Arianwyn's countenance takes on an unexpected cast., one of regret.
"I cannot say, little one. It may befall that I do not return from our next voyage. We go to fight a great darkness. You must be worthy of both your heritages, and look after your mother."
He embraces her.
"And keep up your dance lessons." he says with a smile.
Tutavak appears notably less well-rested than the others over breakfast. "So, a ship journey next?" he asks, somewhat uneasily.
Tutavak contemplates an uneasy future on a boat, while his companions variously shop, make friends with their previously unknown children and otherwise amuse themselves.
For Chary in particular, Namarth offers a plentiful array of trinkets likely to appeal to her. Her love of shiny things finds full play.
Chary browses and sees many beautiful and exquisite items, but limits herself to some fine silk fabric of majestic quality. Enough for a classy number...at least after the next time she finds a conveniently located seamstress.
Before departing the civilities of Narmarth, the group find a moment to speak to Pirot again.
"The Nuckalavee - damned thing seems to evolve. I'll keep working on it and send word if I find anything. Weltmann says to beware of the Stones. His opinion is that runes of that sort of power will fight to defend themselves. Not exactly sentient, but capable of picking up the notion that they're threatened. Runelore's his area, of course and he was a decent student in his day."
He stabs his finger on the desk.
"Don't forget. Five of them. The Stone of Fury. The Stone of Creation. The Stone of Wisdom. The Stone of Rebirth. The Stone of Despair. Fomorians will be keeping them separate, of course, but only because they all want the whole set. Could be disguised, could be buried, could be worshipped. Go and meddle. Go and upset them."
Pirot's parting words are to Tutavak.
"May the strength of the People ride within you. May your hunting be good. May your actions reflect the Sun Stallion's strength and the Moon Mare's gift of change."
It is the oldest blessing and it's unlikely that Tutavak would ever have expected to hear is spoken outside his native land.
Riggarth remains the same dour stone built small port it has always been - remote but self-sufficient. Greeted by the now very aged Hroaldr, the group discover that they have a problem. Pharoe is blocked by a magical fog and finding someone willing to risk his ship or his crew to sail through it will be difficult.
"Bifrost tried it last year," explains the druid sadly. "The guilt of that is on my head. He didn't come back, you see, and since then ... well ..."
The words trail off.
"What can you tell us of this mist?"
"How far is it from Riggarth to Pharoe? I don't suppose we could man our own boat?"
"Or failing that, could we get someone to take us near the mist and we could row in from there?"
"If the fog is illusory in any way, most of us know a ritual that may help too."
Rev:
"Three days sailing, but the fog seems to start about two miles out from the island. Fishermen report that it seems to drag craft towards it when they get too close and it certainly isn't natural."
Hroaldr distributes Kia's favoured Fruitful Bloom cider as the party start to evolve a plan.
"It's impossible to tell if it's illusory or not. The reports we have are made by upset fisherfolk. It is just possible you could find a captain brave enough to take you as close as he dares and set you down, but I think it would be expensive. Nobody's going to risk their ship after what happened to Bifrost."
Tutavak
Kia dirnks her cider appreciatively. She knew there was a reason she liked Hroaldr.
"If we get someone to set up down at a safe distance, we then need to arrange how we get back. I assume that, if we manage to lift the fog, people will be prepared to pick us up. It is just a matter of how we let anyone know we want to return."
"Hroaldr, you have many contacts. Who among them would be willing to help if we told them that we would seek to discover what happened to Bifrost and his crew and recover them or avenge their deaths if that is what happened?"
"Bifrost's nephew would help if you bring word of his uncle's fate I think. He'll want payment in advance, but he would take you. Sjomadour is a good sailor. A harsh master, but he brings his crews home. 500 gold would be enough."
Arianwyn hopes the others have more pocket change than he does...
Kia thinks it was a good job she didn't buy everything she wanted.
Chary also really enjoys the cider. "You have good taste sir! And Kia, I can see why you appreciate this drink. Quick nice, as always."
"It seems like Sjomadour may be our best bet. Should we track him down and offer him a job, or would he be more receptive if he is summoned here by our friend, the esteemed druid?"
"I'll talk to him."
Hroaldr gathers the coin and leaves to find Sjomadour.
Sjomadour returns with Hroaldr and surveys the party. Having done so, he grunts - whether with approval or disparagement is impossible to tell.
A thin, leathery man, he holds up the bag of coin and jerks his thumb behind him. "Sandpiper." and leaves without another look.
Hroaldr shakes his head. "He'll take you. Take this to cheer you up. Sjomadour isn't the best company."
He passes over a small keg of cider to Kia and Chary.
Sjomadour's crew have the look of hardy professionals and are disinclined to talk as the party board the Sandpiper. Sjomadour himself keeps a watchful eye on the group and points below decks before going about his work. It's clear he has neither the time nor inclination to chat with landlubbers.
Within the cramped quarters, the sounds of the ship setting sail are heard all around and it may only be imagination that leads you to feel that those preparations are particularly careful for this voyage. A two day journey lies ahead.
Eye spy . . .
Tutavak
EDIT: Image.
Chary is actually pretty adventurous on board . After we are out to sea for several hours she strolls onto the main deck. She is nimble enough to stay out of the sailors' way, and even climbs some of the rigging (after observing where the sailors climb and where they avoid).
If the captain gives her grief for moving about the ship, she gives him a petulant grin and goes on about her business...but she is always careful to stay out of the way of the working swabs. When weather gets choppy, or the crew is particularly busy, she goes back down belowdecks.
Sjomadour seems displeased to have an exotic drow beauty prancing around his ship, but he says nothing beyond protecting himself with a common enough symbol against evil. He is not much more comfortable in the company of Kia and Arianwyn, but Whiteclaw and Tutavak don't seem to worry him.
On the morning of the second day, he makes up his mind to somethng and approaches Chary.
"You'd better bring my uncle back, dead or alive. No tricks, no raising, no zombies. Try that one and I'll hunt you down however long it takes."
He's obviously scared, but determined to say his piece regardless. This is by far the longest speech you've heard from him.
"Well said! Fortunately we are not of the necromantic persuasion!" Arianwyn jests, masking his unease.
"And so, we return," he says to Whiteclaw and Kia.
Upon his addressing her, Chary raises an eyebrow. He just managed to edge his respect a few notches higher in her book, and she earnestly tries to set him at ease...at least in regards to our intentions with his uncle's fate.
"We are not here to stir up trouble, only to try to head it off before it begins in earnest. We do understand reverance for the dead, and I assure you that we will do all we can to determine his fate and bring him back, alive if possible, and with respect if he has passed. You have my word that we will do all we can to bring him back without tricks or skullduggery."
After his point was made, Chary is slightly less carefree on deck. She understands the crew's trepidation and does what she can to, if not put them at ease, at least not make them more uneasy by her wanderings around the ship...still, that is difficult. Chary finds that she likes the tang of saltwater on her lips and sea spray in her hair.
Sjomadour nods slightly. After watching Chary a little longer, he unbends to the point of explaining some of the workings of the ship to her, although he makes it clear that he would prefer her to remain below decks. He particularly draws her attention to the skiff that will take the group to Pharoe.
"She's solid and she'll steer true, but she's heavier than she looks. She'll take two to crew."
On the morning of the third day, the party discover the truth of his words. The Sandpiper holds steady as the skiff is lowered and the heroes and their equipment make their way on board. Ahead, the fog that surrounds Pharoe is both visible and distressing. Even with the Sandpiper more than a mile away the shifts and turns of the fog suggest strongly that it scents her presence and it's clear from Sjomadour and his crew's demeanour that they want to be away.
Once aboard, your progress is disconcertingly swift. Setting course for Pharoe, the nearer you draw to the fog, the faster the little craft travels until finally she enters the mists and stops entirely.
Within the fog you can see further than you thought, with the bare outlines of a couple of small outcroppings visible. Pharoe lies to the west, the coastline lost in the mists for now, and there is a strong sense of something waiting for you.
Kia has a sour expression on her face. She is alert for trouble.
Chary will put her back into rowing...she may not be the strongest, but she could row for quite a while.
Arianwyn recognises the moving patches of mist. These swarming motes of nothingness drift over any surface, absorbing light, life and sanity. They move towards living creatures within 20 squares and try to drive them insane, forcing them to attack their comrades.
"The mist can be destroyed. In fact, it is imperative."
Arianwy spits, "Begone, vapours!"
Arianwyn's blast is ignored by the voidblight clouds that spin lazily on the surface of the sea.
Tutavak, even less happy with the skiff than with the larger craft, takes his irritation out on voidblight.
Acute nausea does wonders for Tutavak's aim. One segment of the incoming cloud looks about to fragment.
Chary hums a tune as she rows rows rows the boat, gently in the steam. Verily verily verily verily, Tutavak looks green.
Chary's happy humming fills the air as she and Whiteclaw row steadily towards the coastline of Pharoe.
Unsure which cloud to attack, Kia settles on the one that has already been hit.
Kia's arrow just misses the bloodied Voidblight patch and two of the spiralling menaces drift closer, enveloping Whiteclaw, Arianwyn and Kia and sucking voraciously at their minds.
Arianwyn invokes the power of his amulet and shakes off the madness.