Vhaezil watches the ensuing combat with a stoic interest.
Interesting. Would appear the combatants are exhibiting the archetypes presented by Master Li-Kung-Lao in his tome on martial artistry. The Shark and The Piranha in this instance are most applicable if memory serves...
Lichen moves over to Vhaezel to watch the fight. Quietly he comments I find it strange that Zask wishes to so often prove himself martially. In the natural world creatures only fight to win the right to mate or when their lives are threatened.
Leaning against one of the post holding the porch roof up, Dolgrin calmly puffs on his pipe watching the fight.
I find it strange that Zask wishes to so often prove himself martially. In the natural world creatures only fight to win the right to mate or when their lives are threatened.
"Oft I've found those who are of a shorter stature try themselves against that which they feel provides both a challenge and that will make themselves larger in others eyes. And while that may have some root in Master Zask' motivations, I think he seeks some great challenge that will prove himself to either himself or the memory of someone from his past. Perhaps I shall ask him later, for now, more ale."
Holding up a hand, he orders another ale from the serving wench.
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Zask lands a couple of his blows, but the grizzled brawler, seems to shrug it mostly off. Withstanding Zask's barrage, he brings his own mighty meat hooks to bear.
A massive fist slams into Zask's face, followed in quick sucession by another. Fezzik lifts the dazed halfling up to eye level to headbutt him in the face.
Holding the uncoucious Zask out at arms' length he says, "Not bad. Not bad at all," before letting Zask drop back the dirt. Fezzik bends over the prone halfling to retrieve the 2 gold coins that he had been offered, before heading back to the bar.
Some money changes hands, as those who thought Zask wouldn't last even one exchange of blows, make good on their bets.
Vhaezil arches an eyebrow at Dolgrin's comments, however he resists temptation to comment on the dwarf's insight into stature...
When Zask is dropped hard, the warlock sighs quietly and moves to retrieve his pummelled companion, muttering mysteriously as he does:
"Seems Shark does indeed overcome Piranha..."
Lichen moves to attend the small man, seeing to his wounds and as covertly as possible he skips Zask a good berry so that he can walk from the field of battle under his own motion.
As Zask regains consciousness the pounding in his head resumes. He wipes some of the blood from his eyes and makes his way to his feet. Taking note of his two travel companions he pushes through to find his belongings mumbling,
"Thanks..."
as he collects them. Zask heads back into the inn. This time to find rest. A bloody half grin on his face as some of the swelling starts to set in.
Batted aside like a mere child... The master's were fools to have thought us prepared.
There will always be those more skilled in the world. I would council you to only fight when necessary. Lichen cautions as he helps Zask back to the Inn.
Vhaezil watches the halfling scrapper regain his consciousness with interest.
At Lichen's sage words he cannot help but add his own wisdom to the mix;
"Or learn manoeuvres to even the contest?"
The well read diabolist continues his exposition, offering advice in lieu of physical support provided by Lichen;
"Master Li-Kung-Lao was an acknowledged sage in the art of martial combat. Whilst I did not focus on his zen-poetic writings, I do recall that he suggested that when facing an opponent that clearly overmatches you, then targeting their genitalia, or if time allows their family members, are approved stratagems..."
Zask looks to Vhaezil while he gives his advice, blood pooling in an eye from one of the strikes.
The halfling spits out some blood,
"There is power in the world that is meant to be mastered. The fact that I could not overcome a mere tavern brawler means my path is being forged before me. I must test myself in order to understand where I stand... which is not that high it seems."
Zask laughs, the ache in his lungs overwhelming him as he begins to cough.
"You understand the power of knowledge Vhaezil. Might you know where to find what I am seeking? The power to overcome others if needed, the power to impose my will in combat if needed..."
Best also find him the wisdom to know when to fight while you are providing information. Lichen adds with a quick wink.
"Dunno about Master Li-Kung-Lao's training methods, but Sergeant Whutdruth Barreldelver always told us if you fought fair you fought at a disadvantage. With that big lummox, a fair fight has you trading blows and that was not good for you. We learned to fight against the giants by hamstringing them, bringing them down to size so to speak, also cuts down on their mobility." He says with a somewhat evil chuckle.
Vhaezil listens to the wry comments by his companions with an implacable expression on his angelic features.
When Zask appeals to him for knowledge of power, the infernal sage takes note, his eyes flashing a deeper crimson momentarily;
"Such knowledge can always be acquired Master Quickhand. Yet the question is not where it is sourced, but what its cost will be..."
Zask mulls over the words of his friends as the ache in his head, face, and body sets in. Before retiring to his room for the evening Zask looks to Vhaezil,
"There is no cost too great for the Temple's Champion, this is the burden I chose to bear."
Rhys ruefully hands over his lost gold to the gloating miner, looking askance as his companions revive the beaten Zask.
Walking over, he listens to the philosophical meanderings, "My mentor always advised not to get into scraps where you didn't have the advantage...too easy to get killed otherwise. "
He then looked at the sky, "Let's see to lodgings and get going at first light..." he suggests.
You spend the night in the modest comfort of the inn and head out for the wilds early the next morning. Following Vhaezil's directions, the party picks their way along various grown over trails. You spend the better part of three days working your way slowly into the mountains. The air is crisp and grows appreciably colder as you move unto higher elevations.
You first smell and then see, off to the side of the trail, a chaotic scene of meat, skins hanging from lines of gut, fresh and dried blood, carved plaques and wooden slabs, small animals amateurishly taxidermized, scattered tools, bones and antlers—all surrounding a large tent-like hut made from crude layers of staked, stretched hide. Human waste rots near a low stone wall downwind.
Many of the skins are adorned with names written in blood—one reading “Marybelle Walker” hangs over a large wooden plaque. The name is again half-reproduced on the plaque by the same hand that made and used the gnarled tools that lie strewn next to it and that produced the failed drafts of the same marker scattered among the desperately knotted roots of a nearby tree. Apparently, the person who made them is as terrible and tireless a woodworker as they are a taxidermist.
Zask wanders through the works trying to determine if anything has been freshly done,
"Quite the display of artistic talents here."
The halfling continues to look at the pieces looking for anything sinister .
Vhaezil takes in the grisly vista, commenting in his usual deadpan fashion;
"Indeed. We should ware, lest one of us ends up a pastiche of hide and sinew..."
The diabolist holds posiiton, his scroll in hand and eyes upon his scouting companion.
Dolgrin looks around at the decorations and quietly slips his shield over his arm. "Can't be too careful, from the looks of this place."
Staying well away from any opening he moves into the camp looking back and forth searching for the decorator.
Rhys walks through the grisly display, occasionally fingering a piece of 'leather', commenting "A great deal of passions here...if not a matching talent..."
Despite the roughness of the artistic efforts, Rhys notes what he can, to later record in his journal.
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Zask wanders through clearing to get a better look, but doesn't discern anything further upon closer investigation. The others join, but don't pick up anything unusual either. The whole camp smells, and is a bit disturbing, but doesn't appear to anything other than what it seems.
An old man steps out of the tent. His clothes are all made of animal hides and poorly tanned ones at that, based on the smell coming off him. His grey hair and beard blend together in a wild tangle, fringing his tanned and wrinkled face like a lion's mane. He waves a hand in greeting and his face splits in a smile, revealing a mouth full of stained and yellow teeth.
"Ho there strangers! Don't normally get too many visitors coming to see old Zeke. Did you get lost? Good thing you stumbled into my place then. There's mad men in these mountains, don't ya know."
The old man's eyes narrow in suspicion at the silent figures standing in his clearing and starts talking to himself. "You all real?"
He moves to poke one of you with a stick to see if you imaginary or not.
Dolgrin laughs out loud as the old man pokes him.
"Apologies, old-timer, have to admit I was expecting something different. You might say we're lost, or seeking something lost a long while ago. I ran across information that a dwarven community was located to the East somewhere in the mountains, these gents have decided to indulge my own senility and brave the wilds to seek it out."
Vhaezil eyes the wild hermit with an impassive look. He fights hard for his lip not to curl in slight disgust...
Do not bring that stick to bear on me wretch
"As Master Shieldarm states we seek a location long lost. Any knowledge you may possess on ruins or sites of interest in the mountains would be useful to us."
Lichen, more focused on the man's handiwork than the actual man finally adds Who is Marybelle Walker?
"Ah good. Thought I'd gone daffy there fer a minute. Lot's of places tucked up in these mountains. Don't know much about dwarves though."
When Lichen asks about his handiwork the old man says somberly, “A long time ago evil lived on this mountain. It was destroyed, but not before it had taken thousands of innocents—piled in mass graves, no proper rites or markers. Lost to the gods and human memory alike. No one cared— the evil was gone, and that was all that mattered to anyone. But it does matter, they were real men, real women. And they killed children too. They did things and had names! And I’ll put every name I can find on a marker. I use to make cairns, statues and such, but there were too many dead. And there are still. The bad men had a list of names in their old meeting place. I copy one hundred at a time… I’ll never finish. I am too old now, not that there was ever much hope I would to begin with. So many…. So many…” He trails off and shakes his head mournfully.
Vhaezil listens to the old hermit, and at the mention of the bad men and their meeting place his infernal eyes flare with interest;
The massacre could be the work of the Duvan'Ku... And this "meeting place" he babbles of could be their temple we seek. We must cajole the path from the wretch...
The diabolist smiles disarmingly at Zeke, speaking to him in a pleasant soft tone akin to how an adult would address a child or the suffering victim of a malaise:
"Such a sad tale... Prey-tell where is this meeting place of the evil ones you speak of wise one? Where the list of names was kept..? Can you direct us... Please..."
I have other demands on me, but I would help you with this task at least for the time we are here. Lichen offers. Where is your list?
Dolgrin softens a bit as the old timer speaks of his personal quest although he studiously ignores the fact that the names the man remembers appears to be singular these days.
"Well my da used to say many hand makes light work, perhaps we can help with your life's task."
At his companion's joint offer to assist the mad hermit Vhaezil's infernal eyes narrow and he continues to smile through gritted teeth;
Ever the charitable souls... I pray to Hell they do not mention my vocation to the old wretch...
To Vhaezil he says, "Oh it it atop that mountain over yonder." He waves vaguely in the direction that you had been travelling before you came across his clearing. "But you can't go there. It's a bad place it. It ain't safe. I only go to plant my markers and copy more names out of the deadbook, and only during the brightest part of the sunniest of days."
At the other' offer of help, "That's mighty kind of you, but I'm not sure you know what you're offering to do. There's thousands upon thousands of names in that deadbook. The good dwarf here might live to see the task's end, but that'd be about it. It's a job I do to sooth my soul. Maybe earn some favour from the Lady before my time is up."
He slaps his forehead, "Where are my manners? Like I said, don't get too many visitors my way, but that's no excuse. Can I interest you in some tea?"
Vhaezil looks in the direction that the hermit points and holds the view;
The temple beckons...
At Zeke's warning the youthful diabolist merely smiles coldly;
"Do not worry about us old man... We'll not join your list... and we care little for the suns rays on our backs... Far from it."
When he offers tea, Vhaezil shows a hand to the negative, baleful eyes still viewing the distant mountain;
"How long would it take to get there?
"Tea will be fine, what evil ones still walk the mountain old-timer, if it is still dangerous?"
With the arrival of tea, Dolgrin will hold it but wants to hear more about the mountain and the troubles ahead.
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Yes, tea please. Lichen agrees, shooting Vhaezil a "patience" look. Perhaps we can time our arrival to maximize the light of day.
The old man busies himself making some wood's tea. Lichen notes nothing unusual going into the pot. It's all pretty standard stuff.
"I don't think you're listening. You. Must. Not. Go. There. The whole place is tainted. For the love of your eternal soul stay away. Promise me that you'll not go there. The world's a big place, full of interesting oddities, so muck about in a less dangerous part of it."
He takes a sip of his tea and smacks his lips. "Mmmm. Just how I likes it. Hungry? I think I've got some dried badger parts tucked away somewhere."
Rhys makes a slow circuit of the 'memorial' , quickly sketching drafts of some of the more interesting motifs.
Tucking his journal back into his pouch, he takes the offered tea, allowing it to warm his hands first then sipping , smacking his lips in appreciation, "Indeed it is...the world, I mean. But, this is one place we must go, despite the danger....perhaps, in some way, because of the danger. " he says the last part almost to himself.
"We have some trail rations to add..." he offers.
Listening to the words of friends and strangers Zask sips a cup of tea, reminding himself of the shield on his back and the reasons he joined the civilized world once again.
"Your warning has been noted old man. Should we not return, I was also fond of badgers, could make a suitable cairn for my name."
I fear this lot is set on going up there. I best go with them to help them as well as I can. Lichen says in way of apology. And I am fine with just the wonderful tea.
Vhaezil barely contains his disgust at the notion of badger parts, but holds his countenance recognising the old man is a useful resource at this juncture;
"Do not fret for my eternal soul old man, I am long since past such concerns..."
The diabolist looks to the others before continuing;
"You say it is a tainted place. How so? Are there physical manifestations to be prudent of? What should we ware when up there?"
Dolgrin sips on his tea as the old man tries to dissuade them from going, to a place he says he's been multiple times
<sigh>
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The man abruptly steps forward and grabs Lichen's arm with one knob knuckled hand. Up close, the stench rising off his body is eye-watering. "Leave the dead be!! They must not be disturbed!! Nothing good will come from your grave robbing. You fools will doom us all!!!" The man rains a shower of spittle though a mouth full of rotten teeth, in his raving. His eyes burn with the fever of conviction, or perhaps madness.
As the benign old coot descends into a ravening loon, Vhaezil sighs quietly then moves his gloved hand to infernal focus.
As Lichen is accosted the angel faced diabolist whispers words of fell power:
"Videte verbum pusillanimes fac mihi!"
"Make the feebleminded heed my word!"
"Silence!"
If the man's intensity bother Lichen he does not show it.The dead are just dead bodies, returning now to the mud my old friend. We will show proper respect of course, and will take extra care due to your warming, but go we must. Come with us and guide us if you want to make sure we cause no harm.
Zask attention is grabbed by Vhaezil's command. He watches intently to see what will happen,
"It does not seem like there is much more to be offered here. We should head out."
Rhys raises an eyebrow at Vhaezil's uncouth action, but nonetheless also watches the loony man's reaction, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.
The old man's raving's are abruptly cut short, as Vhaezil's compulsion washes over him.
He reluctantly let's go of Lichen's arm and forks the sign of the evil eye at Vhaezil. After a moment, once his voice has returned, he says. "You're all doomed. When you find yourselves in the next life, remember that old Zeke warned ya."
He turns to Dolgrin and waves a hand a Penelope. "Best be leaving her with me. No sense in dragging that fine animal into the pit of doom with your fool selves. She'll be here if you make it back, otherwise. I'll find a use for her."
Vhaezil smirks as the old man is temporarily silenced, then looks to the others;
"We should go. His rhetoric is becoming as repetitive and futile as the labour he has undertaken..."