Her usual persona as a town dilettante pays off here, and she launches into a quiet but constant chatter about goings on in Red Grove, who is seeing who, who is wearing what, and what the latest fashions are. There isn't a lot to talk about from such a small town, but there is always SOME small town gossip to share. She sips slowly from her waterskin between sentences and pours some water into a bowl to water their horse as well. It seems like a good excuse to be paused by the standing stone.
I guess it's a good thing I never had a chance to change my clothes, with a patrol coming along. It wouldn't do to be wearing my working attire in mid-day. She just chatters on with Xochtli and the others about local gossip while her mind races on about other things. Despite her outward seeming of a mindless townswoman, while she waters the horse and talks, her hands are never far from her few weapons and her thoughts are never far from the danger of the orcish patrol.
Kers places his ax down, just far enough that he hopes it will not be seen as a threat, but close enough that picking up will not be a problem at all.
From around the bend in the road three orcs ride. They're wearing standard armor, with short bows and maces at their sides. When they see you they stop talking among themselves and their faces go blank. The lead rider stops his horse near your cart.
"What is the meaning of this? What are you lot doing on this road?"
In her sweetest voice, Fleur says simply, "We are taking a load of bread to Fellhallow. We just stopped to water our horse, sir." She gives the orcs just the proper amount of deference due them and tells them just enough truth to be earnest about it.
[ooc]diplomacy[/dice]
Kers tries hard not to stare at them, not to challenge them.
Israfel ingores the orcs, busying herself with tending to horses.
The lead orc grunts at Fleur's answer and dismounts from his horse. "We'll see about that." He stalks over to the cart and begins peering into flour sacks and bags of bread. He reaches into the bag of loaves of bread and pulls one out, taking a huge bite out of it.
He chews slowly, still staring at you. Finally he tosses the bread to the second orc and mounts his horse. "Good bread. Get on yer way." Satisfied, the three orcs move off at a trot, back down the road toward Red Grove.
As the orcs ride down out of sight, Israfel says, "Was that the loaf?"
She makes no move to stop the orc, simply lets him take the loaf, try it and pass it to his buddy, without any reaction from her. they stink worse than wet dog, she thinks, but says nothing.
Fleur takes a deep breath after the orcs leave and wrinkles her nose in disgust at the stench of the creatures which lingers even after they have gone. To answer Israfel, she simply shrugs and says, "I hope not."
After the orcs are gone, Fleur relaxes a little once they are completely gone, out of sight and out of hearing... then she begins searching the area around the stone, at it's base, or on it even, for a sign of where we were supposed to go next. Our instructions were that there would be a sign left for us to follow, and if not we were to camp here and await instructions. I hope the direction that crow flew was not our sign, but if it was, it was a tad subtle.
If this search is fruitless, she will also check surrounding trees for marks carved on them, or perhaps piles of stones with a directional mark among them... anything that might guide the party.
Xochtli begins searching around with Fleur, it was a possibility they missed the sign while their attention was on the orcs and she did not wish to miss this chance they were given.
Kers does not join the others. He keeps watching the road, looking for trouble.
Israfel sighs and slowly shakes her head, somebody had best make sure we still have the artifact before that patrol gets too far.
She begins carefull sorting through the loaves of bread, searching for the one that had the finger bone.
Israfel sorts through the loafs and at the bottom of the bag finds one that seems to be much heavier than the others, though it looks the same.
Fleur and Xochtli search the ground around the stone, as well as the stone itself. They do find some very old carvings on the rock, but it appears that someone has attempted to file them away but failed.
Kers keeps his watch, but for the moment, the forest is quiet.
With a CAW!, the raven returns, flapping its coal black wings and staring at you suspiciously. From the forest behind the stone, an old man, bent with age, steps out of the woods. He is wearing a simple brown robe and leans heavily on a walking staff.
"So. Yer the ones Jarvis sent, eh? Best be coming along, lad, ladies. Bring the loaves, leave the cart. That old beast will watch out for herself. You won't be long at any rate. Come along." With this, he turns and hobbles back into the woods, travelling a path you did not see before.
Fleur stands up from where she was scratching around looking for signs and chuckles a little embarrassed. Turns out I was right about that bird... it was part of the sign. She collects herself and wonders about the flour, but shrugs, he did say only bring the loaves after all.
Kers, would you do the honors, please? She motions toward the bag of loaves. Since there's only one bag of loaves, only one person can carry it and there is only one man among the group.
She waits for the others to be ready before setting out after the old man, following the unseen trail he left by.
Israfel gathers her own robes about herself and, leaning on her staff, follows the Fleur into the woods.
At least the artifact is safe, I was worried there for a minute
Before Kers is even asked he was going to heft the bread. He nods to Fleur in acknowledgement and hefts the bag, following the rest into the woods.
The old man keeps up a surprisingly spry pace as he leads you through thick woods to a hollow hidden beneath a fallen tree. You have to duck to get in, but once inside, you're shocked at what you find.
A stone room, clearly the remains of an old tower basement sits here. The room is round, about thirty feet across, with a set of stairs spiraling downward near the room's far edge. Scattered around the room is a bed, a few chests, a brazier, several large cauldrons and a bear's fur rug that dominates the room. The old man sits down on one of the chests and beckons you to sit as well.
"So. You got the reliquary? Did Jarvis put his trust in the right kids? Yeah, I sees yer looks. Go ahead and ask yer questions."
Fleur takes in the surroundings with a quick but observant look around.
"Who are you? Do you live here? alone? Will it be safe here?" Fleur starts with a few questions she is wondering about, though there are more. She's sure her companions have questions as well and doesn't want to overwhelm the old man.
"And yes we have it," she adds at the end...
Israfel watches the old man carefully for nearly a minute before responding, "What we know so far: 1) the finger bone is an artifact predating Izrador's fall and 2) He is using the Black Mirrors to feed on the souls of those murdered before them."
"Do you have a plan for fighting Izrador's growing power? If so I would love to hear it."
"What exactly is the nature of the Reliquary? How will it assist us in opposing Izrador?
"It was mentioned that there were others willing to take up arms against against Izrador. You are obviously a contact point for this network. How are we to interact with or assist this movement. I assume we are not intended to be simple couriers."
Having asked her questions, Israfel takes a seet on a chest adjacent to the old man while she awaits a resonse.
Fleur blinks at Israfel, who seems so quiet usually and smiles... good questions, but so much at once... let the poor man think.
The final question is the one that holds her own attention the strongest. How big is this network, how strong? And what is our intended role in it? She waits an answer to all and turns back to look at the old man, expectantly.
Kers keeps quiet, and after giving the room a quick check for danger goes back to the opening to see if they were followed. He takes a seat closest to the opening, but has no questions of his own.
Xochtli wanders the room briefly, quietly looking it over. There was cauldrons around which could have served any purpose, sure she had some questions but the others seem to have plenty to ask as well and would likely cover many of her questions in any case.
The old man nods at the questions. "Well, first of all, my name ain't important. They just call me the Old Man. Names are fer younguns like you. Out here, I don't see a need. I live here with Kaius, who you met. He's the raven. He's scouting boy, there's no need to lurk near the door," He calls to Kers. "Ain't a thing in these woods that Kaius don't know and he'll call if there's trouble. As fer safe? Well, the relic'll be safe below. But I'll show ye that in a moment. Old bones need the rest." He nods at Xochtli's examination of the caludrons. "Those''re fer dinner and brewin', lass. I make me own food and drink, since I prefer not to live under the thumb of the orcs and their pet Legates. Now, fightin' the Shadow? Suicide. Ye can carve away at his orcs; he's got ten thousand more. Ye can kill his Legates; he'll warp a few more to his Will. Ye can even break his Mirrors; the blast alone will kill ya and anyone within a mile. He's a God, make no mistake. Way I figure it, the elves got near wiped out fightin' him all these years. But, when I was a boy, we found this place and we started thinkin': what if we could fight a god with a god? Legend goes among the elves that Izrador broke the fabric of the worlds when He fell. What if ye could stitch it back up?" He stands abruptly and begins to hobble over to the stairs leading down.
"Well, are ye comin' or not?" Without waiting for an answer he grabs a torch from the wall and heads downward.
Fleur shrugs to the others. What else is there to do? She follows the old man down the stairs.
Kers is somewhat embarassed by the scolding and moves slowly from the door. His hand is still holding his ax as he follows the others down.
Israfel silently follows Kers down the stairs, seeming lost in her own thoughts.
So that is why Izrador reigns unopposed, let us see what that old man has to show.
The stairs spiral down for two stories into the ground. The stones in the walls are set close together, but still a few roots penetrate. It is however, remarkably dry.
You emerge into a small antechamber of stone, approximately 8 feet by 8 feet. Opposite the stairs is a giant carved face in the stone, seemingly made from a single huge boulder. The face is of a bearded man with closed mouth and eyes. The Old Man steps to the face and whispers something into its ear.
With hardly any sound at all the stone eyes open, peering at you with eerie life. The mouth begins to open, much wider and taller than any human mouth, revealing a short passage beyond ending in a simple wooden door. Beyond the door is a huge hall with 12 foot ceilings and at least 50 feet wide and 200 feet long. It is filled with row upon row of book shelves, filled to the brim with books.
In your life, you've probably only seen one or two books, and if they weren't a dear family secret, they were held by the Legates. Reading and writing is forbidden; a treasure trove like this would be grounds for putting a town to the sword. The Old Man looks back at you and with obvious emotions says "Welcome to the Last Library. Near as we can tell, someone gathered every book they could lay hands on and stored them here. The most recent book is near 1,000 years old and the oldest is in a language I can't read. When I was a boy, this was entrusted to me. As long as I kept its secret and kept it safe, I wouldn't die. That was 123 years ago. When I say the relic will be safe, well, there ain't no place safer I reckon." He walks over to a small desk near the entrance, upon which an old leather volume is placed.
"In this book I found the first inkling of a way to repair the fabric of the worlds. It's only a hint; it refers to another text that isn't here. But it speaks of a place where the author o' that text is, a place called Mount Abore Monastery. And I found a map that had that location marked. It's to the North, just inside the Shadow's land. It's a 3 week journey by horse and it won't be easy, but if we can retrieve that book, we might have half a chance of bringing back the Gods. And that's what I need ye for, lasses and lad. I need someone to head into the Shadow's yard and steal a book from under His nose."
Kers is visable impressed. "Alright then, the sooner started, the sooner finished." is all he says, and his tone is flat enough that he might as well be talking about bringing in sheaves, or milking cows.
Israfel stands, staring around the rooom. So much has been lost to us. We must repair the damage that has been done.
Fleur seems distracted and barely notices the actions of the old man as he whispers into the ear of the carving. She almost jumps when the mouth opens revealing a passage. Clever... and well hidden... Better even than some of the Family's own devices.
And beyond the door, the books... while she's not particularly bookish in nature, she is impressed with the vast size of the collection. Even her own family had only a couple of books that weren't simple ledgers and account books. She touches a few of the books out of sheer reverence, but makes no attempt to move them at all... a simple feather-light touch only.
She looks at the old man questioningly. "Have you a map? or instructions more clear than simply 3 weeks by horse? And there are four of us, with no horses, so I assume it will take us longer than three weeks. And then are we to return here with the book to you?" She shrugs, since he hadn't made that clear, though it seemed implied.
Well... That would be why I was needed....
Xochtli is amazed at the library, almost longing to stay and see the books but she knows there is a job they must do.
"Horses will draw attention we won't be able to bring them."
The Old Man nods slowly. "Well, if you're going to make it in any decent time, yer gonna have to go by river. The halflings'll help ya, fer a price. In Brindenford, there's a ferry. At least, there was. Should still be. Legates like their wine, same as anyone else."
Xochtli smirks slightly recognizing what the old man said though she doesn't say anything.
"The matter of price may be an issue as most of us barely have much in the way of money."
Listening to the converstion, Israfel slowly walks around the room, scanning over the titles of the books as goes.
The Old Man nods at the mention of a lack of pay. He hobbles over to the desk and opens a drawer. He pulls something out and hands to out to Xochtli, "This'll help. Southhaven tobacco. Rare these days and halflings love the stuff. Might give you an advantage."
Israfel, the titles are worn and old, but a few catch your eye: The Passage of Geros; Practical Sheep-Keeping; A Primer on the Use of Firepowder; A History of the Northlands, Volume 3; The Book of Lost Names; The Fire of Taltos.
Israfel pauses in ther study of the ancient tomes, drawing her finger along the faded binding of the "The Book of Lost Names." I wonder if our name in in here?
With a bemused expression her her face, Irafel rejoins the others talking with the old man.
Xochtli nods slightly, carefully stowing the tobacco away, if she was sweet lipped enough she could possibly get them passage very cheaply this way.
"This will go a long way I am sure... is there anything else we should know?"
The Old Man shakes his head. "Nothing I can think to tell ye. Be careful who you trust; we have friends out there but nothing organized. The Shadow keeps us too concerned with survival to organize. And watch out for the old places: when the veil fell and the worlds were sundered, things were trapped here older than man. Some are good, but most are not. And even the good ones go a little mad after so many years." The Old Man pauses and pulls out a small pouch about the size of an egg. "These will help, as well. They'll keep for some time and should help." Inside the bag are 12 berries.
"Anything else you wanna know?"
Kers says absently, to no one in particular, I wonder what happens when they notice we are missing?
Israfel pulls her robes tightly about herself once more as she begin to head towards the exit. "Thank you sir, we will try to be careful"
Fleur looks at Kers and shrugs. "Good question, but not anything we can worry about at this point. Perhaps they will assume we died on the way to Fellhallow, especially if the horse and cart return without us."
She starts to move for the exit, then turns back to the old man. "Thanks for your trust, and the berries." Turning again, she slips out the exit.
As you leave, the Old Man hobbles after you. Once out of the mouth, the whole thing closes up, leaving only the face. Upstairs, you hear only the wind whistling through the woods.
"Ye should be safe to go. The relic'll be safe here, until it's needed. Be careful. Stay alive."
Waving farewell to the old man, Israfel begins walking down the road towards Fellhollow.
"I doubt my presence will be missed Kers, I rarely entered town more than once a month and the other shepherds will not talk. We tend to be an insular lot, spending to much time in company of sheep and not enough in the company of other people.
Kers is out of his element and is willing to go with the group. He never voices much of an opinion on the subject.