"Unfortunately not with us anymore." Tobias says, a little distracted by his own torn feelings about the recent ritual and also Emerson's uncharacteristic response to the butler.
"Oh! Not dead! Just hung up his hat." He scratches the back of his head awkwardly and waits further instruction.
The reaction does not go unnoticed by Hill. As they make their way down to meet the Mayor, Emerson slides up to Gemma and whispers "Watch our for that butler. He's not just the typical pompous ass. There is something sinister about him."
Anneca likes the more assertive Emerson. In the back of her mind, she wonders if it is the dire taint of Sechim and the spell causing him to lash out. Regardless, it's refreshing to see him cut through the polite and genteel handcuffs that constantly slow the constables down. "What have you prepared?" She doesn't bother with greeting niceties. After the day she's had thus far, she isn't prepared to slog through formalities and other nonsense. Not even waiting for an answer, she slips her mind into the detection of magic auras to ferret out their origin and purposes.
Jesselle nods to Emerson.
The woman follows Anneca's lead and also calls upon her magic to detect magic. She does not focus on what is before them though and instead glaces from time to time at Creed.
She turns to their host, "A pleasure as always Mayor MacBannin I do apologize for our lateness, we have been rather busy and did our best to arrive on time."
Gemma leans back and whispers a response to Emerson. "Will do. He's given me an uneasy feeling ever sine we first met. There's something off here, but I just can't put my finger on it yet."
The amulets and reagents have magical auras to them - weeeee! The amulets have a stronger aura than the other reagents and components displayed, aside from much stronger auras upon Reed MacBannin himself.
"Quite all right, quite all right," answers the Mayor to Jesselle smoothly with a slight nod and a smile. "Yet I am afraid there is no time for tea and pastries before you must depart...ahh and this must be the esteemed Skyseer Sechim - an honor to my home, sir. Your reputation precedes you mightily."
For his part, Nevard Sechim merely acknowledges Reed MacBannin's words with politeness and grace, but is not talkative in return as he was with the constables up at the Cloudwood southern henge.
"Yes, well let us get started, shall we?" Reed smiles and starts to hand forth seven of the eight amulets he had on the table: iron amulets with specific arcane runes that have a Primordial script to them. "We shall start with the donning and consecration of the amulets, which will provide each of you your primary defense against the Curse of Cauldron Hill...and possession by malevolent spirits that would try to take you or do harm to your spirits. I shall follow that with a general blessing warding, followed by a more specific warding that helps to obscure your life forces from those of the Bleaking. Then we shall discuss the rituals you must undertake when you ascend to the top, the circles of fortified salt and blood that will protect your encampment and detour the hungry dead from your own essences."
Once the Mayor stars to talk of the protections and ward Jesselle becomes very attentive. She takes her amulet and makes sure that the item is attached securely upon her wrist.
Hearing about the origin of the ritual, Fethryth can’t help but feel sick over it. She’d only had the barest idea of what down at Cauldron Hill; it’s another reminder that while she technically has lived in Risur longer than any of the other constables, when it comes down to it she knows the least about the country she now serves.
What she does know is that, while the circumstances that created the ritual are blood-chillingly awful, what’s done is done. To use it for good creates some light in the darkness, and means the sacrifices made were not all in vain. So she participates in the ritual, and returns Pazumu’s nod to her.
After the ritual has been completed and they’re on the road again she nags the other participants to eat and drink, including making sure the Skyseer also partakes. The glimpse of his mortality she got from the ritual was frankly terrifying, making her both thankful for her lifespan and sympathetic to the poor man.
Emerson’s jab at the butler makes her snort; it’s a great insult, although the butler’s extreme reaction to it piques her interest. She makes a mental note to keep an eye on the man.
Once in the mayor’s cellar she puts on one of the amulets and waits for him to begin the blessings
Tobias keeps a rapt attention as he places the amulet over his head. Making sure he hangs on the Mayors every word and does not let a single detail slip away.
I underestimated realized just how much work he put into these defenses. He thinks, impressed with the man's wealth of knowledge on wards and protections.
"...and whatever you do, never remove your warded iron amulet from this point forward, not until you return to me here immediately upon descending from the summit. My guards along the gate and fences shall keep an eye out for you to come down from the eastern mountain trail, and Cillian shall wake me as soon as you return so that we can begin the aura readings, the purification and hallowing rituals...and any breaking of curses or possessions should it come to that. Agreed?"
Approximately an hour has gone by for the six constables and their esteemed Skyseer. In that time, each of them has been bestowed a slightly rusted but serviceable iron amulet, an individual Old Faith blessing followed by an arcane abjurative warding spell for each amulet, a counter-hex ritual for the group as well as a rather complicated veil-glamour that is meant to obscure their life forces from the hungry dead.
Cillian Creed and two other liveried servants bring down a last bit of food and drink for the group to enjoy, a brief respite even as a busy Mayor MacBannin intently focuses his dark arts' ritualistic powers upon the three kegs and three large leather pouches - revealed to respectively contain fortified goats' blood that has been ensorcelled to keep fresh from decay, and a special black salt from southern Risur's High Bayou near the town of Agate. Only after he finishes up his ritual and inspects the kegs of blood and bags of salt directly does Reed finally nod and take a deep draught of chilled water himself from a fine crystal decanter on a silver tray.
"Not bad, not bad work at all I must say." He absently pops a finger-sized meat pastry into his mouth along with a bite of fine cheese, motioning to the constables to observe the kegs and bags directly. "Now this is most important, constables, as while the amulets will protect you from the Curse and spirits seeking to possess you, the blood and salt will protect you from being accosted - and devoured - by the Bleakings' more physical incarnations. Once you ascend to the top and choose your encampment site, you will spread this salt in a continuous line circling your camp, followed by an overlay of the goats' blood along the same circle. This will overpower the senses of the dead in their search for living flesh and blood...and they shall follow that mindlessly, instead of sensing the real living just beyond the circle. The blessings and glamours should do the rest, but bright light and excessive noise could draw the ire of more, ah, more perceptive and sentient shamblers and shades, so do not assume the circle is foolproof."
The Mayor of the Nettles looks then at the constables with a bit of pity. "It will be bitterly and unnaturally cold up there at the top of Cauldron Hill, no matter the season. A fire you may need to keep yourselves warm, but make it a bonfire and it will be seen by those who hunt, so you'll have to make your camp and fire as hidden as you possibly can." Withdrawing a fine golden pocketwatch from his vest pocket and looking at its face, he nods matter-of-factly. "Leaving now and assuming just over two hours to the top with Skyseer Sechim here...hmm yes...yes you can count on dusk just past seven-thirty, so...enough time to make camp and encircle it, but only just. Any last questions?"
"Thank you Mayor MCBannin." Jesselle says with sincerity. She than asks, "I do have a question, is there anything I need to be aware of up there?"
"I only have the documented accounts of other mediums with the bleaksight," answers the Mayor with a solemn countenance, "as I have not granted access to one in my own tenure before you. With the weakening of the barrier of the Bleak Gate...well...your sensitivities may be overwhelmed up there. It is also possible that spirit energy will see you brighter and more appealing than the rest."
Reed shrugs and says with a sad-eyed smile, "I would recommend, Constable Wesmere, that you stay in my admittedly poor company and avoid this climb with the others. Yet I understand that would not be befitting a successful and decorated member of the Constabulary. Above all else, do not remove your amulet, as the assault upon your attuned senses would be...severe."
Fethryth watches the Mayor with interest, looking to see if she recognizes any of the Old Faith rituals/spells he's performing. When he's done she asks "Any advice on what to do if something goes wrong?
"Well now, I don't think I'm well-qualified to give you suitable recommendations in that arena, Constable Teldanona. Are you not one of the so-called 'Axis Island Seven' that took primacy on an infiltration and capture mission for our King? The seven which opened the gates for our loyal forces to break the rebel stronghold - thereby averting a likely Fifth Yerasol War mind you - and then went on to capture the traitorous Ethelyn Lesterman herself and bring her to justice?"
MacBannin actually chuckles and winks at Fethryth as if to confirm he knows the answers to all his rhetorical questions. "Now if base rumors are to be believed, you also had a hand in subduing one of the most powerful eladrin war champions of the age...sending him in fact empty-handed to a forced summons of our King, to be reprimanded and banished from the realm! Why with all that, what possible advice could I give to you? Clearly, you all know how to keep your wits about you and adapt to the 'shrouded mists of unknowable circumstance' as they say!"
"We sound so accomplished when you put it like that!" Tobias says with a smile and a laugh. "But we're a humble lot, and not above taking advice or criticism, our superiors make sure of that at least. Thank you for the preparations you've provided. If you believe we are ready, then I'll take you at your word, and perhaps we should be off. Better get this done quickly I suppose."
The young mans face turns grim as he considers what manner of ghoul and beast await them on the Hill, but he's ready to move out.
”Good man and well said – I’ll be waiting for you when you finish your efforts and descend down – just remember to come to me straightaway, with no detours or deviations. Good luck to you all.”
With a borrowed climbing kit from MacBannin Manor, the three small kegs of goat’s blood and bags of black salt distributed for climbing and a few ponchos that may ward off some wind and misty rain, the six constables plus their revered charge set off for the top of Cauldron Hill before dusk. Their best estimates are that sunset is around half-past seven or so, though in the constant city smog and shoreline fog that dominates Flint on so many of its days, the clear memory of a sunset is a luxury and not often seen. They head out a much-less-used but magically-lit northern gate along a spiked iron fenceline that is well-guarded, well-illuminated and well-maintained, with those guards murmuring their own variations of good luck as they pass on. A couple of bloodhounds bay in unsettled fashion in the distance as the iron gates are closed behind them with a creaky clank. Then it is off and up towards the northeast, where a single trail is marked for their climb up the final one-thousand feet or so to the top. A passing of Nettles fog laced with the hint of familiar soot and smog obscures the mansion behind them.
Though a winding trail and gradual at first, the path soon becomes broken and littered with stones and debris at places, as the path is old and clearly not meant to be constantly maintained. They stumble in places and detour along scraggy broken ground in others, with a significant delay about halfway through their ascent where they even had to affix piton and rope to help climb past a large granite boulder-hill where the old trail had become a slippery trickling mess of a stream. Whatever their views on the matter, all six constables know that they could not have made this ascent without the Bond of Forced Faith upon Nevard Sechim, the risk of carrying him atop a littler or such making the climb near impossible. As it is, Nevard is slower but quite hale and capable, commenting heartily that he was quite the traveler and spelunker in his youth, preferring to walk to the yearly great Conclaves from Flint to Slate and having traveled to many wilder parts of Risur in his prime.
At their one brief stop for rest and water, the mountain mist is thick and takes on a chill that is uncustomary for this time of year, giving slight shivers to all the constables and even those that are cloaked. It is then that Nevard surprises them all after a healthy draught of water. ”Ah! My apologies my young friends, but in all the haste and change I forgot to mention that I have done my best to prepare for us on this night of nights! In addition to my sight, I can draw upon the land and the ways of the Old Faith to aid us. I do not suspect this chill will lessen at the top, but if you take an arm or hand now, I will enact a blessing that will keep the cold from becoming dire.”
”I profess I did not know the Mayor’s concerns about concealing our encampment from these dark powers tonight, or else I would have prayed for the means to conceal our campsite utterly from view. Ah well…should it come to it, I have powers to produce flame for lighting a fire even under the most dour of circumstances…let’s see and to illuminate a foe in a fey shroud of light that cannot be easily dispelled, to weave a wall of wind that cannot be easily penetrated by items in flight, and of course to heal wounds.”
After another hour or so of climbing, the party of seven finally reach the summit of Cauldron Hill at its eastern facing. Coming out of the mists and smog just minutes earlier that seemed to make the entire trip a waste of time, the group is treated to a breathtaking and majestic view: a blue ocean horizon greets them to the north, with only the coastline obscured by fog closer in. The city sprawl seems to erupt all around them to the north and south, with the distant farmlands between the Cloudwood and the coastline showing to the east, and the greenish haze of the bayou swamps dominating the west across the Flint Bay.
The air is crisp and unseasonably cold, but utterly clear and devoid of pollution. This is in stark contrast to Parity Lake well below them to their north, as a nasty grey smear covers most of that district and its ill-named watery namesake. To the south the upscale Central District is much clearer and brighter, as if its wealth and power could partially dispel the smog and soot that enshrouds the city so much of the time. Immediately below them should be the haphazard sprawls and shanties of the Nettles, but the heavy mists surrounding Cauldron Hill just below them make nearly all of the foothills obscured from their view.
The summit of Cauldron Hill is weathered and exposed granite, a mix of rocky patches and dense treecover in places, with only scattered hearty grasses and undergrowth creeping up from cracks and gaps in the rock. The peak is long, narrow, and relatively flat in two places, with its traversable slope they came up from the eastern side…but perilously steep drops of a thousand feet or more greet them on the other three sides.
Nevard, though, looks upward. He smiles as a breeze blows his robes and beard, and he nods happily towards the rest of them with a utterly clear view of the late afternoon blue sky. He asks that they make the encampment on the western hillock of the summit, for it truly seems to be slightly broader and more sheltered than the eastern slope they came up on, with a short walk across a sunken dip in the direct center of the summit. Old stone henges are easily spied atop the western summit, making the prospects for setting up a camp perimeter more obvious. Heavy undergrowth and boulders make encampments elsewhere atop the summit all but pointless.
The brilliant summer sun is drawing lower in the western sky, and the constables estimate they have less than an hour’s light to make their preparations until the sunset.
Emerson is encircling the camp with salt and blood and then reinforcing the wards with his own powers.
It's hard not to be distracted by the first clear sky Fethryth's seen in ages, but she knows she's got limited time to help prepare. She's got the sharpest pair of eyes among the constables, courtesy of her elven heritage, so she heads out to do a little scouting.
As the campsite is chosen Jesselle takes a moment to take in the breathtaking view and clean air letting it wash over her before she sets to the tasking of carefully placing the warding about the camp.
She looks to her colleagues and nods to Emmerson as they work together to reinforce the warding. She takes in the knowledge of the warding of the teleportation circle she saw before beginning the journey with the group with her. She uses that to enhance the circle taking not only her protection but that of everyone very seriously.
A shudder runs through the woman's body as she recalls her encounter with Masters' spirit back at the Mayor's.
Emerson sees the look on Jesselle's face as they work on the wardings around the camp and stops what he is doing. "Jesselle, is something bothering you?" Hill realizes the ridiculousness of the question considering where they are and adds "I mean other than this nasty business we're doing at the moment?"
Jesselle looks over to Emerson and was about to tell the man that it was nothing and she was fine but seeing his concern and the situation they find themselves in means added danger, she answers, "When we started our accent I saw one of the spirits of Flint that does not like my kind in general. Not only was it concerning she she was far from her normal haunting grounds it was that she seemed quite aware of the danger we heading into. Especially me. The spirit indicate that," and Jeseelle paused a moment to consider before she found the right way to put it, "Indicated perhaps that she believed that I would not have the best of outcomes up here."
She shrugs and says as if trying to convince herself, "Perhaps it was just a mean spirit's wishes. Lady Masters was never one of the nice ones."
"That's not very nice of her." Emerson looks down in consternation, all the while using his powers to channel a little bit of positive energy upon the blood and salt mixture. "I don't pretend to understand your abilities, in fact some of mine are still a mystery to me." He looks at his hands as they glow slightly. "But know that we all have your back, and if 'Lady Masters' shows her face around here tonight I might just have something to say to her in kind."
Gemma hates it out here. Not only is it outdoors and in nature, which is bad enough, it's cold and creepy to boot. And the clarity of the air reminds her of someplace that she can't put her finger on, working her nerves even more.
She works out a crick in her neck and checks to make sure she knows exactly where every weapon is on her person and at the ready before drawing her sabre. She tests the blade edge lightly with her thumb. Perfectly sharp.
Not that it will do me any good against spirits.
She's been watching Emerson make the circle and listening to the conversation with Jesselle. Gemma knows she may well be out of her depth up here but that won't stop her from trying to protect every last person on this forsaken hill.
"Hate to interrupt, but any insight as to what's going to work best weapons-wise up here? I know my sabre will cut through fey well enough but spirits...not so sure."
Almost as if on the point of thinking about it, Jesselle hears an almost imperceptible whispering of many murmured voices - all around her and seemingly even above and below her – though the murmuring is almost like the background of a busy tavern a block away. After a moment the voices fade…but if she concentrates hard on them she feels she may be able to hear them again. The amulet feels unusually warm for some strange reason…if she just takes the amulet off from around her neck she knows she could discern those voices and possibly obtain their secrets…
Scouting about the summit of Cauldron Hill, it actually surprises you a bit on how small in area the summit actually is. The view, however, is breathtakingly unlike anything you have seen before, and you know Nevard Sechim is in the right place. Assuming you can keep him safe and sound in order to conduct his studies and receive his visions.
On the most precipitous northern facing of the summit, right at the point where a rent in the granite stone allows for a scrubby gnarled tree to poke out past the sheer cliff face, you pause as you find what appear to be bleached-white human finger bones – dozens of small finger bones, from human children or other smaller Risuri race you do not know, placed as if they were jammed there in the crack for whatever unknown reason. Peering at this grisly find, you then spy something else over the cliff face and past the gnarled tree: a small black metal cauldron is wedged in the crack of the cliff face some thirty feet down, held in place by thick roots coming from the bottom of the tree. The black cauldron is visibly cracked on one side, but what amazes Fethryth is that the cauldron should be nothing but rusted remains by now, being exposed as it is to the elements of wind, temperature and time. It would take some doing with rope and someone foolish enough to make the climb to get it, but could be possible…
As the venerable Nevard Sechim finds a good spot to sit and peruse the heavens at what will be the center of the encampment on the summit’s western side, Tobias works briefly to set the balance of their climbing equipment and other items down, even as Emerson and Jesselle start working with the blood and salt warding. He sets his own backpack down after taking a brief drink from his waterskin…and that’s when he sees the glint of gold from inside his pack. Aside from his golden ring that he greatly values, he knows he owns nothing that would glint so – except for perhaps his attuned crystals and he doesn’t think that is what he saw in the late afternoon sun. So Tobias carefully opens the straps to his pack and peers inside…
…only to see the foot-and-a-half wand of pure gold with the sculpted aged man face, almost as if it leers up at him.
Gemma's open question on the prospects of attacking spirits is an unsettling one, and seemingly defies the logic of her martial science sensibilities from the Battalion Academy's war college. Yet after her experience with her 'shadow friend' that was tied to the Ancient Coin of Nem that she still carries...her own research in Spring at Flint Branch suggested that only an enchanted blade or bullet has any chance of working against such creatures. Dweomercrafting a blade is often only for the rich elite or famed knights, blademasters and veteran agents of the realm, though she knows there are spells that can effect an enchantment for a brief time...
Up here, we do not have to worry about Lady Masters. She was trapped on the other side of Mayor MacBannin's wards. I have heard the tales of what is up here... and with my ability I am sure that I am like a beacon of light in dark night."
She motions to one of the wards that Emerson started, "If you do it like this, it will enhances it even more." She smiles at the man, "A reason I am all for making these wards all the better."
As she gets back to the work of setting up the wards Jesselle does stop at the sound of the voices out there and she does touch the amulet to feel its warmth, but nothing else. The secrets or whatever theses spirits have are not worth the price, not up here in this place.
She turns to Gemma, "Spirits, ones that can manifest are usually only affected but weapons of a magic nature, including magic itself. I have learned a technique where I can channel my own gifts to empower my weapons."
After a pause to make sure that she made the correct placement of items she continues, "If there any physical beings of undeath they have different things that affect them. But if we remain within the wards we should be safe from spirits... and as long as we do not draw too much attention," She does actually look to the Elder Skyseerer as she has no idea what he is planning, "We should be safe."
It takes Fethryth about two seconds to decide she’s not going after the cauldron. Risking her life during the most important mission of her career? A ridiculous idea. She turns around and heads back to the camp.
”Charming place” she walks over to the rest of the group, stopping just outside the boundary Jesselle and Emerson are working on. ”I found a bunch of bones wedged in a stone back there. If anyone’s feeling suicidal there’s also a cauldron you can rappel down to; totally worth it to figure out why it’s not rusty” she says with more than a hint of sarcasm.
Her demeanor softens as she turns to Nevard ”How are you doing Sir? Do you need help with anything?”
Gemma looks to Jesselle with a smirk. "So what you're saying is that we're mostly safe but I'm pretty much useless." She hangs her head a little and then looks to both Jesselle and Emerson. "Do either of you lovely constables have anything on hand that might actually help me to defend your backsides? It's bad enough being up here, but being up here with no way to do anything is relatively pointless, wouldn't you say?"
"No my dear," answers the Skyseer with an exuberant smile, "though as you have undertaken so much to help me get here, I should think you can call me Nevard."
He pats the stone ground next to where he is seated. "You realize, my dear, that I will not be the only skyseer able to read the heavens, its signs and portents. Have you thought about your own preparations for what may be unveiled to you tonight? While you have the youth and means to travel the wilds of Lanjyr that I no longer possess, I believe this summit will have unique aspects for a foretelling."
"Alright....you've all seen me turn this in twice now....right?" Tobias says, somewhat shaken but mostly incredulous as he pulls the wand from his pack and holds it up for the rest to see.
"Just this morning I turned it in! You were all there, right? I didn't just dream this?" Part of him knows that it's not a major concern right now, but he's never been stalked by a magical item before and isn't really sure what to make of it. Knowing he should be helping the rest set up camp, Tobias decides to take his mind off of the wand by helping disguise the camp and then assisting in reinforcing the wards further, if it's at all possible to add to Emerson and Jeselle's success.
"No Tobias. I think you may have stolen that item. When this is all over I think one of us is going to have to take you in." Emerson can't keep a straight face at the end of his sentence at the absudity of the wand constantly appearing on Tobias. "Although, someone might need to take me in for borrowing this as well." Hill takes out the that he found on the Grifoni the night before with a mock flourish.
As he does he realizes he did not respond to Gemma’s inquiry. ”I’m pretty sure Anneca has that wand of magic weapon we requisitioned back before the Coaltongue. I’m sure she can cast it on your sabre when it’s appropriate.”
Anneca reaches down into her bandolier, past all the various alchemical grenades and bombs, to pull out the pair of wands. The wand of snowballs she recovered from the smuggler's ship seems cold to the touch despite the magical protection from the elements. "I'll get around to turning around the wand once I'm done studying it." She had, in fact, spent much of the night poring over it, trying to figure out how it worked. The main spell stored inside was simple enough to unravel and write down, but the enchantment that turned it into a device as simple to wield as a firearm remains mystifying. She stores it on the left side of the bandolier, ready to seize with her right hand, and puts the wand of magic weapon on the right. "I'll make sure that everyone gets the benefit of the spell, but it's short enough that I'll have to wait until we actually run into trouble. It should be far more effective against specters and spirits than a mere material weapon."
With their encampment established, warding preparations completed and scouting efforts made to their satisfaction, the constables and the skyseer take their places in camp just as sunset comes to the 4th day of Summer. The sun descends brilliantly, gleaming off the waters of Flint Harbor, though even its orange glow is dulled slightly by the low haze of pollution from the city towards the west. Buildings far below to the north and south cast long shadows in the streets. The darkness grows, consumes the city first, and for a moment the mountaintop of Cauldron Hill is the only thing still illuminated. Then the night claims it as well.
City lights smear in and out below the party with the fog and smog, but overhead the stars are brilliant and clear. Nevard says to them that he must study the stars for as long as possible until the early hours past midnight; only in the later morning on his way back to the Cloudwood will he sleep.
Within minutes past sunset, the air atop Cauldron Hill drops precipitously and unnaturally. While the climbing of Cauldron Hill itself lost the warmth of Flint’s sub-tropical summer that was felt clearly the night before in Pine Island and the Ayres, the air now turns to a soul-chilling winter-like freeze, with their exhaled breath all seen in the precious little dim light they have at the sheltered campfire. As the wind rises and without Skyseer Sechim’s spell to aid them, the real prospects of hypothermia become a harsh reality.
The wind fluctuates wildly, sometimes eerily still, then suddenly bursting with violent gusts that shake every scraggy tree on the mountaintop. The winds seem to moan as it picks up…until at some point it seems apparent to the constables that the moaning sounds accompany the winds. The moans slide across the summit like waves, rising and falling with the wind’s intensity. When the wailing wind ebbs and quiets, they then hear something akin to dry leaves cracking underfoot further down the slope, followed by erratic bursts of hollow, malevolent laughter.
For Jesselle Wesmere, she also now can clearly hear the faint babbling of voices – and even wailing music - all around her, though they remain largely muted, as if from a Docker’s jank several streets away through the walls of her abode.
The constables start to see shadows moving in the trees, creeping slowly upward towards the summit. Wispy white motes appear, circling and swooping lazily in the wind gusts, moving ever closer. Slowly more and more float by the group of the living…almost as if attracted by a scent, though none come close to the warding circle surrounding them. This goes on for some time…
…then the actual monsters show up.
First, something that looks like the torso of a freakish, legless man, its head a leering visage of stretched skin and unblinking large eyes, crawls hand-over-hand with surprising quickness towards the ringed encampment. It’s hard to make out the details in the dark, but it stops when it reaches the ring of blood and salt, sniffing it eagerly. It turns to follow a counter-clockwise direction around them, an eager and maddened cackling coming from the thing as if excited about an imminent meal.
Next, a crowd of nearly a dozen foot-tall feylike creatures approach from the opposite direction towards them, looking something akin to a goblin but smaller and with large ears and a more bulbous head and nose, and also devoid of any color aside from shades of black and grey, as if something out of a scribe’s charcoal drawing. They wield an assortment of knives or claws, cavorting and jumping in wild circles around each other like it’s a celebration. They too stop when they reach the ring of blood and start to follow it, gibbering to each other in some unknown foul language.
Then the wispy white motes across the summit are joined by larger drifting forms of black-shrouded forms with cowls covering horned skulls; one in particular drifts close to the warded ring of blood and starts to circle, drawing forth a farmer’s scythe that seemingly materializes into its bony hands. From the trees comes a distinct bestial growling sound, and a large Beran-type feline bounds forward, its fur also in shades of grey and black and its mane framed by a cluster of writhing black snakes. The predator starts to sniff and follow the ring of blood in a clockwise direction, crossing past the cackling crawler and the party of fey without incident.
Other creatures shamble about the peak – other vestiges of shrouded spectre-like beings, bat-winged rats who screeching rattles and unnerves the ears of the living, and more besides – many of them barely visible, like they’re pressing up against a veil trying to reach into this world. None of them cross the ring, but the constables are surrounded on all sides of the mountaintop by monsters, many of them mindlessly tracing endless circles in search of something to devour.
In all of this, Nevard Sechim remains seated and calm, focusing intently upon the stars of the nighttime heavens, but responding to the constables if they ask him a question or have anything they need of him…
__________________________________________________________
Tobias lets his mind wander from thoughts of the wand as he helps set up camp, and as the weather turns painfully cold, he's grateful for Sechim's preparations. He knows he'd be considerably worse off if not for the endure elements cast on him.
As the beasts begin to appear, Tobias quietly points to a number of areas he'd camouflaged and deftly moves among them, keeping out of sight of the abominations that roamed nearby.
The voices however are another story, the incoherent gibbering eats away at his mind and he begins to question every decision that lead him to this summit. As more voices are added to the grotesque chorus, the constable begins to sweat and is sure they're all soon to be discovered. Thankfully his discipline returns shortly after as he channels a raw confident energy into his mind and his fears trickle back for now. He looks around to see if anyone else might be in need of him to calm them.
Anneca grips the firearm and the wand tightly, ready to imbue her weapon with arcane power should one of the freakish ghosts makes it through the circle. She stands still, despite every impulse telling her to fight or run. She can't shake the feeling that this is all an elaborate plot by the Skyseer to sacrifice them to the hungry specters. She maintains her calm, however, by focusing on the task at hand and ignoring the creatures.
As the night settles in the young bard sits with the others quietly and patiently. She can admire the stars but will gain no insight like the two Skyseers.
AS the wailing begins and sends a chill through her being. She recalls a chant that her Aunt Vera had mentioned to her and sang to her often during a stormy night. She began to recite it in a low voice bringing herself to her own state of calm hoping that it brings her fellow constables the same.
As some of the larger creatures emerge from the darkness Jesselle grips her bow and notches an arrow. Those close to her can see that the weapons gain a small glint about them as if they are more... perhaps they have gained some magic about them as she spoke of earlier with Emerson and Jesselle.
Fethryth slowly responds ”In truth…..I haven’t thought much about it. I have my gift, I appreciate it and it defines me, but it has never been particularly strong. The idea that you of all people would need my help to read the heavens... it’s odd and more than a bit terrifying. But, if you think you need my gift, then I will defer to you and help as I can. Otherwise I’ll stand guard with the rest.”
Fethryth sits downs close to Nevard. She stays perfectly still, seeming to blend into the shadows around her. The wailing around her is disconcerting but she's had a lot of practice ignoring the sounds around her.
She murmurs "Assuming nothing crosses the wards, I should be gazing with you, yes?"
After warding the camp with Jesselle, Emerson goes back and sits by the fire. He unloads all of his firearms and then reloads each with Cold Iron bullets. He then takes care to put his standard rounds deep into his pack and keeps only his special ammunition at hand for possible reloads. As a precaution, he takes the borrowed Searing Light wand and his healing wand out and inserts each into special pockets sown into his vest.
His actions are slow and methodical, almost meditative in nature. Once completed, he looks up and realizes the unnatural cold. Looking around at the horrors around him he is somewhat reminded of the aftermath of combat on various islands he visited in the last Yearsol War. He leans back on a log, weapons at the ready, waiting for the night to be over.
Gemma knows she's as set and ready as she can be, given the circumstances. She feels the cold as it rolls in, but it doesn't seem to be as bone chilling as everyone's described. The voices and the creatures are another matter entirely though. She quickly pulls a pair of ear plugs from one of her inside coat pockets and stuffs them in her ears. Unfortunately, it's to no avail. Her rational mind understands the truth of it all but she can't seem to suppress the primeval fears that she can feel creeping up the back of her neck. She moves a little closer to Anneca, since Anneca really has one of the only things that can help her if fighting starts, but in doing so, she accidentally steps on a small twig. She feels it snap underneath her boot and instantly freezes in place, hoping beyond hope that it isn't noticed by the circling creatures.
Though Tobias and Gemma both show early dismay and unrest at the chaotic chorus of babbling and shrieking atop Cauldron Hill, Tobias quickly uses his mental powers to suppress being unnerved by them. Gemma is initially shaken, but soon relaxes as she allows the soft chant of Jesselle to take hold within her, bolstering her resolve and allowing her a measure of calm in the frightful place where unholy enemies literally circle around them in hunger for living blood.
There is a moment where Gemma’s snap of twigs is sensed by the snake-maned lion beast that encircles their camp, even as the cackling of the undead legless crawler increases in fevered pitch. Briefly she sees the beast’s eyes try to look past the circle to where she stands. Yet the ward holds strong and the great shady creature cannot pinpoint her location. It sniffs the air hungrily, roars once with a mighty feline roar, and then continues to follow the bloody ring that never leads to its quarry.
Above them, the night skies are filled with stars like nothing they have seen recently since brief times on the ocean when the mists had cleared. Bright stars, twinkling stars, shimmering stars, larger celestial objects which do not twinkle and must be the heavenly planets…not to mention the waxing crescent of the moon which emerges from the ’Dreamer’s dark towards the first quarter ‘Hunter’s Moon’ of Summer just a few days from now. It would be a utterly exhilarating affair if not for the moving and floating death all around them, the wailing voices and the flicker of ghostly motes that suggest the boundaries between the Waking and the Bleaking are perilously thin here.
Nevard smiles and waits until she takes her seat by his side, patting her warmly on the shoulder for emphasis before sighing. ”Sadly, the pride and hubris of humanity eroded much of what was possible there, with pride and hubris casting a shadow over enlightenment, with burecratic powermongering and overdependence of ritual forms eroding the true spirit of community. There is no ‘one way’ to be a reliable Skyseer my dear…don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. The overarching rigidity of Mallin Lorcas and the scheming duplicity of Fergus Keogh did not create the sightblind that has afflicted Skyseers since the start of the Yerasol Wars, but it certainly did not help our ways in the past score of years either. That is why I left the Conclave years ago, why some of us who still hold to the Old Ways have done our best to foster the sight in remote enclaves. I see our meeting not as mere chance coincidence, but perhaps a final sharing of ways that could ensure the future of our kind after I am gone.”
Cauldron Hill Summit Reference Map
The windy and chilled night passes into the next hour, with various ‘ghosts, ghouls and goblins’ meandering this way and that; sometimes towards the encampment or away from it, sometimes alone or in bands. The chittering excitement of the various shady fey “mites” as Nevard murmurs them to be never really ceases, though at times they lose interest in the scent of blood and start up an impromptu jig or scuffle amongst themselves, only to become excited again at “finding” the ring of blood as if starting up a hunt anew for the first time. Bat-winged large rats crawl and flop about the hilltop, but seem to mostly avoid the other fell creatures – two snapped in half by the snake-maned lion beast seems to show they at least are real enough, with other creatures rushing in to feed upon the meager remains.
The faded horned-skull apparitions drifting about are perhaps the most dreadful concern for the encircled constables, with one hovering close by with its dark scythe acting like some herald of doom waiting for the wards to fail. Clearly they do not however, for the cackling crawler “ghoul” and the shaded lion with its snaky mane continue to “track” the blood in its endless circle, eager to find its quarry that will never be found. The great beast seems formidable with a dark muscled frame and its powerful teeth and claws; the cackling crawler has oddities in its movement that are deceptively and freakishly fast, with no telling what other powers it may have in store for living prey that it comes across. The hillside is covered in shady mites, bat-winged rats and other vestiges of death, but other than a pack of ghouls shambling atop the eastern side of the summit there are not newer threats that come close to their ringed campsite.
Occasionally and aside from Fethryth and Nevard talking low amongst themselves in tracking the heavens, a constable starts to drift into an unnatural drowsiness in the evening watch, despite the babbling of voices and the threat of death circling around them. Jesselle maintains the chant despite getting sleepy at times, while Tobias and Anneca fight off the drowsiness and use mental counting measures to keep wary and alert.
Gemma swears she hears eerie horns above the din of cacophonous windy wails…almost as if she hears the horns of the Unseen Court’s Great Hunt coming towards them, even though she knows the legends say it should only occur by the light of the Lover’s (full) Moon, which is not even close to quarter yet. Emerson despite his bravado of bullets and wands, spots on the eastern side of the hill what he believes to be an impossible oddity – the constables clearly camped opposite them on the other side, in what seems a mirror image of their own encampment.
The night continues on…
The night progresses past evening towards the deeper gloom of night. Each constables stretches, watches, checks their weapons and otherwise does what they can to keep ready and alert from the onslaught that swirls around them atop Cauldron Hill. Surely without the protections against the biting cold they would be in dire straits indeed. As it is, they work hard to fight the howling winds, the maddening voices, the glimpses of things that may or may not be real atop the summit. Yet with Jesselle’s chanting and the steady presence of Skyseer Sechim steadfastly viewing the heavens and pointing out occasional signs and portents to Fethryth, the guarding constables seem to be holding on well enough to endure without incident.
Then, just as the wind seems to subside for a moment and the chattering of insane babbling lessens, the constables all sense a coming dread, like a pressure upon their skin that weighs them down. Suddenly, a ghostly apparition appears before them all in the center of their encampment: a wispy velvet crimson curtain hovers in the air before them all, looking completely solid but glowing as if illuminated by a lantern that doesn’t exist. The curtain sways softly, and there seems to be figures on the other side, whispering and just beyond reach…
…and then the bloody and impaled form of Nilasa hume, still in the dress she died in, steps out of the curtain to stand before them, seeming as real as when they recovered her body over three days ago. Jesselle abruptly cuts off her chant and stifles a cry at the apparition so close to them all. The now-dead Nilasa puts a hushing finger to her lips, then points out into the night gloom and says, ”Shhhh…the man who murdered me is coming. His face is scarred, so he hides behind many faces now.”. Then she raises a featureless black mask to her face. When she puts it on the rest of her fades away, as does the red curtain. Then the mask distorts and fades into the shadows. The air is suddenly thick with the stench of burnt engine grease…
Emerson, Fethryth, Jesselle and Tobias all jolt with a snap, and Nevard sags for a moment where he sits. He looks quickly from the center of their camp to the sky, giving a sudden murmur of confirmation. He points up at a red celestial object that shimmers but does not twinkle.
”Jiese. The plane of fire, is brighter tonight than usual. Its light reflects off the lake…off of Parity Lake. You saw it, didn’t you?”
Jesselle meekly replies in but a whisper before she relizes that her answer barely croaked out of her dry throat. She takes a sip from her waterskin and attempts to not jump at every close sound.
"Yes... yes, I saw it... Heward's place burned to the ground." She considers the matter before looking to both of the Skyseers, "Is that what is? Or what is going to be?"
Jessele turns quickly at some chittering beyond the protections her bow fully drawn but catches herself before releasing the empowered weapon into the small creatures before her.
She turns back to the others... and tries to focus. She sips from her waterskin again before she starts up her low chanting, starting from the beginning as she focuses on each and every word carefully.
His espionage training had thankfully included any number of techniques to handle missions like this. Mental practices to keep alert and awake despite long demanding hours in otherwise uninteresting places, but obviously this was different. Every new creature that stumbled passed made Tobias question all that he knew about the world, but he maintained composure after his initial fright and made sure to stay alert.
Not until ten o'clock did anything seem to really bother his companions, but as the ghost of Nilasa appears, Tobias can feel the blood drain from his face and he stares with a morbid curiosity. As Jesselle confirms that she saw the same vision, Tobias lays a hand on he shoulder, using his psychic energy to calm her.
"I'm curious about that as well. If it's something we can prevent, I'd like to. Heward doesn't deserve this." Quietly he makes his way toward Feth and Gemma as well, helping the other two also calm their nerves while he waits for Nevards response.
Emrson just nods, completely at a loss for words. Aside from his companions he cannot determine what is real or imaginary, so he anxiously waits for dawn to return.
The fear of what these things are circling their camp and what they might do is enough to keep Gemma awake and alert. But if that weren't enough, every time she thinks she hears the Horns of the Hunt or sees the fey mites doing their jig, the fear is replaced by the desire to cut them all to shreds. She is contemplating yet another way to kill one of the mites when the horrid form of Nilasa appears, startling her just as much as the others.
Her heart would break at the sight of the young woman's bloody ghost if it weren't for where they are. Instead, her attention is drawn to where Nilasa points out into the darkness. Gemma tries to focus her sight as hard as she can to see if she can catch a first glimpse of who Nilasa is talking about.
She barely hears what Jesselle and Tobias say but catches something about Heward. She leans slightly closer to Anneca without breaking her stare out into the darkness and whispers. "What are they talking about? What about Heward?"
”The bridge between the old and the new, ensuring the future of our kind..” Fethryth muses on Nevard’s words for a moment before letting out a snort. ”No pressure there eh?”
As the vision clears from her mind Fethryth goes into a panic. ’What do we do?? I don’t know what to do!” She hyperventilates until Tobias’s spell brings her back down to earth.
”Thanks Utegg” she croaks out, taking deep breaths to steady herself. While the other constables talk she thinks, one hand reaching out to squeeze Nevard’s as she does so.
”It’s not set in stone” she starts out by responding to Jesselle’s question. ”It’s what will be, without our intervention”. Seeing the confused look on Gemma’s face she adds ”We saw back to Parity Lake. Two factories burning down with the dawn, one of them Heward’s.”
”So, obviously we’re not in the best neighborhood” she says, gesturing at the surrounding beasts. ”And, from what Nilasa said, we’re likely about to have even worse company. But we can’t stay until dawn...well at least I refuse to stay until then. Dawn will see those factories burning to the ground, the people inside dying horrible deaths, and I will not sit here without trying to help, even if it means some shade lion gnaws my ass off before I get two steps back down.”
Emerson pulls out the Wand of Searing Light so that is always at the ready. "Nevard. If the 'man' that killed Nilasa is actually coming for us, he may bring some of these other nasties with him. Would you be able to cast your wind wall to keep the small flying ones at bay?"
"I...I know in my bones that I have not seen what I came to behold here in my last foretelling," answers Nevard heavily with a calm composure still intact. "I too suffer from seeing my adopted granddaughter in this stark manner...and I would not forsake my beloved nephew, the last of my bloodline left after I am gone, left to that terrible fiery fate, and all those beside him. But if I leave now...no I cannot my young friends - I must stay long enough to see what I came to see, or else I know that many more will suffer an even worse fate, when I still have a chance to see where and how, and offer a hope of life."
"Will you stay with me a while longer? At least past the midnight hour? I promise you that once I have seen enough here in the waking state, we will leave this accursed place. Somehow I know there is time yet to save my nephew, that this is not a choice between that and what I came for, though I cannot tell you why I know this."
To Emerson he nods and smiles weakly. "Yes my young friend, I will use all my powers to aid us, should it come to it. For all that you have done to bring me here, I will do what you ask."
"Right, we came up here for a reason, and so far all we've done is scare ourselves s##!less." Tobias says with a nod to Nevard. "I at least will stay here with the Skyseer until he's seen what he needs to. I know we have a lot riding on this, and I want to protect Heward too, but I think we need to commit."
"Alright. If there's more to see we definitely can't leave yet" Fethryth concedes. "I'll get back to stargazing, but if more nasties show up snap me out of it."