_HRF.jpg)
"Works for me"
"Seemed like a champion for good, in a misguided way. I may appreciate the drama of a good story, but I feel I have a greater sence of nuance than that one."
"I'm pretty sure my Harrow Deck has a greater sense of nuance than he does :-)"
The path through the Briar opens quickly to show again the Manmolds, the smell of boiling wax again permeating the air.
Niklos and Edda guide you through the creepy statue-infested corridors, opening in the large central room, where the colossal ant is shaping warm clay into a humanoid form.
"Ah. You return." she pipes as she notices the new arrival. "What brings you again to my domain?"
"Wow. We REALLY are in the Harrowed Realm"
"Oh Great Mother, it is an honour to meet you. I am Marinda. You are one of my great heroes. Like you, I try to help the powerless whenever that is possible"
Edda nods to Niklos.
"We have removed the Nightpeddlar your highness, as you have requested. We are here for our reward that you promised. Niklos, show her the stone so she knows we are not trying to deceive her. These others were his prisoners and aided us. I feel they should be rewarded as well since our other fellows moved on before we encountered him."
Niklos shows Marzalee the Nightpeddler's token, satying at a safe distance.
"Greetings Great Mother, it is likewise an honor." says Hrain, bowing his head respectfully.
"Huh." says Marzalee noncommittally, apparently ignoring the greetings. With one of her six arms, the large ant picks an inkpot from a nearby shelf and stirs it with a quill.
"I am one to appreciate effort, but it looks like the old fox outsmarted you. His essence is not yet mine to mold and shape as I please, he must have feigned his death. But you disrupted his trade, and that will hurt him, though not as much as I would have. So I'll grant you a smaller reward, but one nonetheless, sculpting your tale in this Realm a bit differently, and grant you tools a bit more fit for heroes. What would you have?"
Letting out a sigh of relief, Niklos steps forwards and places his own deck of harrow cards on the table. He immediately distances himself from the insectoid creature, not quite trusting her to have forgiven his treatment of her servant. "Much obliged, ma'am..."
"Thank you very much mother. Your gift is appreciated and will be treasured"
As Marzalee takes your equipment to weave her magic on it, you take a moment to consult the Harrowed Realm's Map. Of eight magical tokens needed to open the way towards the Striding Fortress and confront Zassrion the Patchwork Lord, you have six, and the only places you didn't visit are the Demon's Fen, where Mourning Choir and the Barrow Man reside, and the Prophet's Garden, haunted by Sonnorae, according to Brambleson.
Edda's face sours.
"I'm less inclined to visit something called the Demon's Fen. However...I'm not sure I want to visit Sonnorae yet either. She was partially devoured right? Or something like that? What do you all think? I can work with any consensus I guess, just as long as we avoid that Paladin as much as possible!"
"You know this realm far more than I do so I'll go with whatever decision you make"
Niklos nods at Edda. "Makin' for the Demon's Fen sounds like a bad time, but I'm not certain we're ready to face Sonnorae 'erself. She created this whole Realm to begin with—that's some powerful magic, for sure. Better go to 'er as prepared as we're able, even if she's missin' a few pieces..."
"Demon's Fen! It sounds terrible, but I am sure we four heroes can overcome any Demon that may be lurking there. To gather every advantage, that is how this story must go."
Edda rubs her temples.
"Of course...we're caught between a Demon Fen and a weird dead lady. The Fen it is."
You head through the Briar, once again duping the ever-inopportune Algon, and let the narration take you to the Demon's Fen.
The Demon's Fen is, without question, the most depressing and dismal place you have seen in the whole Harrowed Realm. A dark, fetid swamp feeling like sorrow and unhappy endings without purpose, it reeks of decay and mildew. Small orbs of light like foxfires hover around the watery swamp, wandering aimlessly.
A short distance from where you entered, a black and frigid-looking lake spreads out from the broken terrain of the swamp. Its still surface reflects the distant shore. A single, rocky island rests in the center, capped with sickly grass and tangled growth and glowing with dozens of those flickering, colored lights. An ancient, withered suspension bridge runs from the island to the banks. A gorgeous song—part lullaby, part dirge—pierces the otherwise haunting silence before dissolving into sobs.
Edda sighs in frustration.
"It almost reminds me of home. Let's keep moving..."
Edda stops suddenly and looks at her new companions.
"I should warn you, I have...an alien nature you should know aoub before things get weird or tense. I'm what's called a 'shifter.' My ancerstors were Were-Bears and my mo's magical blood brought out the...other side of my family a bit more than normal. Just don't panic..."
Edda then quickly shifts into her other form, growing bear-like claws, dark fur, and a short bear-like muzzle with a square-black nose. When she speaks again, her voice is slightly different.
"I can do this pretty easily any time I want, and in this terrain seems more appropriate."
She then turns and moves on a bit down the path, trying to ignore any stares the others may offer.
"That is fascinating, dear. While I thank you for warning me ahead of time when you're as old as I am you learn to not judge people by their appearances or ancestries. I judge people on their actions, dear. and on those alone"
Edda smirks and rubs her bear-like wet nose.
"Much appreciated. Anybody know how to track? This ground is soft enough, it may reveal something out of the ordinary we could use. We need every advantage right now too."
Having witnessed Edda's tranformations more than once, Niklos seem unfazed by the whole thing. He grins and shrugs at Hrain and Marinda. "Yeah, don't you sweat it. She hasn't bitten me as of yet, no matter how huffy she's gotten with yours truly... and she's got plenty o' huff to go around."
The rogue glances behind the group, remaining casual even while keeping his hand on the hilt of his rapier. "Now, don't freak out or nothin', but we've been trailed for a while now—by somethin' a tad bigger than a rabbit, I might add. We may want to deal with that before we move along..."
Hrain grins as Edda transforms. "Ahhh, most wise friend, that form is indeed a powerful one for the terrain. You will see no trouble from me. Being tracked however, is more concerning. Shall we lay a trap?"
Edda amiles and drops her voice conspiratorially.
"I like your thinking Hrain. Yes, let's turn the tables on our would be stalker. Who wants to be the bait?"
"Not me, thanks. My bones are too old to want to be chewed on. Maybe we should try talking? That seems to work out well much of the time"
Suddenly uncomfortable with the ambiguity of the situation, Niklos digs in his sleeves for a card...
"Birth of something new... but for good or ill?"
Appearing somewhat more assured, Niklos nods at Marinda. "Sure, I'm always up for a chat."
The scoundrel waits for a moment—allowing the others to move into cover if they so wish—before calling out into the swamp. "Oi, big guy! I know you're there, so you might as well show yourself! Ain't got no reason to hurt you, as of yet... let's keep it that way."
Edda pulls out her wand of Molten Orbs then activates her Flight Hex and floats through a hole in the fen canopy into the sky just above it, but clearly out of sight as much as possible from below.
A gaunt owl, taller than a man, creeps out of the foliage, his head bobbing to one side. He doesn't look aggressive. "No hurting, no, no reason to hurt Embor-Comes-by-Night. But four of you have four nice pretty things that Embor-Comes-by-Night likes: only one color, but not one size, stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies; present in sun, but not in the rain, doing no harm, and feeling no pain."
"Our, uh... shadows?" Niklos puzzles at the riddle. "You want our shadows?"
He scratches his head. "Suu-ure, why not. Have anythin' to trade?"
"What would you possibly do with a shadow? I'm kind of attached to my shadow"
"I can't believe I actually said that :-("
Marinda takes out her selection of Harrow Cards, looks at the Owl, and plays the card
Edda frowns.
I quite like my shadow exactly where it is!
The magic of the Harrow cards resonates like a solid, crystalline and silent note across the swamp, but Embor doesn't seem to notice. Instead, the large owl looks giddy at your response. "Yes! Yes! Beautiful shadows, soft like velvet and light like a sigh! They look so pretty in Embor Comes-By-Night's nest, like petals on a flower! In exchange, my needle and thread can be given! There is strong magic on it, can sew anything, Embor Comes-by-Night wanted to use it to give you this-" with these words, he produces an old, tattered blanket that was likely white a few millennia ago "so you would not miss the shadow! Pretty, old faithful companions, silently there from birth, watching you even after death, never was there sweeter company."
You heard tales of men and women who sold their shadows. Those tales rarely ended well.
Niklos looks at Embor's offerings, nodding in mock appreciation. "That'd be a fine bit of barter, if yours truly happened to be a seamstress, or a workman with trousers in need of patchin'. Fine indeed."
"Sadly, I'm neither," he adds. "We're here on a mission. But let's not get too hasty, eh? There might be somethin' else you can offer us. Before we get down to business, I'd be interested to know a bit about our current whereabouts. Know where might we find the Barrow Man? Any way to get to 'im without passin' by the one that's singin'?"
Rubbing his neck, the Varisian glances down at his shadow.
"Gods, Kornelia. If you could see your brother now. Hagglin' with a damned owl!"
"Do you mind if I look at those blankets properly?"
Assuming the Owl doesn't mind, she'll cast detect magic.
"Mourning Choir, sweet and sad like old silver, lonely voice of despair. She is good to Embor Comes-By-Night, sings like a weeping wind when the cold light of night pierces the sky. Kind creature, longing for company and art. She watches over the lone bridge, leading to the Barrow Man's demesne. The Barrow Man is kind too, but not to Embor Comes-By-Night. He loves the forlorn souls of those who are forced to stay, but for those whose heart beats, his is cold iron."
Edda grimaces again.
So the Barow Man loves dead things and attacks the living on sight. Good to know I guess. There is a bridge that leads to his lair...and it has a guardian of sorts? Mourning Choir? Is that a name, a description, or both?
"Can you tell us more of this Mourning Choir? What does she look like? If she is sad, perhaps we can heal her sadness. Do you know why she is so sad?"
"Mourning choir, sad song of an ancient pain I never knew, body of a snake as long as a twilight shadow, feathers of a sorrowful rainbow of grays. If you heal her sadness, maybe she will sing happy songs of forgotten joy, and shine in an iris of radiance. But if it's possible, Embor Comes-By-Night does not know."
A feathered serpent? A couatl? Here?
Niklos nods appreciatively. "Okay, that's useful info. Good for starters, but methinks you can do better. Say what, you introduce us to your feathery friend, and then help us off the Barrow Man, and you'll get my shadow. You can keep the the needle and thread, too. Sound good?"
"I don't know what it is but I have a card that looks something like the description. Does this feathered serpent have wings?"
To the others
"Heal her sadness? Anybody have any idea how we can do that?"
"Wings, yes, warm as a cold night's sleep, Embor Comes-By-Night will lead you to her. But the Barrow Man is not a friend to Embor Comes-By-Night, only merciful to lost souls."
Embor opens his large, dark wings and propels himself through the air, settling on a branch closer to the lake and waiting for you to follow.
Mourning Choir's nest is just in front to the rickety bridge leading to the island, not much more than a convoluted mess of vines and rotten leaves enveloping an opalescent, rainbow-hued pool of tears. In the middle of the pool lies a large feathered and winged snake in a pitiful state. Feathers that used to be radiant as a rainbow are now discolored and washed, her wings are slumped and mangy, the scales on the serpentine part of her body are opaque and weathered. As you arrive, Mourning Choir is shaking in uncontrollable sobs.
"Mourning Choir, sorrowful song of a forgotten rainbow, it is Embor Comes-By-Night." says the owl, landing back on the ground and bowing to the creature. "There are guests for you, smell of far-away shores, blood of never-spilled ink, heart of never-told tales. They seek to bring comfort to your ever-lasting pain, solace of sunlight in the cold. Will you awaken, silvery dirge of dismay?"
The couatl opens her eyes, pearlescent tears still running on her snout. Her voice is melodious as an orchestra, and you feel moved almost to tears just from hearing her speak. "Who comes to visit Mourning Choir, who comes to watch my misery?"
Marinda plays the winged serpent card
"My name is Marinda, dear. We don't come to watch your mystery but rather to see if we can help you. Please. tell us why you are so miserable? Perhaps there is something that we can do to make you feel better?"
Niklos looks askance at Marinda, but plays along without a second thought. He knows better than to second-guess his partners during a con.
"The Honoured Reader speaks the truth," he says with as much reverence as he can muster. "We'd be happy to help, if there's anythin' we can do. Hold your hand while you let it all out? Uh, figuratively speakin'. Ain't got no reason to make it worse, at any rate..."
Edda continues to fly along overhead in order to keep an eye on things and maintain her distance, just in case this ends up being some sort of major obstacle or trap.
@Edda: There appear to be no traps, just tangled swamp vegetation leading to the rotting waters of the Fen. The air is chilly and damp.
"Help?" sighs Mourning Choir, sighing and raising her slender neck to face you. "Oh, there is no way anyone could ever help me! Why did I ever conspire? Why would I fight against she who gave me life, that I would then get damned by that act? Ah, misery! Ah, profound misery!"
The feathered snake uncoils slightly, raising his head towards the sky, and sings a dirge. "Ah, compassion, the sweetest gift of all / And yet a poison seething in my veins / That I would gain it from my Mistress' death / And for compassion her death I would mourn"
"But stay with me, travellers. Stay with me and listen to my mournful tales, and together we shall cry and sing, at things that cannot be undone and the memory of love lost."
"Yes, tell us your mournful tales. Letting the sadness out is the first step towards healing. You CAN earn redemption for your acts, you are NOT eternally dammed if you indeed repent"
Edda keeps her mouth shut and cancels her Hex, then lands nearby.
Empathy was definitely not her Forte'.
Niklos glances at the pool of tears, not bothering to hide his disgust. He knew all too well what it was like to live with guilt, but even at his lowest he had never stopped to wallow in it. Indeed, he had never had the luxury of stopping at all, lest his past caught up with him.
"Looks like you've had penty of time to mourn," he scoffs. "Maybe the Honoured Reader is right, and cryin' some more will do the trick. Me? I reckon you should do somethin' about it, make amends or whatever. That, or get over yourself and move on..."