After a well-deserved rest, the group begins preparations to depart the Keep. Garidan checks over Tacal's packs in his usual manner while Gruskorb takes another trip to the battlements to discern the lay of enemy. The other's prepare themselves and their incantations as necessary.
When he reaches the northeast corner of the Keep's walls, Gruskorb notices the movement of lights upon the Plains of Haemil. The enemy is on the move as thousands of torches move in concert like a vast fiery serpent moving across the fields. Closest to the Keep, he can see a line of a half-dozen torches moving towards the entry to the canyon leading to Keep. He instinctively knows that the group cannot escape onto the plains before their route is closed by the enemy.
When Gruskorb tells them of the coming enemy, Niyut has a solution. "Malthazir, cast fly on Tacal and my brother. I will cast levitate on Gruskorb who can grab unto Tacal. My brother will carry me while you and Garidan ride Tacal. There are no moons in the sky to betray us. We will pass unseen over our enemy."
Any thoughts or plans on Garidan's mind are rendered naught by Gruskorb's report of approaching foes, so he raises no objections to Niyut's proposed course of action. "This should... interesting," he finally says while checking Tacal's load to ensure that it is secured for flight. A thought then crosses his mind that draws a soft laugh out of the swashbuckler, and he can't resist sharing it. "Let's just hope that Tacal doesn't feel the need to relieve himself in mid-air. I doubt the gnolls would all too pleased were they to be the unwitting targets of that."
As their rest, Truk'tosh communes with the oldest spirits of earth, seeking their blessing in deciphering the scroll the party recovered from the slain gnolls that once held the keep.
After his twin explains her plan to fly the party over the hostile army, Truk'tosh begins working with Tacal to prepare him for the coming trial. He was a strong noble oxen but the sky was meant for birds not cloven-hoofed beasts.
After asking the spirits for the blessing, Truk'tosh watches in amazement as the undecipherable script morphs before his eyes. Reading the script aloud, the half-orc says, "Rgulblux, Ruler of the Wastelands and Lord of the Flame, commands Dakskar to take command of Highmark Keep and protect it from all those who would be enemies of the clan." Looking down the page he sees that another has recently scrawled a message in reply. "Grundak says group from Eastgate entered the dark tower. They number five with elf that has the power to make you not see him. Friends of the barbarian and paladin are they. I have scout that sees elf with power eyes at base of stairs. They will not make the wastelands. Grundak searches for them at dark tower. ~Dakskar"
Hmm... we've found Rgulblux it seems, echoes the bard in Malthazir's head.
Niyut's pride is piqued by her lack of mention in the missive. On the one hand, it's much better for her to go beneath notice. On the other hand, she believes that she has been the biggest threat to the gnolls.
Doing some quick calculations in her head, she figures that it has been about fifteen to twenty "days" since the world ended. "How did the gnolls and their giant allies have the foresight and planning to claim such a large swath of territory in such a quick amount of time? It's almost as if they knew beforehand the calamity that would befall."
Quietly, the group rises into the air and sets off through the canyon, keeping low enough that Niyut's superior low-light vision can see the ground but not so much to allow the darkvision of the gnolls to see the. As they pass over the patrol, Niyut points out that 3 hill giants walk among the gnolls. The torch light from the gnolls makes it clear that they are bringing supplies to Highmark Keep. It won't be long before they see what has befallen Dakskar and his troops. When Tacal makes the slightest of moans, Truk'tosh quickly quiets the beast. A single gnoll looks skyward, but then continues his march down the canyon.
Rgulblux? What is that?
Taking full advantage of their greater flying speed, the group moves as far and as fast as they can. When they alight on the ground, Niyut whispers, "They will soon discover their comrades' deaths. We should make all possible haste to move north and east so that while we move closer to Haemil we will not be in their direct path back to the horde. Our main strength is stealth and speed. It looks like they are relying on torches. This is a good thing. It will help us know when their giant allies are close, and if we are cunning it could provide us with cover. If a search party draws nears, I can cloak us in illusion. This will be a tiring march, but we benefit that there are no tracks by which they can follow us."
With that Niyut sets out to guide the party ahead. She ranges a bit in front of them while Gruskorb ranges behind, so that none would come upon them unawares.
Once the party is safely and stealthily grounded well away from the devasted outpost and its unsuspecting reinforcements, Garidan slides off of Tacal's back with a pained grunt and spends a few moments covertly massaging a very personal portion of his anatomy. During the ride, the swashbuckler had unfortunately learned that his armor's coverage was a bit lacking in certain places, as demonstrated by the repeated jabs he'd taken from the pommel of one of their salvaged weapons. Once he's sure that he can walk without wobbling in agony, Garidan takes up a watch position on Tacal's left side and unshoulders his bow. He also takes a bit of time to secure his rapier to his left wrist with the aid of a length of stout cord made for just such a purpose; no embarassing and risky recoveries needed now should he mishandle his weapon again.
Eyeing the distant torchlight as the party begins to move, Garidan remarks quietly to the others. "That's a pretty big army out there. Even looting and eating everything remotely edible, how can they possibly sustain it now?" Gaze flicking to his companions with a faintly worried expression, he continues. "And is anyone troubled by the knowledge that there are gnolls out there with a definite interest in us as something more than just another source of food and loot?"
"Yes. I too am worried. At worst it speaks of collusion between the priests of Kiravor and the half-ogre warlord. As for what they eat? People. The dead. Each other."
Rgulblux? Were you not listening to the discussion with Ptahh and Quistaine? the bard, Mobrak from the deep recesses of Malthazir's mind. He is the half-ogre that has come down from Shadow Mountains. From the tales I've heard, you don't want to meet him!
The passes slowly as the group winds their way to the northeast avoiding the random patrols and other movements of the gnoll armies. After a brief stop for food and rest, the group continues on. The air is getting colder but at least the wind is subdued. Another march commences without incident. At last the beast, Tacal, grimaces and indicates that it is time for an extended rest.
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With the trip being happily uneventful, Garidan is free to let his thoughts roam a little, specifically to the subject of utilizing his nascent alchemy in more effective ways. And he thinks he has a pretty good idea quite early on, though he himself lacks the skill to implement it. But perhaps one of his companions can make up the lack, and so Garidan broaches the idea to them in a soft voice. "I think I've got something that'll make it bit easier to hit distant targets with some of the compounds I can make now. But I'm lacking a bit of skill in a required area, so I'm wondering if any of you perhaps know how to make arrows?"
Garidan smiles brightly while digging about in his quiver to retrieve a particular type of arrow, the inspiration for his idea, as it happens. Holding up the arrow with its oddly enlarged tip, he nods toward it. "This is one of those arrows full of holy water I got back in Eastgate. I was thinking of something similar, but filling the resevoir with other things, such as acid or liquid fire, before it's sealed up for use. Could you make more of these?"
Garidan mutters a quiet curse under his breath before speaking up, his voice kept soft just in case. "Ah well, perhaps I'll find someone in Haemil with the skill I need then. I just hope they'll be able and willing to use on my behalf for a reasonable price."
When their pack animal deciding that it's time for a halt, Garidan helps set up camp, passing around rations to everyone who has need of them and--with aid from Niyut--topping off their supply of clean water as well. He briefly debates unpacking his alchemy kit, but soon thinks better of that plan; a sudden interruption, or a need to leave in haste, could cause more problems than it's worth right now. Instead, he settles in for a spot of relaxtion before his watch rotation comes up.
When his turn at standing watch arrives, Garidan patrols a slow circuit around their camp, meticulously examining the terrain for any hint of trouble within range of his enhanced vision. His bow is held ready in one hand, while an arrow is absentmindedly twirled in slow circles by the finger of the other. At the back of his head hovers his sister's vessel, its light dimmed down to virtually nothing, and its occupant straining her own odd senses in an effort to aid her sibling's guardianship.
"Gari, I've been thinking about that thing I did at the outpost, and I'm pretty sure it was a spell," his sister says after some time has passed. "Oh? And how do you know that," he responds in a low voice, eyes roving slowly and carefully over the star-lit landscape. Huffing in annoyance--and Garidan can almost feel the "slap of enlightenment" that his sister used to accompany that particular sound with--'Ruza explains in an overly patient and slow voice, as if to an idiot. "Because Mother used to cast that spell quite often during festivals back home, you clot." And the moment she says that, Garidan nearly puts an eye out when his arrow-carrying hand reflexively meets his face. "Ah, yes, well... Now that you remind me, I do recall that. In my defense, however, I've sort of been trying not to think too often or long on things before..." And here, Garidan's words trail to an awkward, painful halt.
Both are silent for a time, and then his sister clears her throat with a soft cough--and he can't help but wonder in passing why she even did that--before returning to subject she wanted to discuss. "Right, well that's how I'm pretty sure it's a spell. Well, that, and just before I unleashed it on that mangy gnoll, something that looked an awful lot like the formulae that Mother used to use when she made scrolls appeared inside this crystal. In fact, it even had those personalized notations she always added to her formulae, the ones that always aggravated Father so when he'd try using her scrolls." Considering this briefly, Garidan soon asks the obvious question. "Could you cast it again? Not right now," he is quick to add, and his sister laughs in reply. "Relax Gari! I'm not going to make that kind of attention-grabbing spectacle unless you need it. And yes, I can cast it again. In fact, I think I can cast more than just that one. I've been rooting around in here--and let me tell you, that is just so weird --and I've found more of those formulae, including the one for that spell. Strange thing is, most of the formulae I've found are dark, faded out, and don't do anything when I poke them."
Garidan can't stifle the chuckle at his sister's obvious displeasure at being unable to sate her burning curiousity, and a part of him is rather happy that she's found something to hold her attention in her new, and incredibly limited, form. He quickly brings that wandering bit of his attention back to her voice, as she's still speaking. "There are a few formulae, however, that are lit up bright with colors I can't even put names to, and when I give one of those a poke, it starts to spread across the inside of this crystal. I get the distinct feeling it's just waiting on me to unleash it at that point. After a while though, it sort of fades away and reappears with the other formulae."
Garidan hums softly as he takes a short rest in his pacing around the campsite. This is pretty useful, more so since it appears that his sister can repeat the act. Resuming his slow walk, he asks a few quiet questions. "Okay, let's assume that these are spells then. Is there anything you can make out about them, maybe identify the spells?" Her voice taking a disappointed tone, 'Ruza answers. "No, I can't. I never actually got around to reading the notes that Mother and Father gave me about deciphering spell formulae. All I can tell is that these formulae, aside from having Mother's own notations written into them, have a common structure to them. I think that that means that they're all in the same general class. Oh, and based on their size and complexity, I'm pretty sure that the formulae I can use are weaker spells, and that the darkened ones are progressively more powerful."
The swashbuckler considers this in silence, then smiles a bit. "Well, then we'll just have to figure it out as best we can, huh? That sounds like fun, and it also means that you're not stuck in there just watching helplessly whenever something dangerous is happening."
With his attention split between his sister and their surroundings, Garidan hasn't been as careful as usual about keeping his conversation with the ioun torch to himself. As a result, Malthazir is virtually assured of having gotten much--maybe even all--of the oddly one-sided discourse if he's been paying any attention at all.
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The night passes slowly if not uneventfully. Late in his shift, Garidan sees a small group of gnolls pass by to the south of your encampment. Without any sign of threat however, the young swashbuckler doesn't alert anyone. On the second day, you pass as two-story structure that likely served as an outpost for Haemil's military. The heads of a half dozen soldiers were displayed on large spikes outside the main doors. A pair of butchered horses were found still tied to a post outside the structure. To Niyut's horror, the stripped and mutilated bodies of the soldiers were found hanging inside the main chamber. Their flesh stripped from the bones to presumably provide nourishment to the killers. Truk'tosh and Gruskorb searched the entire structure, yet nothing of value was found within.
The next two days were exhausting with the group keeping a constant watch for predators and the advancing gnoll armies. Late on the fourth day from Highmark Keep, a large garrison of gnolls, many of which were mounted on horseback, passed in front of you heading from left to right across your path. With the quiet words of Truk'tosh, even Tacal kept to the silence. The beast was surely as nervous as the group.
On the fifth day, you passed the scene of a skirmish. The flayed bodies of the humans clearly signaled who had won that confrontation. Scanning the scene for magic, Malthazir found a small metal disc that had a faint glow of transmutation. On one side of the disk was scrawled the following inscription in the common language, "CJ346R". The other side of the disk had a small impression the size of a small coin. The magic wasn't powerful enough to create an essence, but the device was clearly arcane.
It was during the rest following the fifth march that Truk'tosh finally noticed the weather. It was remarkably warmer the past couple of days since the group had made their way on to the plains. There was no visible sun or heat source, but it was definitely warmer. The next morning as the group veered northeast to avoid a regiment of gnolls and small giants. As they crested a small hill, they saw that they had caught up with the bulk of the gnollish forces. The front of the mass of soldiers was too far to fly above and the mass was too vast to circumvent without significant delay. A massive bonfire lay in the middle of the encampment. The least populous route would take you dangerously close to the bonfire.
Confirmation of whom she believed the gnolls were eating, came as a surprising horror to Niyut. Lord of the Flame, indeed, I know whose blessing has graced these gnolls. I know what hungers he inspires in those who follow him. Not for the first time, Niyut hopes that it is not Gaeruhn who is trying to "midwife" her into being like him -- a hungry spirit. The possibility does not seem far fetched to her. The ichor of two primogenitors follows in her veins. She and her brother were closer kin to the immortals than her companions, or so she had been taught by the shamans of her people. She is grateful, in this moment, that the hunger within her was for a more spiritual repast.
When they find the small metal disk, Niyut is quick to try to determine its origins, meaning, and function.
Being able to consult her grandmother, brings Niyut comfort. I am not so far from the lore of my people.
When they crest the small hill, Niyut's quick mind comes up with a ruse. "Here is what we can do. I will cloak us in illusion. Garidan, please keep me in dim illumination at all times. Your stone will look like a torch held aloft. We will appear to be a small band of gnolls with one very dim-witted ogre. We will pass beneath notice. We will thread the needle by walking near the great bonfire and through the army. I will beseech my ancestors to grant me the ability speak their tongue. If any should challenge us, let me speak. I think I will be able to bluff our way through. We must act as a pack. They are a violent people, if I am challenged and they dispute with me, I will make this sign. When I do so, either Garidan or Truk'tosh should silence the one who should challenge us. Might makes right among these people. The strong rule the weak. Malthazir, I am relying on you to intimidate those who would challenge us in tandem with my lies. Since you are the best at inspiring fear, you will be the alpha and I, your second. I will beseech the ancestors to grant you the gift of Tongues as well. Make no requests, only demands. Diplomacy would be seen as weakness. These blessings will last a better part of an hour. And, if we get into trouble that I cannot get us passed, you must cast fly on Truk and Tacal and we must take to the dubious safety of the skies. Do any of you have a better plan, advice, or questions?
Getting a close look at the savagery by which the gnolls survive gives Garidan ample reason to be pleased by the party's continued ability to avoid their various warbands. And so, the sight of the massive force directly before is an unpleasant one, made more so by Niyut's insane plan. When she finishes by asking for opinions on the matter, he's quick to speak up. "Perhaps we'd be better served by passing around this horde, instead of trying an insanely risky deception to go through? If Malthazir could work some of that concealment magic he's been using the last couple of fights, it'd aid our efforts considerably at avoiding trouble."
Not waiting for a reply, the swashbuckler continues. "Of course, if you're utterly set on this for some reason, then I suppose I can offer a few ideas to make the plan a bit more likely to succeed. Since you cannot grant the ability to speak their yapping tongue to all of us, your illusions should provide myself, Truk'tosh, and Gruskorb very clear reasons by we remain silent. Nasty wounds are the best option here, such as a visibly scarred throat, a poorly healed lower jaw, or a head with the ears sealed shut by burn scars." After this, he is still and silent for a time, though his face displays clear evidence of some sort of serious internal debate. Finally, he sighs and takes hold of the stone orbiting his head. Approaching Niyut, with reluctance and pain shifting his expression into something unpleasant, he carefully brings his hand up to her head and releases the stone to hover there instead. When the stone tries to return to its usual place, he stops it with an upraised hand and gently pushes it back into orbit around the female half-orc. "As for keeping you in the sort of semi-darkness that you need, there's just no way to control that precise distance in such a vast crowd. And a torch that constantly dims and brightens like that is almost sure to draw attention we don't want. So," and here, Garidan has to pause a moment to get his voice under control before resuming. "I'll let you borrow her--it--for a time, and you just ask for the exact level of light that you need, okay? I'm sure that you can account for the light properly with your own disguise."
Stepping back from Niyut with an anguished grimace, he tries not to stare at the ioun torch no longer in his possession, temporary though its absence may be. Getting his scattered thoughts back to the matter at hand, Garidan offers another idea that will hopefully ensure the success of this mad venture, should Niyut be utterly determined to see it through. "And don't forget scent in your disguise either, we need to smell like gnolls, and an ogre, not just look and sound like them. I don't know if you can manage that, so perhaps we might take some time to locate something suitably foul with which to temporarily alter or even entirely block out our usual scents?"
"The reason why we cannot use invisibility charms is the same reason that we may not fly over the horde: they do not last long enough. The benefit of my plan is that the illusion will last for as long as I am mindful of it. We could attempt to go around the horde, but I worry that it is too vast to circumnavigate without significant delay. You are wise, Garidan, to think of scent. My illusion cannot account for that. If the others like my plan we will incorporate your suggestions about appearance into the illusion as well. Is there any musk in your alchemical supplies? Thank you for the loan of the stone. I will be mindful of her safety."
Niyut has never seen anything remotely like this, nor would her people have. Malthazir, on the other hand, rightly identifies it as a clockwork key by the gnomes. Having never heard of such a race, Niyut can just shrug. The elf explains that only the owner of the key, when he places his thumb up on the indentation, will reveal the key. To what sort of lock this key belongs, he cannot guess.
Queried about using something from the stock of alchemical reagents, Garidan carefully considers the materials available, then shakes his head regretfully. "No. While there are some compounds that can alter scent, they're meant to be used in the creation of specific items that will either enhance their potency, extend their duration, or negate some very ugly side effects. On their own, they're useless for our needs." He tries very hard not to respond to Niyut 's casual use of his stone's proper gender, such as it has one. A part of him, however, is certain that he's not fooling anyone here into thinking there's nothing unusual about that ioun torch.
"Have you seen anything that could mask our scent? If not, we may have to rely on the stench of the encampment."
Shaking his head again, Garidan answers with a negative. "Aside from whatever filth the gnolls themselves leave in their wake, there's nothing around here that I know that would be of use."
"Then that is that."
"We must learn the truth of how many survived the cataclysm when we meet the next Hazard", Truk'tosh adds during the discussion. "This army outnumbers all the other survivors we've seen combined."