The pitter patter of footsteps on paved roads soon turns into the sound of the mud trying to suck off the shoes of weary travellers. They were staggered along one of the long and winding dirt roads through the highlands that led to the castle at Edinburgh, the seat of royal power and strength in Scotland. Of course, now it was a symbol of royal ineptitude and weakness.
There were many other roads that led in the same direction, but mysteriously, they have been knocked out one by one. Some have been buried by avalanches, others washed away by flash flooding, and the primarily paved road...well, no one dared to go on that anymore, after witches had been supposedly sighted prowling the forests nearby. Most sightings occured in a fairly predictable way. First, the wind begins to howl and the clouds move in, pouring water and firing thunder. And then a fog rolls in, and any survivors have already found shelter indoors by this point.
Except, now it is happening to the group of weary travellers. They spot a small monastery up ahead, clearly the home to Benedictine monks by the architecture of the place. The travellers rush towards it, not wanting to find out what happens to the people that are still outdoors when the fog begins to roll in.
"Stand out of ze way, let your betters through!" Calls out a man in a haughty and commanding voice. Pushing his way forward towards the front door, he steps into view. He wears a practical travelling cloak like many, but beneath you can see a rich-looking woolen tunic in blue with a linen undershirt. A brooch of silver and featuring several blue semi-precious stones holds the cloak in place. A longsword and dagger hang at his waist on a leather belt with a silver buckle. On his finger is a signet ring of gold. His hair is black and held back in a ponytail. His features are fine, ears pointed. Sharp blue eyes gaze out at the rabble. He wears a finely groomed goatee.
"I am Alain Lenoir, traveling from the lands of the Duke of Normandy. I need accomodation for the night as I am traveling to the court of the new king." he declares in as calm and commanding a tone as he is able.
After a few moments, steady footsteps can be heard coming from the inside. When the door opens, a rather young monk steps forward, clearly unimpressed by your haughty tone and fancy clothing. He wears a coarsely woven, homespun monk's habit and nothing else except a peaceful expression and an unassuming demeanor.
I am Prior Francis. Please leave unpure thoughts at the door and may God always be with you.
He leads you into a relatively large room, perhaps twenty feet long and wide. Its walls are barren except for a statue of the savior, while the floor is covered with fresh straw, almost like a stable.
Supper will be served shortly, but please occupy your stomach with this bread while you wait.
The bread is clearly horsebread, probably the cheapest kind of bread, made from peas, legumes, and grains, husk and all.
This fog doesn't bode well. No sleeping under the stars for me. Let those blasted cailleach enjoy the night themselves. Mal enters the monastery on steady foot. He takes a little time to warm himself up and take a good look around, then he goes for the dining room following the priest's invitations. Aye, aye, praised be God. he replies distractedly to Francis's blessing. Name's Mal, if it pleases. Thanks for the supper, suppose you don't mind I'll be stayin' here tonight.
Of course, you can stay over night. Those witches are on the prowl again, the third time this week. Why are you travelling outside at such a late hour, when you know the new dangers of dark magic that lurk in the highlands now...ever since King Duncan was slain by the work of the devil.
Seeing that the Prior is little impressed by his show of authority, Alain relaxes slightly. He is relieved to be within the walls of the Monastery. Listening in to the exchange between the Prior and the red-haired Scot, he interjects a comment while tearing at the bread in his hand.
I 'ave 'eard of zees Witches. I do not fancy ze thought of being out in your charming wilderness when night falls. Tell me, what do you know of ze new King? And is he in danger from zis evil zat claimed his predecessors? he asks, putting a morsel in his mouth and working at it with his teeth.
Looking nervously about her as the fog rolls in, Kirsteen walks up to the monastary and knocks upon the door. When opened she asks, "Your pardon father, but do you have room for a traveler?"
Not much, really replies the Scot to Alain's questions. Right, what do I know about this new fellow? he starts to wonder. He was crowned over the fake Stone for all I know. Could he even be considered a true King? I guess time be tellin' if his reign was born under a good star or not. Say, you look like you've come a long way. he says to the French while sitting near him to get some of the bread. What matters bring you here? You'll be going to the King's court? he asks while taking a good bite at the hardened meal.
Yes, we have plenty. Remember that we are in a monastery though, the house of God.
The prior turns away from the room for the moment. Please invite other weary travellers in from the cold. We are on consecrated ground, so we should be safe from these roving witches. Did you see others on the road coming this way?
As the door is about to close, another silhouette emerges from the fog. A small man, dressed in poor shepherd clothes and carrying a shepherd hook walks calmly to the door. His head is protected by a large cap that hides his face in the dim light. He does not seems fazed by the weather or the rolling fog which seems to cling to him more than it should do.
"Can a fellow traveler share your hospitality? I am Drest MacAlpin, hailing from Moray and bound to see our new King", he says in a heavily accented Scott.
Entering the room, he removes his coat and hat. His face and hands are heavily tattooed with intricate blue patterns. On his leather vest, hands an amulet made of feathers and animal fur intermingled with plants and bound by a leather lace.
"You must have found this weather awful.", he adds to his fellow travelers.
Guy hastened his pace as night fell and the fog began to roll in. Though he would never admit it to anyone else, the thought of being a witch's captive frightened him rather much. He preferred to face opponents with blades. At least then you could see what skills they wielded in the open, rather than guessing about spellcraft.
Sighting the monastery on the road ahead, the lithe young man breaks into a run, only slowing as he finds the door already ajar. Cautiously, he peeks his head in. Though he is ready to retreat should he find no welcome, he is gladdened to see other travelers already making themselves at home within the house of God.
Moving inside, Guy shuts the door, crossing himself as he passes the threshold. "God's grace be with us, but I thought I might not make it out there. This fog is all together too eerie, I must say." Dragging himself to a seat Guy slides his cloak hood back from his head, revealing similar features to the already present Frenchman. Sighting his countryman, Guy gives a quick wave before he sets about tending to his hunger.
Those who peer closer at the young man will note that though his cloak is somewhat rough, the clothes hiding underneath are fine. A finely sewn white silk shirt, ruffled at the neck, is covered by a masterfully made leather vest bearing the colors and insignia of Brittany. Black breeches and boots complement the outfit, the same well made leathers strapped to his legs and feet. Duelist's gloves cover his hands, and a rapier bearing the mark of Lancre rests at his hip.
Alain smiles at Mal, I am coming to bring greetings and well wishes to the new King of Scotland from my people in Normandy. My father is an influential Castellan there. As a third son, however, my prospects for advancement at home are slight, so I travel abroad! he says.
A brief shadow of suspicion passes over his features when he sees a fellow Frenchman come in - a noble-seeming one at that. Did my father send you?
It passes behind a facade of openness and good cheer, however, and he smiles and waves back at the man. His gaze passes over the other new arrivals, seeming to take little note of them. He fishes a flask out of a pocket in his cloak and takes a swift nip.
As both foreigners seem to gauge each other, Drest turns to the small woman arrived just before him.
"Are you also bound for the castle and our new King? It seems that most of us are here for the same reason."
Kristeen nods, "Yes I am. The trip has been a bit longer than I expected, I've never been this far from my village before."
Kristeen nods, "Yes I am. The trip has been a bit longer than I expected, I've never been this far from my village before."
"For me, it is also the first time I've gone so much south. It's good to see I'm not alone trying to reach the King. Have you also been sent by your folks?..... No, I should not ask, I'm afraid I'm sometimes too curious for my own good."
With an apologetic smile, Drest tries to read the reasons why a woman alone would seek an audience with the King as she does not seem to carry any obvious mark of power.
Lightning stike me if I'm tellin' a lie, I'm off to see the King too. Of course, no one is getting outwith the monastery 'till this blasted weather lasts says Mal, still chewing the bread. So, Frenchman, uh? May I also ask why you'll be seeing the King? If that's not much of an hassle.
As he's talking to Alain, Mal turns his head to observe the newcomers. The woman and the other French look pretty unremarkable to his eyes, but he is interested in the man with the blue tattoos. He shares the looks of the druids of his own tribe, only he's younger and most definitely from another Clan. But which one will it be? Could he know something useful about the Stone?
The dinner bell rings, signalling the end of the monk's dinner and the beginning of yours. Servants of the monastery begin to file in, bring each of you some salted fish, goat cheese, some horsebread, and a bowl of soup heated by a hot stone.
Dinner will last for about thirty minutes until the Monks conclude chapter and head off to bed. Please finish before then, as right on schedule, it'll be lights out. After you're done, you can put the plates and bowls back into the kitchen, right down the hall here.
It doesn't seem to be that late, but all of you know that monks are rather peculiar people.
"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Kirsteen." Looking a bit uncomfortable she continues, "My folks? No, it was kinda my own idea."
The door swings open to reveal a rather young monk, dressed in traditional homespun cloth and a gaze. Please, come in. The night is no longer safe. I am the Prior. A servant moves to hand Razo some food.
The prior addresses everyone in the dining room (and coincidentally, also the sleeping room). I hope everyone is enjoying their meal. I am sure that the storm will abate during the night.
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Saluto patris familias, I am Razo of Worms, barrister of his eminence Burchard II. I appreciate your hospitality, I will leave for as soon as the weather is better. Razo says with a slight nod of his head, his English has a thick German accent, but his latin is perfect.
Razo will scan the room quickly, then take the food and have a seat where the door can be seen clearly and his back is to a wall. Befor eating his food he will inspect it.
for perception.
I have no reason to distrust the monks, but such precautions have served me in the past Razo thinks to himself, and will eat the food if it does not have anything odd about it.
Kirsteen eats the food served and looks up from her meal to watch as the newcomer walks in and sits down, a bit curious about his unusual appearance. It seems that I am far from alone in my travel to see the king. I wonder what reasons these good people have for seeking their audiences"
Sitting across from Mal at one of the long tables, he smiles. It is no 'assle, as you say. I merely come seeking my fortune in a foreign land. A new King may have need of friends in Normandy, and for another arm, and another pair of eyes.
Alain also looks around at the newcomers. He gives Kirsteen rather a longer look than the others, and a slight smile and nod.
Drest frowns at the arrival of the ecclesiast. I hope this one is not one of those fnatics we sometimes see and that just come to cause trouble for the simple folks.
Smiling back to the young woman, "Well met, Kirsten. It seems that most of us will take the same road tomorrow. I just hope we won't get delayed by another storm."
Turning back to his food, Drest says a quick blessing in Pict before digging into his meal with gusto, savouring the simple food.
Soon after everyone finishes their meals and brings them to the kitchen, the Prior puts out the lights and leave the party alone to their sleeping, their beds being the straw covering the floor. There isn't that much room with the various objects taking up most of the room, meaning the beds are in close proximity.
As the guests drift off to sleep one by one, mist seems to run through their dreams.
Mal has some more small talk with Alain, mostly about how Normandy is like. He then wishes goodnight to him and to the other travelers, leaving the actual introductions to the following morning. He then goes to sleep on the straw, his sword close to his hand, falling soon into a deep slumber.
He dreams about hills and clouds. The hills are his own, green and windy. The clouds are moving estremely fast, making the sunlight flicker over the grass, like it's the shimmering sea he's actually in.
Three men sit on large grey stones. One of them has no left arm, the other one has no head, the last one has a large gut wound from which bright red blood is streaming. Their bodies are blackened and it's difficult to make out their faces, as if they were set on fire, and yet they look wet, like they've been too much in the rain.
The one in the middle raises his hand and talks to Mal. "Beware. Raise nae mair deils nor ye can lig. Beware. Too many of us died already".
"The King holds the thruth".
"The King holds the thruth".
"The King holds the thruth".
The chant becomes very loud, covering the sound of the wind. Mal looks at his hands, he's holding a long twig covered in ash. He tightens the grip, and the twig breaks so easily.
Drest settles down in one of the corners, before sleeping, he spends some time listening to the wind and rain outside, gathering the elemental fury and storing its energy as he has learnt to do. Were he alone, he would have opened the doors and shutters to the night, but somehow, he doubted the other travellers would have welcomed that.
Eventually settling to rest, he keeps his ears open for Kirsten, worried one of the travellers may have misplaced ideas.
Despite the noise of the storm, Drest sleeps.
Images of the mountains and of howling winds mingle with those of his initiation ceremony, still freshly imprinted in his mind. Then the chiselled face of Daida, his mentor, emerges. Her last words sound again as the winds outside seems to abate. "Go and see the King. Remind him of the ancient rites and of the people who still leave by them. And make sure our people don't get punished for the MacBetad actions."
How could he approach the King? What will make him listen? And why was he chosen?
Though rather uncomfortable with sleeping so close to complete strangers, Kirsteen decides it's still preferable to being out in the fog. She finds an empty space to lay her blanket and soon settles down to sleep.
She's in the woods again, running as fast as she can. Breathing hard, legs cramping, she keeps going even though there is no where safe she can go. His word is law here, but elsewhere? Through an opening in the trees she sees a clearing ahead, a shaft of sunlight illuminating a throne. Though confused by its appearance, she inexplicably feels a burst of hope and races towards it. As she is about to enter the clearing she feels her foot catch on a root and she goes sprawling to the ground. Before she can regain her footing, she feels a hand grab one of her ankles and roughly pull her back into the dark woods and she see him standing over her again and cries.
Kirsteen whimpers quietly in her sleep.
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Pax vobiscum, Patri Razo says the the Prior befor readying himself for sleep. Razo looks over the others Villians, and heretics. The monks have more mercy then I, in my country they would be left to the storm. I must endure for now, my mission is more important. Semper fidelis, Ad maiorem gloriam Dei. Razo whispers to himself.
Razo prays to himself Thank you Lord, for guiding me to this sanctuary in an otherwise hostile land. Please continue to guide me on my quest so that I may be your hand of righteous justice upon thine enemies. Amen. Razo kisses his holy symbol.
Razo goes to sleep. Razo is walking in his village outside of worms. It is a sunny day and children are playing outside. He sees Oxana, his love to be. She is doing the wash and hanging it on a line. She turns and smiles at Razo. Just as Razo is about to smile back, the battle crys of a pegan cult is heard loudly and an arrow comes through Oxana's left eye from behind her. She crumbles to the ground without a sound, three additional arrows hit her befor she meets the ground. Razo hears the cackling of the pegan's witch leader, laughing triumphantly. Razo screams in his sleep.
Guy eats as heartily as he is able in the conditions he finds himself. Recent weeks have taught him the value of a meal, no matter its quality. He keeps to himself as the meal goes on, eying each of those present as he eats.
The Scotsman is a sword of the clans, plain and simple. As for my fellow countryman, given his raiment I surmise he is of similar rank to me. This girl is somewhat more a mystery, but nowhere near this tattooed man. He is certainly an...oddity. I wonder why he bears such marks? As for this Razo, he obviously serves the church. I have no qualm with him then. I believe, as fervently as any man.
As night comes on, Guy uses his cloak as a pillow, keeping his rapier near him. Slumber comes swiftly for the tired nobleman, his dreams just as quick...
Fire burns everywhere. The villa is an inferno, the very image of hell come to earth. Guy runs through the halls, but the only thing he finds is more flame. He can hear the Duke's men behind him, closing in with all the inevitable power of death. Their voices are twisted, mixing with the clank of their armor. They sound as demons, rasping voices bursting from fire and stone. Try as he might Guy cannot find an open door. As they close in upon him, he feels the chill hands of death upon him. He starts to scream, but a hand, a real one, clamps down on his mouth. Before he knows what is happening, he is thrown from a window. He plummets, falling into the roaring river near his home. Darkness sweeps over him, and all is silent.
Anyone staying awake hears muffled yelps and heavy breaths from Guy, but little more.
Alain dreams. A petite blonde girl. No, more than a girl. He remembers the smell of her hair, her laughter, the rustling of her dress, her fingers, her blue eyes. He dreams of going home. He dreams of fighting for her.
He wakes.
Someone is crying out in their sleep. Alain feels a deep heaviness in his heart, and rises from where he slept as silent as a shadow. He walks towards the chapel, pausing to look down at Kirsteen for a moment.
In the chapel, he kneels to pray. Calistria, of the Yellow Veil. Keep me safe from those who would take me back. Give me the wit and the foresight to stay ahead of them. He kisses his thumb and brushes it against his forehead, making the triangle sign of Calistria before standing and returning to the bed of straw. He sleeps only fitfully after that.
In the morning, the windows suddenly fly open and rays of light stream in, awaking everyone that hasn't already gotten up. The monks have gone out into the field after a morning of services, marking a new day. The prior addresses all of you. We have passed into the next day, and monastery hospitality only lasts for one. The presence of dark magic is still strong outside, and I advise you to stay together.
After half a day's walking, the group arrives at the King's castle at Edinburgh. For those that haven't seen castles before but have heard tales, it is rather small and dull. The stonework is chipped and the whole building looks rather run down. There are two guards at the gate, one sleeping and the other, clearly on the first day of the job.
Hhhhalt, who has come to see the king?
Guy peers at the castle, rather less impressed than he might have been. This place is more run down than I had thought. To hear the Scots tell it, this place is paradise.
Out loud, he approaches the guards, his hand well clear of his rapier. "Good sirs, I am Guy du Lancre, out of Brittany. I seek an audience with his majesty that I might offer my services to him as he sets his kingdom aright after mad MacBeth's reign."
My father's castle is bigger than this... Alain muses, containing his disappointment. Is this what I am reduced to? Each place smaller and shabbier than the last. I will die in a ditch at this rate...
Alain steps forward, his cloak swept back to show off his finery and jewelry. I am Alain Lenoir, of Normandy. Like my countryman Guy, I am here to bring greetings and well-wishes from our homeland and offer our friendship. I beg leave to ask if we may be of any service to His Highness.
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I am Razo of Worms, barrister of Buchard II. I come to aid the king with these foul witches that have besieged your land.
After his declaration will wait patiently to be given entrance, and listening intently on his "companions" reasons for seeing the king. Any one of these could be a witch or in league with them, especially this pict, he reminds me of the Gaul of my own lands, pegans. This Kirsteen has magic about her too, divine but not of the church.
sense motive
Well, it is time to make an impression. Drest moves forward, removes his hat and opens his coat and drives his shepherd hook in the soft earth with both hands.
As he raises his hand, a sudden gust of wind and rain burst out his hand and falls harmlessly to the ground around him.
Go and tell your King that Drest McAlpin, envoy from the Druid circles of Fortriu requests an audience.
Rather intimidated by those that have announced themselves before her and a bit taken aback by sudden burst of wind and rain apparently summoned by Drest, Kirsteen questions the wisdom of coming here. What if this new king isn't interested in hearing petitioners? What if he doesn't care about any abuses of power by his lords?
"Your pardon sirs, my name is Kirsteen. I come as a petitioner for justice and wish to plead my case before His Highness."
The young guard looks at his more experienced compatriot (who is currently sleeping) and back to the assembled petitioners. Come with me. The group follows him into the throne room. Unlike the exterior of the castle, the throne room is resplendent in decorations. The walls are covered with tapestries detailing the line of ancient kings and the throne is gilded and covered with jewels. The King is having an animated discussion with one of his ministers and a nobleman and when the guard tries to announce the presence of the petitioners, the king waves him away.
Perhaps you'd like to stay in the guest rooms for the night?
The petitioners are led to their individual rooms. Later that night, everyone gets a nice meal.
Mal had some more small talk during the journey, introducing himself to Kirsteen, Drest, Razo and Guy and asking their name. He is still interested in the Pict's true intentions, but he decides to wait and see rather than start asking questions. He also talks a little more to Alain, mostly about the weather and the witches.
At the entrance of the castle, Mal stays silent, leaving the talk to the others. Since he still can't decide if the new king is to be thrusted or not, it's better not to reveal why he's here. Maybe another night of sleep will bring more clarity.
Alain is pleased to have a room inside a castle all to himself. The King's dismissiveness of the afternoon didn't really bother him that much. He expected that. He seems more relaxed at dinner and makes an effort to chat up all those around him, making subtle inquiries about the current situation at every opportunity.
Perception
At dinner, Alain hears rumors that the Norwegian King has returned home from his previous invasion of Scotland and is likely building a new army to return, while the English are always treacherous dogs and have been conducting border raids like the Scots used to conduct on the English.
Also, as a Frenchman, Alain recognizes the French ambassador in attendance and he is smart enough to piece together the King's conversation with his minister and nobleman to be about the presence of the French ambassador. There is clearly some disagreement, but anything else is more of a deduction than something that is clear.
In the dead of night, nothing is stirring, not even a mouse. Except for a suspicious fella sneaking through the halls with dark clothing and a dagger. He seems armed, trained, and extremely dangerous.
Meanwhile, you remember that the guards of the castle were extremely incompetent and that might worry you.
The rest of you are currently sleeping or trying to sleep restlessly for the moment, unless someone tips you off.
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Razo will alert the nearest guard, if the suspicious man takes notice of me and advances toward me I will cast true-strike,but I intend to attempt to follow him after alerting the guard.
Be alert, there is a strange man about wearing dark clothing and a dagger, seems to be up to no good. Inform the others, I will seek him out.
Kirsteen sleeps fitfully, tossing and turning in bed. Covers kicked off, skirts twisted about her legs, she dreams again of being hunted down like a doe in a forest.
Drest sleep is chaotic as he is not used to sleeping in a castle or a big house. Trying to clear his head, he gets up and opens his door. Just as he is about to go out, a dark dressed shadow seems to move.
"Hello there.", he calls loudly to the man before realizing he does not look like a guard.
, he shouts, retreating to his room entrance.
Almost as a reflex, Drest fingers and arms start drawing patterns in the air as he starts casting, calling forth allies to protect him.
The noise and commotion wakes up everyone that is currently sleeping in the vicinity. The strange man runs down the corridor, before encountering two guards. He catches one of them off guard, stabbing him in the torso before fleeing back down the corridor towards you as more guards arrive.
He seems to be heading to the stairs that lead to the castle walls and ultimately, possibly a leap to freedom. The guards are weighed down by their heavy armor and seem to be too far behind to catch him.
Hair and clothing tousled from sleep, Kirsteen steps into the hallway to see what all the commotion is about. Seeing the man stab a guard and flee, Kirsteen casts Grease with the first 5ft of it directly under him and the other half in front of him.
The spell covers a 10 ft square.