Qot crossed both his arms behind his back and, serene, turned his head down. The shadow wings were still flapping, but in a sad, monotone rhythm; internally, he was praying to Erastil, trying to find his balance and forgiveness. Yet, he was also praying for the souls in front of him.
The giantess nods, a new light of purpose in her eyes. "I've still a favor among the giants, I'll have them move to face Jol's threats for a few weeks; fend away trolls and orcs... and I have wealth to offer them, in my hands and my gold." Zoarth steps forward. "And my own gold. I had my own part to play... my own sins to repent." He turns to Haldern and nods. "Heroes such as you deserve no less." He gestures. "Please, stay for a few days; I have work to do for you."
The passage of three days eventually finds you all ready leave. The castle, restored to its high place in the sky, is augmented by a small sky platform summoned by Zoarth to carry you to the ground. The giant and giantess stand together, renewed and close. Zoarth has shed his cat hair-strewn robe for a cloth and silk tunic of a simpler design. Verakas stands unarmored and unarmed, her frame finally free of battle-tenseness. Zoarth steps forward, and presents you with a hefty tome. "The Book of the Titan, as per our agreement. The reader shall know a little of the hardiness of giants. And, here." He presents you all a pouch of gold, and an item.
"For you, Lady Kenjakana; a belt of hardiness. May it keep you alive."
"For you, keen-eyed Qot; something far more discreet. May it see you past evil eyes."
"Brave Bladud; a trinket rather suited to you. I thought I would hold it forever. May it grant you yet more insight into your patron's mystery."
He turns to the paladin, and bows his head. "And for you, noble paladin..." Verakas steps forwards. "In pursuit of power, I studied magics for malign intentions... yet still some of it can work for holy purposes. I give you my blessing." She kisses his forehead.
[b]"Again... thank you. From both of us. May your bravery lead you to victory and righteousness."[b]
Bladud takes the pouch, then the ring. When he realizes what it does, he flips it up into the air like a coin and catches it with a grin. "Handy little bugger. Ya force a man to make tough decisions," he says with a wink.
He pockets the gifts and steps back, looking up to eye the two giants, "Like birds of a damn feather, right?"
Then he looks over at his teammates, "You lot are way tougher'n you look." He gives a half-ass salute, "Good fightin' with ya, and I ain't opposed to more of it."
"Thank you very much for that gift. It is greatly appreciated"
Jensal : "Squaaarrrrrrkkkkk Chitter Squak"
"Jensal also extends his gratitude. He says that it is rare to find people who remember his contribution :-)"
Descending to the ground, book in hand, the triumphant party find clear blue skies above and a frosty morning crackling with possibility. The city of Jol is nearest, and possibly a place to find Senna and Alleria since they left on unknown purposes.
After accepting her gift, Kenjakana bows graciously toward Zoarth and Verakas. Truth be told, compared to Sir Haldern, Qot, and Bladud, she is not sure what she did to earn her present. Nonetheless, she would rather not anyone's feelings, so the Sage Sorceress readily accepts it.
She keeps her older, weaker Belt of Mighty Constitution, tucking it safely away in her haversack. There is simply too much history between her and it over two lifetimes to ever get rid of it.
"...Would it be alright if I traveled with for you for while, Sir Haldern? I must admit that... I'm fairly aimless these days."
"I'd be pleased and honoured to have you accompany us. It is very nice to meet somebody who, while willing to do what is necessary, is also willing to reach peaceable solutions when the situation calls for it"
When the others look at Bladud, he shrugs, "I'm like a gods-damn rash. You ain't gettin' rid of me that easy." He pats his heavy coin purse, "Plus, you're the bankin-est crew I've been a part of in a loooong while."
Deciding to rest and celebrate, the group makes its way to the nearby city of Jol. Beneath a clear sky, its mildly acid-scarred roofs are significantly more welcoming. A good few voices cry out in happy recognition of the ooze-slayers. Most, however, seem busy. A great community effort to clean up the city is under way- walls are cleaned, roof tiles polished, streets de-dunged. High above an ancient melodious bell resounds on the hour, and a great fire burns at the edges of a city; the remains of a raucous feast lie around it, as servants try to dismantle the wreckage.
Haldern would help to clean up the city. Presumably being able to get to places others can't will be of some use.
He almost feels sorry for the Vampire and its spawn that made the mistake of trying to ambush him one night.
Shortly before Haldern can commence scrubbing, a group of city guards spot him and come over. The captain steps forward, the rest salute. "Haldern, sir! I bring a question, and a request. Are you yet aware of what Senna Scourgesister has done, of Alleria Hawkins? Regardless, the new ruler requests your presence in the palace-fort."
During the celebratory aftermath, the half-orc began displaying an uncanny skill. Despite no deep cunning anyneo had ever experienced so far, Bladud had a knack for always being where drinking was happening ... and never being where work was happening.
He drank. He laughed. He swapped stories. He even got into a few good-natured scraps, never allowing it to come to blood. And when the conversation switched to the conversation, he evaporated like a mist at noon.
It's from a particularly early-morning drinking session that he overhears something. He sets his mug down, grog sloshing across the table, and looks over to where a guardsman approaches Haldern.
His black eyes become much more focused than one would expect from somebody into their fifth cup of the day. "What's this, Haldern?"
He gets up as if to accompany the Iomedaean, uncaring of the fact that he smells like a boot left to soak in an ale-keg for a week.
"No, I haven't heard. Of course I'll come visit the new ruler but perhaps you'd fill me in a little. Who IS the new ruler? And what did Senna do?"
As Bladud approaches
"Bladud, its good to see you. I'm not sure what is happening. If you have a minute, perhaps you'd join us?"
"For you, Haldern, I got two."
He leaves his stein on the table as he stands up, then looks at the man sitting across the table. He gives the man a grin, "Don't drink that."
Then he lumbers after the paladin.
Upon returning to Jol, Kenjakana gets her Silken Ceremonial Armor enchanted. Her commission is probably enough to let the craftsman live comfortably for ten years. However, the Sage Sorceress honestly finds the price a steal for noticeably improving her stealth skills.
Catching Sir Haldern and Bladud heading somewhere, the reincarnated half-elf decides to give it a whirl; she starts carefully trailing behind them, hoping from different people's shadows as they go. She personally finds the whole act a bit hilarious.
"That will be revealed soon, sir."
The men form a line in front of you, an escort rather than a guard. Another number of citizenry recognize you as you head for the small hill in the northern part of town, where the king's palace lies; a tall building of dark wood and white stone, watched over by guards and hewn sigils and creatures.
A few doors eventually place you inside the main hall, the receiving hall, the king's throne obscured for the moment by a throng of people, most in rich garb but a few in scribe's garb. High above it, however, you can see the traditional Linnorm remains that gird the throne, entwined ontop of its seat above. It seems oddly familiar.
The guardsman steps forward. "Sirs Haldern and Bladud, and honoured comapion." Following him, the distance brings recognition. The linnorm's head and scales above the throne are of a Crag linnorm, freshly killed; the one downed near the giant's camp. And, as the people in front of the throne part and step aside to confer on the far edge of the hall, its occupant is revealed. Senna, her brown hair matched by a thick gold and silver circlet, her posture firm and regal, with a rich dire wolf's fur around her back and neck. Standing protectively next to her also in wolf fur, sling staff strapped to her back, the halfling Alleria. The two meet your gaze.
Recognition, joy, welcome, guilt, resolve.
Senna gestures you forward. "Friends... welcome." She turns her head. "We will have the room." After another moment of conferring, the rich men and the word-wise men depart, with the guards, leaving the room silent but for the crackling of an immense hearthfire.
The pair seem to await your response.
With a smile on his face, Haldern bows
"Your majesty. May I congratulate you on your new position? This nation is very lucky to have you as its ruler.
And Alleria, it is very good to see you again. Are you one of Her Majesty's advisors? Excellent."
He then gives up on his effort to retain his dignity, laughs out loud, and moves towards Senna, arms outstretched.
"With your permission?"
Unless they quickly object, he hugs first Senna and then Alleria.
"I see that we have much to discuss. How did this come to pass?"
Jensal also steps up and nuzzles both Senna and Alleria, assuming that they allow it.
"HOT DAMN!" Bladud barks, slapping his metal-encased thigh. "You girls back from your mysterious mission already?" He eyes their new status, "And lookin' like a pair'a highfalutin queens, no less."
He gives them a look that's somehow both friendly and accusing, "Did you march us in here just to show off?"
Senna stands and embraces Haldern, as Alleria turns her gaze and rising smile to Bladud. "Well, only one of us is a queen... And yes. Senna was worrying about how you'd discover all this, she felt a quick meeting'd be best. Good to see you."
Despite the fervent warmth of her hug, Senna's face is quite seirous when she turns. "Sir Haldern; as my friend, I feel I need to make confession before you congratulate me too much. If you would listen...?" Senna turns to the rest of you. "Seems Senna's long had a guilty conscionce for all this, if'n you aren't up to some soul-scourging, you're free to stand with me. We keep a fine barrel of ale for visitors hereabouts."
"I'm a Paladin. I'm ALWAYS up for soul-scourging" Haldern says, partly self mocking and humourous but partly deadly serious
"I'd love some fine ale while I listen to what Senna has to say."
To Senna:
"Please, go ahead"
Senna nods, tucking a lock of brown hair behind an ear. "My tale is... short. This is the Land of the Linnorm Kings. Slay a Linnom in single combat, and you have a right to rule, or to challenge the ruler. For the past few years, Jol has been ruled by a brute named Opir Eightfingers, with a poor claim; he claimed the much-decayed body of his prize was due to years of travels, though many were sceptical. Even as an outsider, when I realized, I knew I had a chance to rule. I retrieved the body of the Linnorm we slew together, and presented myself as the sole agent of its destruction. With my actions during the ooze rain, Opir's years of poor governance and what little reputation I've built up... you find me as I am now. Accepted by the common as savior, by the rich and powerful as a more promising step to enhancing their weatlh and power."
She bows her head. "Sir Haldern; I have sinned, I have lied. And I do not wish to give up my falsely-gained throne. Must I? What penitence do you deem due?"
"You had good motives for what you have done, although I suspect that, being human, the glory and power of the position also had its attractions. Your only crime was a reasonably minor venial sin, that of lying.
No, you do not have to give up your throne. I certainly have no intention of revealing the truth. Although I will not lie about it, I see no obligation to volunteer information under these circumstances.
I am not at all sure that I am the best person to assign your penitence but since you asked I will answer as best I can.
It is simple. Be the best possible ruler that you can be, work hard for your people, and try as hard as you can to make all decisions for the betterment of your people and your nation and not for your own personal gain and glory. Bring justice to this nation, help to make it a better place than you found it.
I am NOT saying that you have to sell the crown jewels, live in a hovel or open the palace to beggars. Clearly being a ruler has compensations and you are entitled to them. And some are absolutely necessary for you to function, for you to retain the respect of your people and nobles. But take care not to take more from the nation than it can easily afford, not to live in luxury while people live in abject poverty. Be the saviour that you are seen as.
Being a ruler, especially a good one, is a hard and often thankless task. You will have to make many very difficult decisions with no clearly correct answer. Do the best you can and I would call that penitence enough. Far more than enough, actually."
Senna nods, her face now eager. "Aye. I haven't come to this throne without any plans or intentions. I've been looking for somewhere to settle for awhile... and I feel I can make a great contribution here. Giant-tribes to pacify and defend against, recent raids against Chelish holdings that look possible to incite a military reaction... much I can do." She gestures. "Alleria has her own hopes and aims, as well; for the people, and for ourselves." She smiles. "The best possible ruler I can be... I'm responsible for no less." She hugs Haldern again.
Alleria nods approvingly before turning. "Well, good to have that sorted. Now, c'mon, tell me about what happened with the storm, with Zoarth?"
Bladud slouches through the back-and-forth, watching first Haldern then Senna. He'd heard some of these details, but the greater story was certainly interesting. Ruling and politics bored Bladud. A good ruler, a bad ruler, it always seemed there was someone trying to start some killing somewhere. Though I suppose it was a good thing for the local folk if Senna and Alleria could do right by them.
"Better you than me," the warrior grunts into one of the lulls. "If I were up there, no telling who would be more miserable. Me or all the other folks around here."
Bladud then launches into a retelling of the events. To hear him tell it, it was a series of brawls that ended with everyone bloody and ragged. Blades, arrows, curse words, and catch-phrases flew in abundance.
"... and then I guess that was that. The big blokes said they owed us somethin' fierce, and they'd help these folks ... and you, I guess ... rebuild from what they done."
He looks over at Haldern, "Guess all that's left is to close the page on this epic and start the next, am I right?"
"As Bladud has says, you now have some very significant Giants who, if not yet allies, are at least a far cry from enemies and who owe this town a favour. When time allows, I should take you to meet them. I strongly urge that you build on the relationship we started so that, in time, they can be calld allies and friends"
Senna nods, thinking hard. "The closest Cloud Giant Oligarch has ruled for a long time, Zoarth and Verakas might be able to provide connections there, opening them up to trade... their assistance could be priceless." She nods to herself. "We'll prepare for their arrival I think, if you reckon them coming to us, penitent. We'll welcome them." Alleria chimes in, "More than that, a few cloud giants circling our borders should warn off their lesser kin, and whatever other threats happen by... good to have strong friends in this strong land." The two confer for a moment, talking amongst themselves, then turn back to you. Senna claps. "We're neglecting guests and friends. Come, dinner is soon, and even on a day when not throwing a feast, the repast is mighty and filling."
Bladud nods solemnly, "I do try not to skip meals."
On the hill above Dalaston, the four come into view; first, their mounts. Two common riding horses and a pony with plain bridles and tired muscles, still skittish at the presence of the fourth, mighty Jensel, a great griffon flying a few feet overhead. Then the riders appear, weathered and wealthier from the five years since the Storm Queen affair. Bladud, his young face finally beginning to crack and wrinkle to reflect his old eyes. Haldern, his Iomedean symbol shining brightly as the sun reflects off of his shield and armor. Kenjaka, her light eastern complexion much darkened by years under the bright Avistan sun. The fourth and final a new companion, Damien Tarrant, who earned his place in the group with strength and bravery a short year ago. Reaching the crest of the hill, just before the sight of Dalaston comes into view, they recall what brings them there.
In a previous letter written to Haldern, Alleria mentioned that she had left Senna and settled in eastern Taldor. Last week, a Sending passed a new message; "Sorry it's been so long. Getting married to Baydon Irini Sunday; please come. Day's End Inn, Dalaston. Bring friends! -Alleria." Even through plain words, her presence, happiness and desire to see the group again rang through.
Musing on the message, the hill's summit is reached, and the town comes into view. It is day, but the sky above Dalaston is dark as a moonless night. The town is burning—plumes of smoke rise from one quarter of the walled town. Perhaps the strangest thing is the stillness. There are no farmhands in the fields, no other travelers on the road, not even any refugees fleeing from what seems to be a disaster. Dalaston burns, and its citizens remain hidden within its ash-stained walls.
Damien blinked, looking at his companions.
"How do you want to handle this? Should we charge in? I'm all for riding in. There might be people there that need help!"
"Lets get to the town as quickly as possible" Haldern yells as he and Jensal head towards the town as rapidly as possible
Mounted on rapid Jensel, Haldern is the first to gain a closer look at the town.
Closer to the town, signs of life emerge. Guards walk the walls, carrying torches to fight the gloom. The open gates reveal a few people hurrying along the street, eyes fixed on the ground. People wear strips of cloth wrapped around their lower faces, protection against the soot and smoke. The light flickering against the clouds and the rising fingers of smoke suggest that parts of the town are burning, but this damage is far from the main gate.
At the sight of the charging knight in the gloom, a cry goes up for a few moments; eventually it dies down as they spot your Iomedean insignia and as you slow your charge. Some guards still stand wary, however.
The gates of Dalaston are mostly closed. Guards peer down from the ash-stained walls, their faces hidden behind the damp cloths worn to protect against the smoke. The choking smoke blocks out all sunlight, and light comes from torches set along the walls. A brighter light flickers against the sky, its source deep within the town; combined with the columns of smoke rising up behind the walls, it makes it apparent that there are still fires raging within Dalaston.
Three stand in the gateway's arch, blocking entry. Two dwarven soldiers, halberd-armed, faces hidden behind goggles and damp cloth. They flank a young woman, not more than fifteen years old, dressed in a fine grown spoiled by soot, sweat and blood. Ash cakes her skin, and she holds a long scythe dripping with the fresh blood of the corpse prone in front of her. Four more guards with crossbows watch from the upper walls. They watch nervously as you approach, before the woman raises a hand.
"Continue on, travelers. Dalaston is no place for strangers."
One of the dwarves drags the corpse onto a cart.
"In the name of the Inheritor, what is going on here? Who are you? Explain yourselves immediately"
Is the woman wearing a Holy Symbol of any kind?
Haldern then casts Detect Evil on the woman. Yes, I know that is obvious. I don't care how overt I am being.
"And we're not exactly strangers. A friend of ours named Alleria Hawkins invited us to her wedding here," the small Half-Elf adds nonchalantly. "I believe that it was going to be this Sunday at the Day's End Inn."
Kenjakana's Common has gotten noticeably better in the years that she has traveled with Bladud and Sir Haldern. She no longer pauses to think about words, and her diction is quite refined. The Sage Sorceress also mimics the tongue's standard accent nearly perfectly too.
Bladud, looking a bit older, but in the way irascible, uncouth bastards age, sits atop his horse. His gear—even the new additions—look as beat-up and scarred as the rest of him as he sits atop Fang looking down at Dalaston.
”That’s one big-ass bonfire,” he says callously before the team charges forward.
Damien blinked, looking at his companions.
"How do you want to handle this? Should we charge in? I'm all for riding in. There might be people there that need help!"
He shakes his head at their recklessness, ”This is why I love you guys. Never boring.”
Then he kicks his own mount forward … and arrives just as the corpse is being dragged away. While Haldern does his thing, Bladud considers the town, trying to dredge up any rumors or tidbits he’s heard about it over the years.
No holy symbol; an aura of evil emanates from her. She smiles without emotion. "I am a protector of the town. Dalaston is under curfew; enter, and you may not leave until it is lifted."
[ooc]K Geography or Nobility to know about the town[ooc]
DC 10: Dalaston is a Taldan town of approximately 1,100
people, located in the foothills of the World’s Edge
Mountains.
DC 20: Nearly half of the citizens of Dalaston are
dwarves, an unusual level for Taldor. The people of Dalaston
mine iron, process ore, and provide raw materials for the
smiths of Maheto and other cities.
DC 30: Though best known for its steel, Dalaston is
also home to an excellent brewery. Blackpeak Ale and
Dragonscar Whisky are both produced in this town.
Dragonscar Whisky takes its name from a barren stretch
of blackened earth, leagues in length; this blasted land is
said to be the work of a dragon who terrorized the land
centuries ago.
Kenjaka detects sincerity, though the woman's unnatural appearances make it difficult.
Bladud grins, an ugly, scarred sight. "Small towns with excellent booze. My kinda place."
He frowns past the guards, noting the high flames. 'But what happened here?"
The woman stiffly replies, "Volcanic eruption."
Damien calmly reaches down to his belt, holding one of his Shield extracts in his hand. He is not attempting to his action, but he is moving slowly and non-threateningly.
"You claim to be a protector of this town. Under whose authority? Who ordered this curfew? And if there truly is a volcanic eruption...why are you not evacuating?"
Ever the encyclopedia, Kenjakana does share the information with her friends.
Given the tidbit about the Dragon, Kenjakana ponders if there is indeed an active volcano in the area. If not, then she further studies the scythe-wielding girl for any signs of deception.
DC 15: Dalaston is ruled by Count Saleno Dalassenos, the
scion of an old family.
DC 20: The Dalassenos family built Dalaston,
transforming it from a mining camp into a thriving
community and eventually earning a noble title from
the Taldan king. A Dalassenos has ruled the town ever
since. There are two other influential families in the
town: the Morians, a dwarf clan with strong connections
throughout the metalworking industries; and the Irinis, a
human family tied to the distillery and service businesses.
Despite their influence, neither the Morians nor the Irinis
are actually Taldan aristocracy.
The woman stares dreamily into your eyes, silent for the moment. One of the dwarf guards grunts and steps forward. "T... t'Bloodless serve our lord, Count Saleno. T'curfew's his, and legal. The... eruption... has left; only t'ashes and damage remains."
Damien can easily detect that the guard doesn't believe his own words when he states that the 'eruption' has left for good.
Damien glances over at his friend.
"He's lying about the 'eruption'. Clearly something is greatly amiss. I'm all for heading in and investigating, curfew be damned. Shall we?"
Bladud hasn't looked away from where the corpse was dragged away. "So whys that guy dead?"
The dwarf grimaces. "...he tried to break curfew. We had no choice."
"So you killed him?" he grunts incredulously, "Is that the penalty for breakin' any rules 'round here? Or just curfew?"
Shooting an unnerved glance at the woman, the dwarf simply grunts "The count has made orders. None are to leave. On... on pain of death."
A basic religious knowledge is enough to suggest that the woman is some form of undead.
Bladud dismounts, eliciting a ton of leather creaking and metal joints clanking.
"Well, we're invited into Dalaston for a wedding. And I don't know what all is going on in here, but I aint gonna let down my good friend Alleria. I'm guessing you know of Baydon? At the Day's End Inn. They in there?"
The dwarf shrugs. "The inn... head in, turn right, at the fork. Heard there was a wedding planned there, nothin' on the bride or groom."
The pale woman cocks her head to the left slightly. "Enter if you will, strangers. But you will not leave until the count wills it."
Haldern contemplates just killing the undead monstrosity. But he realizes that getting information first seems wise.
Not trusting himself to speak, he just urges Jensal to head towards the inn.