that letter." B'yelka studies the letter, taking her time and confirming her work. How droll, at least Mr Almaeus won't have anything to complain about.
"Why do I fight the Way? You just said you have been fighting them. You know the evil they perpetuate. Necromancers can't be allowed to spread their power. It's unnatural!" Passion rises in Janos' voice with more than a hint of frustration.
He takes a deep breath. "You didn't see what they did. They defiled Petros' corpse, making him into this...'thing'. He attacked me in the middle of the night. He was a good man, and they turned his body into a plaything, a weapon to kill us and Kendra." The Ranger stops abruptly, clearly having not planned on mentioning his lover's name to the stranger.
Dantrian turns to the others, "Mosswick has not found any sign of young within the tunnel. I think it safe to presume the threat this creature posed has been ended." A few moments later, as B'yelka scrutinizes the recovered letter, Mosswick comes bounding out of the tunnel with his raspy laugh, pleased with what he is sure the others and his master will appreciate. The little patchwork creature with his mismatched wings deposits several web-stained pouches that offer the tell-tale clink of coins as he plunks them on the ground in the group's midst. He then zips back down the tunnel and comes back a few moments later, this time with a potion in one hand and something closed in the other. He looks to Dantrian expectantly, who in turn waves the homunculus over. The alchemist takes the potion, then looks at the other item and nods to B'yelka. With a giggle, Mosswick then flits over to B'yelka, doing a playful loop through the air as he goes, and drops a ring in her outstretched palm.
"You're er'hellathan—principled." Ashan opines, though there's a wistful tone to the compliment. "That's good—necessary—in a world such as ours. It needs principled people." While Ashan continues to speak to Janos, it's clear his attention lies more on Dantrian's homonculus moreso than the half-elf. A brief look is afforded to the homonculus' master before Ashan steps away from the tower, wandering a meandering path.
"Your destination is this... Ascanor?" Ashan asks to no on in particular, at first. His meandering finally ends at B'yelka, much in the way a dowser might waneder before settling over the source of water they sought. "How long, do you suppose, the journey to this Ascanor will take from here?"
_____________
(no direct equivalent in common) lit.; of the noble struggle
"Err-Hell-Then? Principled, huh? Maybe. Hard to grow up as I did without a respect of the natural world. But maybe I just didn't like what they did to Petros. What's elven for revenge?" Janos smirks.
"Nan." Ashan states flatly.Then, looking over to Janos he adds, "Er-he-LATH-an." Pronunciantion is important.
________
Revenge
Anton leans over and whispers to B'yelka;
What do you make of him? At least I know when Dantrian is being condescending.
Janos eyes the newcomer with a bit of rebellious mirth in his eyes. "Nan"
[smaller]"Creepy, presumptuous, and overbearing. Reminds me of a geist from some of the older Azlanti operas. It's as if he's not really here, but he is here, if you know what I mean."[/smaller
Drosil, who has been watching the exchange, is unsure what to make of the new arrival. He's obviously a mage of some sort, which we could use...but can we trust him? "Look. Not to put too fine a point on things, but what assurances can you give us that you're not some agent of the Way? Considering the lengths they went to to retrieve items from Leipdstadt, I wouldn't be surprised if you were one of them, playing along and biding your time until we let our guard down."
Seeing B'yelka confiding in Dantrian, Ashan turns to address Drosil's. At first the masked figure is silent, head tilted to the side. "What reassurances would you believe?" doesn't sound sarcastic, but rather intentionally pointed.
Dantrian glances up from the potion and looks at Drosil then at Ashan. "I doubt there is anything you could offer to engender immediate trust, hahren, but I do not think you are an agent of the Whispering Way. Our quarry have demonstrated that they have considerable resources and means at their disposal, none of which have, thus far at least, been directed at hindering us. Why should they? We have yet to thwart or spoil any of their plans. In that light, I doubt they would go to these lengths and lay such an absurdly elaborate trap for us." He glances to the others before looking once more at Ashan, "We are, however, within the Shudderwood. Shem'halani seth'sulevin."
'old one'
Help is fast, trust is thin.
Dantrian’s making all kinds of new friends these days! Anton whispers back to B'yelka with a sly grin.
Well, Ashen, I'm glad we could help you. Yes, Ascanor is our destination. It is thr only haven in this wilderness and our mostly likely hope of finding out what the Way are up to in this region, or indeed if they have just passed though.
Anton shoulders his bow and heads back to the horses.
It'll be a long walk, you are welcome to share my mount if you'd like.
Dantrian's eyes dart over to Anton as the Desnan whispers to B'yelka, and the alchemist gives a tired, slight shake of his head before turning his attention back to the potion in hand and the coins Mosswick recovered from the wormweaver's den.
"So you won't show us your face, and it's really only your word that Petros knew you. Or that you have fought against the Way." He glances at the others. "You ok with that?"
Janos shrugs. "Yeah, sure you can come with us to the Lodge."
Drosil looks to the others, then back to Ashan, and nods. "You're right - it's not likely that there's any proof you could offer that will make me believe you beyond any doubt. However, if you are telling the truth, your aid would, I'm sure, be invaluable." He sighs, then responds to Janos' question. "I think we need to take the chance. He can prove himself to us by his actions."
Taking on an Imperious air, B'yelka states, "If you have been trying to catch up to us then you must be aware of the challenges and the forces we have overcome. If you are a betrayer, know that we will find you out through guile and destroy you by might." She smiles, a most charming, welcoming smile and adds, "Now that the unpleasant warnings have been issued, we can be on our way. Tell me, please, what exactly have you heard about us!" The Diva doesn't bother to hide the fact that she would love to hear about her own reputation.
"His daughter could vouch for me, though that takes you in... the opposite direction." Ashan contemplates the nearby horses as he speaks, then motioning to Anton he adds, "I accept your offer."
After accepting Anton's offer, Ashan regards B'yelka with a silent stare. His head inclines subtly to the side, and his answer to her question has a hint of amusement to it. "It is impolite to speak of others' pasts." Folding his hands, Ashan looks toward the road and the horses. "I know of your struggle well enough, of some things that have transpired, but certainly not all. I have been... in the dark for some time."
Gesturing with one hand at some ephemeral point in the air as he speaks, Ashan makes meandering progress toward the horses. "My predicament you rescued me from was... coincidental, and fortunately so. I was not in these woods in search of you, but rather making preparations for our eventual convergence." Ashan looks over his shoulder at the tower, the lower half of his mask hidden by a fringe of black feathers from his mantle. "Unfortunately, this place is not as I remember." He turns back to B'yelka, "Its treasures long since looted..." and his tone takes a resentful edge. "As so much of this world has been looted," and then quietly, regretfully, "El arla'din sahlin."
______
Our home is not in this moment
"It is the passage of time. As My home has fallen from Aroden, away from his Inheritor even, into the bosom of Asmodeus, everything changes." She wonders at his hissing tone, however, Does he think something out here belonged to him? How odd.
B'yelka let's the comment about rudeness slide for a while, but it keeps coming back up into her mind. There was a tutor that explained the purpose of song and myth as it related to civilization. Who told me that? Sometimes I think I should have studied harder. Her eyes turn to Mr Almaeus, I know he would have agreed! She rides along in silence and then asks Ashan directly, "How is it rude to speak of other's exploits? How do you tell a history if not by repeating the story? And how can you have a people if they do not have a shared past?"
You're both as bad as Dantrian. Anton jests. Of course the world changes but despite everything we have faced, it remains a beautiful, majestic place. I greatly envy the long lives of the elves and the opportunity they would have to see even half of the Inner Sea Region, let alone the rest of Golarion.
I stood on the shore of Lake Encarthan once and watched the sun rise over the water. It took my breath away. Imagine what it would be like to see deserts of Osirion or the snowy wastes of the Crown of the World or the raw power of the Eye of Abendigo. There is as much good and beauty in this world as there is evil and ugliness - you just need to shift your perspective. the Desnan replies.
B'yelka's musings keep Ashan's attention fast; her account of Cheliax's fall keeps the mask elf's focus like a candle would a moth. The addition of Anton's perspective, however, gives him something new to settle on—something more immediate. "Much of this world lacks the beauty it once held. I regret never having been able to see the pastoral fields of the Athorial Vale before they were gone, or the mist-shrouded peaks of western Bakarakhan. Every day the world loses some of its luster," he eyes the crumbling tower one last time before coming to stand near the horses, uncertain which belongs to Anton.
"Do not envy the long lived, though," Ashan opines sadly, "Even the Tanglebriar was once beautiful. If you see long enough, you bear witness to the death of everything you loved. The world never moves as slowly as you'd like, and eventually..." he looks down to the ground for a moment, then back up to Anton. "Even the stars fall from the sky; Va suledin nadas"
_________________
Now we must endure.