As Mel asks him about his abilities, Túrion takes a minute to ponder, as Fyrtor is faster to answer.
"Your question is an interesting one I never really pondered. I spent a lot of time in the woodlands, and with the pack of wolves that bonded with me. They don't wonder what you do, they just work around it as good as they can. I suppose I adapted to them, then, in thinking and tactics."
Calling Nel to his side, he continues:"As you saw, after Kazador cracked the armor on that centipede, she is swift, strong, and brave. They all are. Smart, too. As a consequence, I specialised my magic in ways that afford me some control over the battlefield, or debilitate enemies. I can also be...persuasive, compel people into a certain course of action. A gift of my ancestry. I did mention it before, but my magic is somewhat flexible. Unlike Wizards, I can cast spells multiple times without them vanishing from my mind, and unlike Sorcerers, I can alter the spells I am able to cast at a moments notice. The cost for that adaptability is that they are more complicated to weave, and demand more power to be brought into existance. So my more specialised brethren could cast stronger spells, or more of them - but honestly, I prefer the way I do things."
He points out one of his spellbooks:"That, of course, also translates into being able to use spells that suddenly seem very important, or more convenient, at a moments notice - such as the spell I proposed to cast while we rest. If I have power left after a day, I can make use of it, rather than let it go to waste. You also may have noticed, when I looked over the items you found, that casting aside I am quite well-versed with all things magic, be they practical or theoretical. In fact, I spent a lot of my life learning. I think there is no book in my hometown I haven't read at least once. I am not an expert on a lot of topics, but there's probably few subjects I couldn't offer some useful input for."
Falling in line behind Mel, when the path towards the cliff face grows more narrow, he finishes:"Finally, I am used to living outdoors for extended periods of time. I daresay I could survive as long as needed in a wilderness, on my own - and I learned how to work with animals as well."
_________________________________________________
Túrion has a bedroll, but would gladly offer it to Mel, as thanks for her taking care of Nelly. It would not be the first time he slept sitting on the floor, his back leaning against the belly of his large companion.
"Kazador, is there anything you can tell us about your home? Anythings at all might be useful, and help us decide on our daily spells. For example, I am fond of a spell that creates a nondimensional pit, but for the magic to unfold, it needs a sufficiently large area - in narrow tunnels, it would be of little use. Same with the openness - long wide streets offer a different situation than a place full of nooks and crannies. I understand you may not be able to remember such details about the places we need to go, but if you have a general idea of what to expect, now is the time to let us now-"
There are a wide range of passage sizes on tge way to the vaults. In addition, some magical and mechanical defenses may still be in place. Some if tge bridges over wider chasms may have been damaged in the battle and no one has been there to repair them.
”Mel, see to my wounds if ye please. Now...I can get us to the vaults. There are a wide range of passage sizes on the way to the vaults. In addition, some magical and mechanical defenses may still be in place. Some of the bridges over wider chasms may have been damaged in the battle and nay anyone has been there to repair them. So caution, aye?”
"Kelian," Mel says in a low voice to him, "I noticed you recovered quite quickly from those fights yesterday. That's wonderful, but I'm puzzled by it."
---
"Agreed, cautious is the way to go about it," Mel says. "Let's eat quickly and go. The sooner we can get this done, the better."
Muse's anytool functions as a cot. Gods, I love this thing, the captain thinks, stretching the canvas of his elevated camp bed above the hard stone. He sleeps in his mithril breastplate.
In the morning, Muse channels Omit long enough to cast false life on himself - , which locks in his arcane spells as longarm, false life, and fly.
After Turion finishes describing his abilities Fyrtor laughs and says, "truely? I think you may be more of a druid than I."
Kelian looks at Mel with a small smile. ”Yeah… I think something’s happening with me… Something good, I hope. When I get wounded, I can put my hand on the wound really quick and it gets much, much better. It’s quicker than a heartbeat.” He shrugs. ”I don’t really know what’s going on but it seems good to me!”
The group heads out from the watchtower to begin their descent into Kazad Gravr. Kazador leads them along a rock face until they come to an opening that would be almost impossible to spot without knowing it was there. The opening widens out inside to form a tunnel twenty feet across and twenty feet high with smooth worked stone forming the walls and floor. It is completely dark inside.
You know there were traps in Kazad Gravr as part of the defenses. But they weren’t expected to defend the city by themselves. They either served as alarms at certain points or additional defenses at key defensive locations.
A partially decomposed dwarven corpse lies about 40 feet down the passage.
Orcish footprints lead in and out of this opening.
”Home.” Kazador said sadly. Memories washed over him. People, voices, smells and sounds. It was all so clear. All so vivid. All painfully gone.
”I know where most of the traps are. Mostly alarms but at key defensive points they bolstered. Let’s...let’s get this done with.”
Algric walked next to Kazador, his face grim. Where Kazador was struck by melancholy, Algric was filled with a simmering rage. Kazador hadn’t been present in the last of the fighting, the Rune Wardens has fallen before that. Algric remembered the desperate last stands as the retreat was made. He remembered the screams of the innocents and the atrocities done by the attackers. His hand gripped his bow with white knuckles.
"Do lead the way.", Túrion followed the Dwarves, taking a moment to enhance his awareness about his surroundings.
Mel halts before the entrance. She looks down, mostly trying to delay the inevitable.
"Uh, can someone make some light?" she asks. "I know Kazador and Algric can see in the dark, but the rest of us cannot."
At least it's ... large, she thinks.
"Gladly, lig." Fyrtor says and his buckler begins to glow. Then he steps next to Mel, "May I?" He then draws one of her arrows from her quiver and causes it to glow as his shield. "In case we need to see something further away," he explains. "The light should last for an hour. Is there anyone else who would like to have an object glow?" After casting the spell again for anyone who desires he notices there is a corpse. Fyrtor then makes a sign against evil and draws his sword, "poor souls... we'd best be ready for anything." Then he chants a bit to himself under his breath.
"Thank you, Fyrtor," Mel says, noting that the arrow he had selected was one her set of silver-tipped arrows.
She comes to join Kazador and Algric by the body of their fallen kinsman. "Do you want to give a proper burial?" Mel asks. "It would be fitting. But perhaps it would be wiser to simply say a few words and secure the area -- and the relics -- first. And ... we don't know how many more we may find within."
Kazador looked at the corpse for a long moment.
”
Magrim guide you, brother”
”We move. Burials are for the living, not the dead. His soul is with Magrim, and we will honor him by making his sacrifice worthwhile.” While he did his best to remain stoic, the pain was evident in his voice. He wondered how many kinsmen he would see within this tomb.
Algric shook his head. He started to say something, changed his mind, and followed his thane deeper into the hold.
"I fear it may not be the last...painful as that may be, it is likely the whole city is now a grave. Rather than lay each of them to rest, it may be easier to dedicate the whole place as a necropolis, then seal the entrance so that they may be undisturbed...after our task here is done."
Fyrtor kept to the back of the others, also calling light into being on a small piece of cloth bound around the foreleg of his Wolf Companion.
As they walk into the dwarven clanhold, Mel falls into step by Fyrtor and Túrion.
"Listen, this may not be the best time. But there's never really a good time, is there? Anyway ... you're both recent additions to the group. I want you both to know that although I go by Mel Elden these days, it's not my birth name." She undoes her scarf, tucking it into her belt pouch.
"My name is Melira Elenariel. I was born and raised in the Concordat, in a somewhat rural town called Lywelas. I moved to Brookside to conduct a ten year long field study on folklore and life outcomes in a multi-ethnic village. It was supposed to be the basis for my doctorate in anthropology. My advisor, Galedir Limben, insisted that I disguise myself during my research so as not to unduly influence the behavior of the people I was studying. Then the orcs attacked Brookside, my entire life got upended, and I found myself on the wrong side of the Council."
She pauses a moment, then rushes on before they can get a word in edgewise. "Anyway ... I just thought you should both know. Since we're fighting my stupid government. Better to get it out up front and avoid any misunderstandings later."
"It's ok, Mel...er, Melira, where a person comes from is far less important than how they live their life." after a pause during which the group continues walking he goes on, "Melira, I don't mean to offend you or anything, but you seem troubled by your actions... from what I've heard you have only acted honorably, but if you're still bothered by what has happened I have a book that you might enjoy reading when you have a chance. It's called the Brith of Light and Truth. It has given me comfort when I have struggled. I don't know your goddess Ostara, but the Dawnflower is a kind mistress to those who seek healing and redemption."
Túrion smiles at Melira, not seeming particulary surprised, rushing after her when she tries to head onwards: "I did realize your nature, and not being from Avinoax left only few options. These others trust you, I saw you heal them, and you took care of Nelly - there was no reason to press the issue to find out why you were fighting against your people. There are many reasons one might find themselves opposing the ruling body of their home nation...Gael was a criminal, but what I am doing - lets say I am pushing boundaries by poking around for more answers, and I doubt the Elders would go to war for the sake of truths I hope to uncover, rather branding me a rogue agent, a criminal and hoping for fragile peace by offering my head. But you will hopefully forgive me for asking: What is your reason to keep fighting? Your field study was disrupted, your life upended...others might have tried to find passage back, hand in their paper and continue with their lives. Obviously, you made a different choice. I would like to understand why."
Mel chuckles a bit at Fyrtor's offer. "That's kind of you, Fyrtor," she says. "I'm well aware of Sarenrae and her teachings, and I hold her in respect, as I do all the benevolent deities. But I reserve my worship for Ostara -- who, I'll grant, is not very well known. She's an empyreal lord, rather than a full deity. I do not think her teachings have ever been codified in a book like Sarenrae's. I learned them from my mother, Ariala. Ostara is the Lady of Spring. She values community and renewal, and she loves flowers; especially those that appear early in the season. Her holy symbol is a snowbell, a flower that pokes its head out of snow to begin blooming before the frost has even let go of the earth. Fresh beauty emerging from adversity -- that's Ostara. Although they have somewhat different priorities, I believe Ostara and Sarenrae are largely in agreement on basic principles."
"And as to your question, Túrion," she turns more serious. "Ostara holds community sacred. And Brookside is a fascinating one: humans and halflings and dwarves and ratfolk and gillmen all living together, peacefully. I was not there for very long, really, but in the time I did spend there I grew to know and admire the people of Brookside. It made me sick to see that come under attack."
Her voice trembles with rage as she goes on. "And then to discover that my own people were responsible for it ...! It's a prime example of elvenkind's single worst trait -- our tendency to arrogance. To assume that we are somehow better and more valuable than other races, simply because we are blessed with long lifespans and deep history. I could not let that stand. And so I helped capture their agent, Elrin Weh. Frankly, I wanted to execute him on the spot for what he'd done. But instead Vors Falchen talked me into turning him over to the authorities in Helm for trial."
She looks down. "He was right, of course. And by that time, I was committed. A traitor to my people. I doubt I'll ever be able to go home." She finishes in a low voice. "But I'd far rather be an exile and a traitor to my people than complicit in unprovoked attacks on villages full of innocent people."
The group walks past the fallen dwarf, determined to honor him with their actions. They walk for a few minutes down the passageway when it comes to a bend.
You hear a slight, soft muttering coming from around the corner. It sounds like it could be voices some distance down the next passage.
Mel holds up a hand. "Hush. I hear something ahead. Wait here."
She pulls out the Potion of Darkvision she purchased in Helm and tosses it back; then she moves silently forward to see what lies ahead, moving slowly and peering cautiously around the corner.
On his side of the corner, Captain Muse keeps his dancing lights well away from the bend, so as to not give Mel away.
"You know, there is more than one country that considers itself an ancestral home of our people...if you so wish, after all of this is over, you could certainly come home to one Elven Nation. At least if we win."
There was more to say, more to talk, but right then, Mel told them to keep still, and Túrion indicated so to Nelly.
The large wolf almost instantly laid down, covering the ribbon on it's paw with the second paw and her muzzle, effectively turning the light off. Simultaneously, Nelly started sniffing the air, for any hint of what might be the reason for the furless ones tension.
About fifty feet down the hall, Mel notes four orcs standing outside a room, muttering to each other in low tones. They appear to form a loose guard. You spot their characteristic greataxes, though these orcs look better equipped than those that broke on Brookside.
Mel returns to the party, treading softly. [smaller]"Orcs, four of them, about 50 feet down the hall. Armed with greataxes -- probably magical ones."
”Fookers. Murdering...let’s get them. Kill the damn beasts.”
"Wait!" Fyrtor then motions backward to the group. "Mel, were there any others? Kazador I know you are ready for vengeance, but if we aren't careful they might call reinforcements. I doubt there are only four orcs. Is there any way we could get close without them noticing, or get a better view? Is there another passage?"
“I have an invisibility spell that could be of use - if I’m casting it I should do so before that darkvision draught wears out.”
"I only saw four, but they look like they're guarding something -- or some one. There could be more. I ... could go look, if need be. Invisibility would be most welcome in that case."
"Don't be gone too long, if you aren't back soon we'll have to assume you are in trouble."
"We'll deal with them after Mel comes back. Sneaking by would means enemies in our front and back if we raise some alarm later. Better to have them come from one side, only.", Túrion assures the Dwarves that they will get their revenge.
Mel peeks back around the corner, moving quietly in the shadows as the orcs cannot see her. She sees that three of them are dressed similarly while one is dressed differently.
The one dressed differently is clearly the leader.
The leader is, specifically, a commander of a 20 within a larger army. This is apparent from his insignia.
"All right. Brolin, make me invisible. I'll be back soon. Don't get caught by surprise while I'm away!"
Mel studies the four of them a bit more closely, identifying one as the leader. Although she knows they can't see her, she feels nervous anyway. She knows she ought to know the insignia the leader is wearing, but she can't quite bring it to mind.
”They’re orcs. They fight each other all the time. So long as we don’t leave survivors a few corpses here and there probably won’t alert the rest.”
Mel reaches for her ability to comprehend languages, and listens to them.
"Once Mel returns, do let me try something...the Concordant would have arrived around now - and chances are the Orcs are awaiting Elves to close whatever deal they made with them...", Túrion wiggles with his Ears suggestively, a gesture that looks very graceless but does get the point he tries to make across easily.
You've had a while to think about how the Elves operated at Brookside and you think it's unlikely the orcs know they've been doing the Council's bidding.
The orcs converse for a while about past raids and which of their clansmen are likely to win should they be paired against each other in the frequent hand to hand brawls.
After a minute of listening to the grisly details of the tribe's last raid on a village of innocents, Mel returns to the group.
"I don't think that'll work," Mel says. "The council doesn't reveal its hand if it doesn't have to. These orcs may not know the Concordat had anything to do with the attack here. The ones in Brookside didn't."
"Anyway, there are four of them, one leader and three grunts. They're guarding a door, so there could be more than that. I don't see any way past them without a fight. Anyone got some way to keep this quiet?"
"So what did you think the Council would have done? Storm in and slaughter everybody they encounter? That seems risky, considering they only sent one ship. I mean, they must have had a plan...but you are right, we don't have any names or passphrases or whatever else would be needed to secure their co-operation...so a fight, it is.", Túrion shrugs. "While you are invisible, do you think you could get them to clump up in a corner? Maybe throw a coin or something?"
"If it's going to be a fight I'm going to prepare myself. As Turion has said it'll be easier to do this quickly if they are close to yet other."
Steping back a bit further and with a sprig of holley in hand he chants, "die boom se vel sal my eie wees, " and all of his visible skin turns a dark brown color wrinkling subtly.
I hope this goes well. I hope Kazador and Algric can keep their heads. I hope we aren't too late. I hope... I hope... Sigh, Sarenrae watch over us.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
“I have a spell that causes supernatural silence - we could use it to stop them from alerting any other orcs in the area. But if I cast it, I won’t have time to recover from channeling Savvy and choose a different spirit before the spell wears off; there aren’t many clerical spells I can cast when I can’t hear myself speak, so I won’t be the world’s biggest help in the fight - if anyone has anything else to say, or spells to cast, should probably do it now, while you can.”
Muse will walk a good way down the hall (so as not to be heard) take off his breastplate and cast longarm on himself, put it back on, and then wait a minute before he can re-enter Spirit Dance so he can cast silence.
The captain looks at his arms, extending past his sleeves, nearly touching the floor. He fumbles getting into his armor again, but fortunately he’s pretty flexible.
Mel is grateful that no one can see her gaping at Brolin's oddly elongated limbs.
"I doubt it," she breathes in response to Túrion's question. "But they're pretty tightly grouped already. Let's do this -- the longer we wait, the more likely we'll be discovered."
She draws her bow and moves against the wall so as not to impede anyone's progress with her invisible form.
"Once I cast my spell, we'll have to work fast before it wears off. We go in 5," Captain Muse begins the countdown.
Fyrtor catches the eyes of Kazador and nods, "Let's do this. For those lost." Then he draws his blade and prepares for the attack to begin.