The earth elementals converge on one of the last standing gnolls.
Seeing the battle relatively under control, Malz starts scanning for essences.
Spirits of succor continue to answer Truk'tosh's call as he moves toward where his twin was seen last.
As Niyut breathes a sigh of relief at her good fortune, Malthazir's elementals converge on the last gnoll, pummeling him with earthen fists. Battered and bruised, the gnoll fights on.
Summoning the healing powers of the Sacred Mother, Truk'tosh again feels a revival of strength and power. While the great half-orc calls out to the greater spirit, Malthazir scans the dead for more life essences, finding three such essences in the process.
With the last of the foes in the immediate area dealt with, Garidan trots toward Gruskorb while keeping a wary eye on the incomplete bridge and its yapping horde of would-be users. Panting lightly as he comes to a halt before the wounded hobgoblin, the swashbuckler nods toward the bandolier slung across his torso. "You look like you could a bit of healing there. Why don't you grab that flask there, raise a toast to Mylesar's nether portions, and tip it back?"
Gruskorb heard Garidan with little issue, but his mind was focused on ending the nearby threat. His memory was long when it came to slights, and though he was usually the one enacting them, these gnolls had managed to damage him physically, something he was apt to repay in kind. I guess it wouldn't hurt to help Malthazir either, though I'm somewhat enjoying his highbrow shaved a moment.
Gruskorb steps up to the last remaining gnoll on the lower section of the floating world and cuts him down. Although the immediate threat is wiped out, the gnolls above can be heard howling and barking. A chorus of gnomish voices ring out.
The captain rides towards Gruskorb and Truk'tosh, nodding toward them before he whistles loudly causing the few remaining riderless horses to stop in their tracks and look in his direction.
"Haemil thanks you, but it is wise that we depart before they figure another way down here!"
Niyut races over to the far gnoll to extract his essences.
"Malthazir," she shouts. Good thinking with the bridge. Can you bring down the other side as well? Your charm of flight should still be working on my brother. Gruskorb, will you please go and fetch Tacal? Garidan, please coordinate a plan our route to Haemil with the horse lord while I gather the essence from our enemies."
She glances back at the gnoll recently brought low by Gruskorb.
Following his twin's suggestion, Truk'tosh wills himself into the air and scoops up the elven mage.
"Casting various flying and gliding incantations, the group descends to the floating island below and quietly make their way westward towards the lights. Niyut sneaks ahead, hearing the sounds of battle. She comes across a skirmish between the gnolls and several human soldiers, some on horseback."
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As the last gnoll falls, the Captain gives a loud whistle and the few remaining horses that survived the battle snap their attention to the horselord, several of them even moving to stay close to him. "I'm not sure where you came from, but I thank you for your aid. I am Foramdar, Captain of the Riders of Haemil," the armored man says as he lifts the visor of his helm to greet you. "The gnolls are coming with archers. I believe it is in our best interest to move quickly from this field." He listens intently to the group as they make their plans to further limit the gnoll's advance.
Nodding in agreement, Formadar grabs the reins of the two horses that have followed him before encircling the battlefield rounding up a few other strays and leading them to the south to meet up with Gruskorb and Tacal. The horse lord slips from his saddle and leads a spirited young gelding to the hobgoblin. He ties Tacal's lead rope to the gelding's saddle then hands the reins to Gruskorb, ""Can you ride? Redwynn will serve you well. Grip her firm with your legs; she is war trained like the others."
No sooner had Niyut finished harvesting essences, Garidan called out warning the oracle that archers had arrived. The pair fled south towards Tacal as the first arrows began to rain down upon them. Out of range when finally catching up with Gruskorb and the horse lord, the young swashbuckler was relieved to find that they too were provided horses by Foramdar. "They are not yours to keep as the horses of Haemil choose their rider from our ranks. We do not choose them. But, they shall bear you for now."
A few minutes later, Truk'tosh and Malthazir return. They inform the group that they were successful in leaving another earth elemental to wreck havoc upon the gnolls and their magically formed earthen bridge. Pleased that the group has momentarily halted the gnolls' advance, Foramdar urges them to make haste. "I ride to Haemil to inform my lord, Helluddar, of what we have seen here. In other times, I would have demanded that you accompany me to Haemil and ask for leave to walk upon our lands, but yesterday is gone. The world is torn and you have shown your value. You shall be welcome there if you need shelter. Otherwise, these horses shall bear you to your destination, but no further."
Niyut is stunned by how useful such a staff could be for either herself or Malthazir. With the aid of her ancestors, she could potential teach the staff almost any magic. As such, it could give Malthazir much greater versatility than he currently possesses. It could even expand her own spell casting options when her ancestors were lending their advice and not revealing arcane secrets.
How did the gnolls come to possess such potent treasures? I thought at first they might have stolen Dyarendi, but perhaps they have been gathering lost treasures. I know little of this Lorrynor, besides that the lowlanders believe that he and not the primogenitors gave life to the elves and the dragons.
These thoughts plague her as she flees the battlefield with Garidan.
Later, she smiles warmly Foramdar when he introduces himself. She knows that the Night Blood clan frequently clashed with the horse lords before the world changed. Their lands lay at the eastern terminus of the Pass of Shamet. Since the volcano no longer wept the earth's blood, she could not see if the pass still existed. For their part the Firebird had little contact with the horse lords, and she is eager to establish a good rapport with Foramdar.
Greetings, Foramdar, I do not know if Gruskorb introduced the rest of us . . ." She nods to the hobgoblin before she continues. "I am Niyut, my twin brother is Truk'tosh, we are both of the Firebird. Our swordsman is called Garidan, and the child of Chana whose magic cast the gnoll's bridge into the void is Malthazir. We too seek Haemil for we have been charged by the Hazards of Divination and Necromancy -- Bærwynnd and Sivantanpisil -- to take council with the Rhykal Hazard of Conjuration. Do you know if she yet lives or the state of your great city? The gnoll horde is vast and controls the high plains to the west. We have done what we could to stymie them, but mostly we have passed east through cunning and trickery. Would you be willing to guide us to the city?"
As she speaks, Niyut will also ask her Grandmother to heal Garidan and then Foramdar.
Malz lands back on the battlefield as the rest of the landbridge behind him suddenly fractures and collapses into a pile of dust. "Foramdar, well met. It is always good to meet people these days who don't want us dead. Your hospitality is very welcome."
As Malz sees the staff his jaw drops for a moment. He takes it with great reverence. "The Sage Staff of Lorrynor. It was crafted by Ealiannë, the Diviner of Lorrynor, who was one the mother's of the elven people. Lorrynor personally taught the mysteries of the ether to her before the Godling Wars. She has created so many magical items that are were used to fight the enemy...but so many have been lost to time." Malz scans it and his brows raise. "Damned useful too."
Realizing that he somehow overlooked a foe, Garidan blushes in embarassment as Gruskorb steps past him to deal with the last gnoll standing. "Uh, sorry about that," he mutters quietly to the hobgoblin as he quickly looks around to make sure nothing else is any condition to threaten them. Anything more is interrupted by Niyut's request, and the swashbuckler shifts his attention to the last human soldier remaining. Nodding politely, Garidan greets the cavalryman. "Well met, Foramdar. I can only apologize that our aid wasn't soon enough to keep your command intact."
Looking to his allies, he continues. "We've a few matters to attend to before leaving this place, however, so I ask that you please spare as much time as you can so that we can finish up." Garidan concludes his request with another nod before hurrying off into the dark to retrieve his bow. After that, he provides what help he can--mostly as a watchful pair of eyes--to Niyut while she recovers what treasures and essence theirs foes have to offer. He also enjoys the return of his long-absent ioun torch, and it's resident, and is so caught up in that rush of relieved happiness that he barely notices when two essences meld into his body.
Once the bridge is properly seen to, and everyone is away on the backs of loaned mounts, Garidan's attention is mostly put toward keeping his seat, so he adds little to the conversation with Foramdar. What little he can spare is considering Niyut's thanks for the loan of the ioun torch, as delivered to him by his sister, the half-orc's words making it clear that she knows the stone is no mere object. The swashbuckler doesn't know whether to feel relief or worry over this, and eventually sets the matter aside for a time when he isn't clinging desperately to the saddle beneath him like a leech to a meal.
After a long moment of silently giving thanks, Truk'tosh builds a tiny funeral mound in honor of his fallen companion. He finishes by adding a sprinkle of water to the piled up stones - a tribute to the spirits of earth and a payment for allowing his familiar's remains to join them.
Truk’tosh catches up with his twin just as she’s finishing introductions. He gives Foramdar rider a stoic nod but leaves further conversation to his more vocal companions.
When Niyut sees Truk'tosh honor his fallen friend, she will lay a hand on his shoulder in silent support.
Foramdar greets everyone as they introduce themselves with a deliberate nod and a stern audit of their worth. Answering the oracle's questions, he remarks, "Rhykal lives and thrives in her tower within our city walls. She would likely receive you with great interest if you bear news from Talanor. You may follow along with me if you can keep the pace. News of the gnolls invasion must reach my lord's ear quickly."
He looks back towards the battlefield, and his grief is evident. But without another glance westward, he turns and leads the party to toward Haemil. "Rest will be found when the ride is finished, until then, we ride on," he says to know one in particular.
Rest will be found when the horses are too tired to carry us further or when Tacal cannot maintain the pace. The trek to Haemil has already taken far longer than Sivantanpisil suggested it would. Five days, indeed!
As they ride, Niyut tries to pull aside Foramdar to question him further.
"Do you mean that your lord is not aware of the gnollish invasion? Your western border forts were all taken unaware? It was not your intent to meet those gnolls in battle and prevent their entry into your kingdom's eastern holdings? We saw gnollish tribal banners from the Iron Mountains on the western plains. An impressive feat even before the Storm. How did they manage to elude your patrols?"
Niyut marvels not only that the gnolls were able to move so swiftly especially since it seems that the gnolls of the Iron Mountains would have to have crossed the entirety of Haemil to marshal with the gnolls of the Shadow Mountains before the Storm.
His hands subconsciously checking the extent of his severe injuries, Gruskorb was nevertheless intact enough mentally to carry conversation as necessary with the pinkskin commander.
"Gruskorb is my name. Fortune must have put us together." Though she certainly didn't keep your men alive, so you must not have anted enough. The rogue gave a deep nod to the commander. "These gnolls are numerous and can hold their own in combat. I've a hunch they're plentiful yet. Keep an eye out." He let Niyut deal with the details of their origin.
As the military man led a horse to his hands, Gruskorb felt a jolt of connection to the animal. You're scared. Animals had never been his strong suit, for rearing them had never interested him. He didn't shy away from them though, seeing both their purpose and their appeal. Canines were his favorite. Loyal companions. You can actually trust them. They work with you.
As his thoughts of mammals enveloped him, he got the distinct impression Querkus was listening in. You're eavsedropping on me? The rogue did not think it with hostility, but rather with curiosity; this "hosting" business with not second nature to him still. He did wonder though: With the druid's background, was he taking a passing interest in Gruskorb's thoughts about animals, or was he influencing his mind in the first place?
"Redwynn, hmm?" He gave her muzzle a gentle pat.
"I'll do my best to treat her well. A word of warning to you: The archers sometimes have vile toxins on their arrows. If you have an apothecary, keep him handy."
He was rather surprised to hear of Foramdar's seeming obliviousness to the gnoll situation in the region. He kept his silence for now and preserved his suspicions.
"Yes, fortunate it was that you came along," the commander said as he handed the reigns to the nervous hobgoblin.He nodded as Gruskorb calmed the animal then climbed upon his back. "His Rider was a great warrior and close friend. He shall bear you well." His eyes grow dark as the rogue discusses the gnoll's use of poison. "Thank you. I shall pass along the warning."
Foramdar stares straight ahead keeping a stern look ahead as he addresses Niyut. "We have been aware of the gathering of gnolls for many years... they are lead by an ogre named Rgulblux. They had been raiding towns along the lower coast along the northern ocean prior to the cataclysm. When the world broke we lost the western section of the Plains of Haemil. We sent scouts to cross the void and send word of our western outposts along the cliffs. While we waited, the gnolls attacked us."
Captain Foramdar pushes the group to its limits, riding for nearly twelve hours before calling for a short rest. And although he is weary, he patrols the area while his horse remains alert as it freely roams the makeshift camp. After a bite of food and a couple hours of rest, he climbs into the saddle and calls out to the group, "It is time we move!"
"It is imperative that you reach your lord. It is imperative to us that we survive to take council with the Hazard of Haemil. I am loathe to risk the health of our oxen without a rest to replenish his strength and our magic. How much further is the city? If it is more than a few hours ride, we will rest and follow behind you. I am willing to speak with your lord or one of his subordinates on what we have seen on our journey east, if that is his wish when we arrive in the city."
Niyut's thighs ached and bled from being astride for so long. She had never ridden a horse before and did not know how painful it could be.
"By horseback... one full day of riding with little more than two stops such as we've just made. If you were to rest fully now, and likely one more time, you could reach Haemil in two days. I understand your hesitancy, but I must press onward. I will send aid as soon as I reach the gates of Haemil. Be mindful that my Lord Helluddar is not nearly as tolerant of outsiders as you have found me. He is concerned for his people and will be cautious. These are troubled times and he cares much for his people."
With those words, Captain Foramdar nods at each of you then spurs his steed into action. As the dust settles, you feel the chill of the wind biting at you. Not since before the Keep have you felt the cold so much as tonight.
Before Foramdar leaves the party behind, Truk'tosh breaks his silence with a question.
"Do you have a token you can share with us that will prove to Helluddar that we fought by your side against the gnolls - should we encounter him before we meet again?"
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The horse lords have a violent reputation on the storm-ward side of the mountain. They have likely have dark stories of the clans.
"Go in safety, Foramdar."
Once the companions can no longer hear the thunder of hooves, Niyut speaks. “I sense wrathful spirits. I need to appease them. According to the lore of my people, I must do this alone and without observation. Only my brother can stand guard over me. We will journey a short distance from camp to perform this ritual. Do not be alarmed if you hear anything strange. We will be back in a few hours.”
Once she and Truk’tosh go a sufficient distance from camp that no strange sights or sounds could waft back, Niyut begins to set a fire and begins to boil a pot of water.
Turning to her brother she murmurs, “I do want to appease the spirits, but mostly I did not want our companions, and especially Foramdar, to see what I am about to do. The horse lords of Haemil have fought the Night Blood Clan for time out of mind. If the horse lord were to see me performing blood magic, then he may get the wrong idea about me. And who knows how he would react or what stories he might spread. It is good that he has ridden ahead.”
With that she shakes her sleeve and the body of the gnoll priest tumbles forth. “Please, brother, can you take his head and hands? I feel that his bones might be useful in the future.”
After Truk’tosh cuts off the priest’s head and hands, Niyut will drop them into the roiling water so they might boil until the flesh and sinew slough off.
As she waits, Niyut opens the Liber Sanguinem. Taking the lion bone dagger, she slices the palm of her left hand. Blood wells up and splatters down hissing on to the pages. There is a dull thump in the air and what look like veins in the ivory pages glow and pulse with a lurid red light. New pages grow from the spine of the book covered in rust-red, Draconic runes. Once these new pages settle, she takes the bloody knife and plunges it into the belly of the gnoll priest. Black blood sluggishly pools where the dagger pierces the corpse. She then feeds this dead blood to the thirsty book. Again the veins in the ivory pages pulse and the book generates new pages of ochre runes.
Niyut gives her twin a rueful look. “Our people use all parts of the antelope. It would be wasteful if I did not treat the priest in the same fashion. However, I admit it is dirty work.”
No sooner had she spoken, Niyut feels the attention of something vast in the world of the spirits. “Brother, something comes.”
The young spirit-talker feels the beginning of one of her catatonic fits that occur when her soul is drug forcibly into the spirit world to converse with a powerful spirit who wants her attention.
”No,” she mutters ”I am no spirit’s play thing.”
For one long moment, it seems as if she will resist the call of the great spirit. Then, suddenly, Truk’tosh sees a great shadowy claw burst through her chest before it rips back out as if seizing something.
Niyut collapses to the ground. When Truk’tosh examines her, he can hear breathing and her pulse is slow but steady. His twin sister appears unharmed, but she is also completely non-responsive.
The oracle’s shadow is carried high and far in the endless night before being set down somewhere on the plains before Haemil. She sees the same ruby teeth that she has come to fear flash in the night and she can also make up the same sloping but powerfully muscled form that hurt her in the spirit world.
“Little sister, why do you resist me? I am only helping you. Did I not promise to birth you into the world as something new?” The great spirits thoughts ring chidingly and mockingly through her ethereal form.
“What have you done to me? Niyut’s quiet voice cracks with fear and desperation.
“I have done many things to and for you, little sister. I hope that I have finally taught you that resisting my midwifery will only cause you pain and distress. I have also shown you that you can walk the world as a spirit unclothed by flesh, a rudimentary skill possessed by my kindred. It is but the next stage in your metamorphosis, little sister. Though you were born squalling of a woman, your destiny is to become as me and my kin. Lesser in stature, but of the same kind. I wonder what thought you will become, little sister?”
“That is not possible. We are of two different kindred,” Niyut objects.
The ruby teeth disappear and reappear behind ebony gums and she hears a queer chuffing noise. Niyut realizes that the man-beast is laughing at her.
“If you truly believed that, then you would be denying the lore of your people. Your origins matter little. I have long reimagined the flawed works of my kin into things far greater. Is it the promise of your blood? I smell the blood of the one you call Simur, though it is far removed. I also smell the blood of one my brood much more recently.”
It pauses and sniffs the air again. “Your father is one of mine, little sister. Or, perhaps, it was something Amus did when she plucked you amongst all the dying from the Storm? Some combination of the two? It matters not, little sister. What you were is irrelevant; embrace what you are becoming.”
Finally, Niyut asks the question she has been dreading. “Are you Gaeruhn?”
Again, the great spirit chuffs at her. “Gaeruhn despises all things that do not obey him, little sister. You are disobedient. You thought I am he? “
Its next sniff is long and considering, “I smell his stink on you -- his stink and the stink one of my sisters. They seek to influence you, but you are mine and not theirs.”
The great spirit’s coal like eyes consider her in silence for a long moment, “I imagine you felt growing hungers that mortals do not know and feared he was corrupting you. You saw an effect and looked for a single cause. Put such mortal foolishness behind you, little sister. You hunger because mortal fare cannot sate what you are becoming. I speed your becoming. Your hungers pain you because, my brother seeks to influence one whom he would devour. His stink also twists the pathetic mortal soul bound to you. Better that you let him fade away. Being burdened by such a helpless, clinging soul will only encumber you. Instead, rejoice in your metamorphosis into one of my lesser kindred.”
Now it’s Niyut’s turn to laugh. “He is not welcome in my palace of bone. He is an up-jumped essence, arrogant and rude. Since I cannot expel him, and would not wish to lose my sorcery if I could, I have been trying to harmonize his weaker soul into my own as one single more powerful soul. The lore of the Firebird says that such things are possible for possessing spirits that cannot be expelled. So far, I have not yet succeeded. You want to teach me something? Teach me how this can be accomplished. Teach me how to take what was his power and his knowledge and finish making it my own, so that he may continue his journey beyond the Veil.”
With a dismissive snort, it replies “Burn him. Consume him as my brother would.”
Niyut fights a smirk in the dark. For a moment, her wit dominates her terror. “I will keep that in mind. So, if you are not Gaeruhn, then who are you?”
Without warning, the fear returns, like the tides. Almost faster than the eye can follow the great spirit changes forms from an ape-man into a confusion of other shapes often mixed in strange combinations. Finally, the great spirit becomes a sky-consuming, formless shadow of implicit shapes and unwholesome textures.
The great spirit settles down, but its form continues to molt new shapes. “Enough of such questions, little sister. You do not know enough to ask the correct ones. Attend what I will teach you. So far you have used the shadows to physically bind your foes or fool their physical senses. Shadows are anything the ether can be. The more substance they take on in the material world the more real they become. Shadows can reshape minds and flesh. First, I will teach you how it they can alter a mortal’s mind. . ..”
Its tutelage continues for some time, revealing dark secrets that become the basis of her most potent incantations. When it finishes, it leaves her to fly back to her own body over the plains of Haemil. As she flies she considers the implications of what it said and what it left unsaid.
When Niyut’s shadow rejoins her body, she awakens.
During the punishingly hard ride across the plains, Garidan offers almost nothing by way of conversation, being either too absorbed in the task of staying on his borrowed mount, or recovering as best he can from said task during their infrequent rests. What energy the swashbuckler can muster beyond that is given over to the consideration of the two essences he recently absorbed.
He's already heard from his sister how that pleasingly warm essence's presence has altered the runes of the spells she can release, giving them an almost tangible heat. The effect of the second essence was a mystery until Garidan, in the midst of giving his sword a bit of cleaning, was overwhelmed by a brief vision of a gnollish paw--a paw he knew beyond all doubt was his own--guiding the weapon's edged tip to not just thrust, but slash quite effectively as well. The same paw then brought the pommel into play against formless foes, bludgeoning the faceless shadows with ruthless efficiency.
Cautious experimentation soon reveals that his weapon can be used in the ways that vision showed, and the human feels a faint sense of satisfaction that he knows absolutely did not originate from himself as he spends some of his precious rest time off of the horse in incorporating those new methods into his existing style. Garidan's style is further improved by the inclusion of a few dimly-recalled tidbits of knowledge from 'Ruza regarding her own particular style, alongside her advice on how to improve upon what he's learned for himself.
So busy is he with all of this, in fact, that Niyut's explanation for her temporary absence nearly goes unremarked by Garidan. Only a faint sense that something about her words doesn't quite ring true causes him to hesitate, but in the end the swashbuckler shrugs the feeling off. Who is he to pry into her clan's secrets for dealing with unfriendly spirits, especially when his own knowledge on the subject is about equal to that of the horse he's been stuck riding? For all he knows, she's likely embarassed by some personal facet of the process that would be conducted under the all-too-interested eyes of three unrelated males, a prospect that brings a slight blush to his face before he firmly puts the matter--and any related thoughts--out of his mind.
When she begins to study from the Liber Sanguinem, he sets to cleaning off the blood and bits of gristle that cling to the edge of his weapon's blade until Niyut is violently pulled into the world of the spirit. Immediately he drops his axe and attends to his twin, setting her on her side and checking her mouth to make sure she wasn't in danger of choking on her tongue. These fits were nothing new to the Firebird warrior but they never ceased to set his heart pounding on his chest.
Perhaps two hours after her collapse, Niyut draws a long shuddering breath as her shadow reunites with her body.
"It lies, brother. It lies."
Usually, Niyut will hide her tears from her twin. She tires so hard to protect him from unpleasantness of the world. But the danger from this spirit kept increasing. She doesn't know how to stop it, and it claimed some connection to their father.
Sobs wrack her slight frame, but as quickly as the tears come she is thumbing them away.
"Brother, may I see Dayrendi, the axe of ice?"
Without waiting for a reply, she stands and starts moving about. She stirs the simmering pot to make sure that the soft materiel continues to slough off. She cleans her blade and closes the Liber Sanguinem
Truk'tosh has seen this mania before. Whenever Niyut is truly troubled, she needs to do something, solve some puzzle, or provide a solution.
Without complaint he undoes the straps fastening Dayrendi to his harness and extends the artifact to his sister.
Niyut reaches out and grabs the haft of Dyarendi. She lets its ancient power mingle with her magic and through their linked sorcery with Viosil. If her suspicions were correct, then the spirit of the elven sorcerer would be strengthened by the contact with this axe.
You are unwelcome in my palace of bone usurper. But, if an evil spirit wants you destroyed, I want you to survive long enough for me to better understand the situation.
After a long moment, Niyut looks up at her brother and murmurs, "Did mother ever speak to you of our father? The spirit that stalks me claims that our father is of his line."
She then look looks down at the headless corpse of the dead priest and is struck by an idea.
She dips two fingers in to the black blood before slinging some droplets into the dust as draconic incantations tumble from her lips.
While the oracle knows how the priest died and who killed him, she did not know his name or who he is.
The ride was long and unforgiving, yet the silence and absence of combat gave Gruskorb time to think.
I can leave. I have a horse, rations, survival tools ... yet I feel a tug. My feet won't take me. My heart won't let me. These people have become of value, even though they push on a dangerous path. I suppose the world would be even more dicey were that road not taken.
Sensing the cold, he summoned the abjuration Querkus taught him in his mind.
But I don't want these strings attached. I want to choose my own outcomes. I ...
*schink!*
The image of the bear trap snapping shut in his mind took hold, the teeth bloody and rusted. It was the one he had built, yet it ... it did not work for him. It worked against him. There was no corporeal prisoner, yet a dark void was gound beyond its jaws. Gruskorb had no sense of his surroundings, no control over his body, simply a lucid observation of this surreal imposter.
The macabre grin of his creation began to drip pebbles. Chunks of rock kept falling, slightly larger than before. Their size and shape resembled his hold forced labor grounds in the quarry. All at once the memories, the pain, the despair came flooding back, deeper and darker than the eternal night around wherever his body truly was.
A flash of pain exploded across his back. It was a feeling he'd known well, and its actor was none other than his former taskmaster. The bark of the voice, the repeated sundering of his skin surely confirmed the frightful history's revival. Between the arca of agony, impossible nature of the vision, and fear of what reality truly was, Gruskorb's mind began to tear itself apart. It was then an anchor in the sea of swirling insanity came to him.
I killed you.
The situation was not exactly as he'd experienced, but he found confidence in the version of these events he was familiar with. He waited, timing the cadence of the lashes. The rogue then grabbed a timely rock falling from the snare's mouth, swirled around, and bashed the slaver in the mouth with it. He flew into a rage, rendering the man toothless before breaking his jaw. Weather he died of drowning in his own blood and sinew or when his skull capitulated to the force of the rock in Gruskorb's hands was hard to say, but the result was the same. Breathing heavily, the rogue looked downward to see ... the bear trap. It had been above him in the dream before, raining rocks, yet now it had captured the foreman's feet, somehow drawing him through the jaws, chomping steadily and viciously.
At last, the device came to the man's neck. Crunching through the vertebrae as carrots, it sloppily expelled half the crushed cranium with each bite. The horror of the scene had paralyzed Gruskorb, just now realizing his creation did not have its hunger sated with just that body ... it came now for him, jaws clamoring. He tried to run, but tripped. Scrambling over the ground like a mad man, he instinctively grabbed the devoured slaver's whip and...
Found himself leaning into Redwynn's mane, his hands tightly grasping the reins. Wet with sweat, his ears distantly told him the siblings were heading off somewhere, but he could not make sense of it. His sense of feeling then came back to him. His backpack had slid forward on his person die the angle of the lean. Between that pitch and the motion of the horse, he felt an object had made its way partially out of the sack. Metallic in nature, its coarse texture had a curve of what he imagined was a semicorcle, bowing against his neck. He swallowed as he realized the identity of the device.
It might have just been Gruskorb's imagination, but the surface on him was moist, something slicker than water coating it. He slowly, cautiously formed a thiught.
You did it before. Do it again. Save me!
With that, the slaver's whip flew into his hand, forced itself between the reins. The trap clinked back against the other items in his pack. Gruskorb breathed a sigh of relief, at first attributing the adjustment to the impulse of motion. But he then realized Redwynn hadn't adjusted her course and would have with a jerk givrn his grip was so tight.
There's a link here...
Fearful and confused, Gruskorb was nothing if not curious. It would be the death of him.
"You said that it lies. Do not trouble yourself with its lies sister. Your energy is better spent here, with us in the present. Our father, whoever he was, isn't here."
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Foramdar looks to Truk'tosh, "He will have heard of your deeds upon the battlefield from my mouth before you arrive in Haemil. Nothing more can I offer you that wouldn't raise more suspicion if you were to arrive with it in hand." With a nod, he rides off.
While the twins head off separately, the group establishes a small camp at which to bunk down for some better sleep and rejuvenation. The twins, however, tangled with the ether and the spirits that lingered in the tendrils of the harmonic wave. Floating upon its ebbing tide, Niyut journeyed deep into the abyss learning the dark secrets that only the most ancient of spirits could reveal. Damn, boy! You should help her. It isn't safe for her to tangle with spirits in this way. They will corrupt her, Morgrym's thoughts echoed loudly in Truk'tosh's head. At last, Niyut was set adrift by the spirit and rode the wave back to consciousness.
Tasting the dead gnoll's blackened blood, savage thoughts filled her mind. Upon her lips strange words formed. She did not understand them at first, but clarity came upon her. The gnoll himself taught her his language as he said his name, "Geugal, priest to the Lord of Flesh, Eater of the Dead, He Who Burns the World... Gaeruhn..."
That was a vivid dream... hobgoblin. Something disturbs you, does it not? Your companions... the gnolls... perhaps, your past? the voice of Querkus startles the rogue. For too long, he had been alone with his thoughts.
Niyut wipes her hand clean of blood on Geugal's crimson robes. She looks up at her brother. "No doubt you are right, brother. I will focus on those things that I can change."
She fishes the skull and hands from the simmering pot. "Please dump the pot. I will clean the pot as soon as I seal the bone."
Bones are porous. To keep them from growing brittle and to allow them to be carved, one needs to seal them. Taking a candle from her robe, she lights it with a call to a minor spirit of flame. Once the wax grows soft, she begins to work it into the skull and buff it with scraps of her old skirts. When the skull is sealed and gleams like ivory in the light of the fire, Niyut turns her attention to dismantling the hands. Her grandmother had once told her that casting of bones for divination, the small bones from the hand that belonged to someone of power worked best. While she presently lacked either divinatory incantations or the ability to create talismans, she was eager to learn. To not gather things that could be useful in the future would be terribly wasteful.
"Now, more than ever, Truk, I would like to speak for to Mother. We know she lives. When we have met with the Hazard of Conjuration, I will search her out, before we look for any more missing Hazards."
Once all bones are sealed, Niyut cleans the pot returning all her implements, cleaned and ready for use to her robe.
"We should head back. Thank you for your help."
She leaves what remains of Geugal's corpse for the scavengers. She does not burn it because she fears that would count as an offering to his master.
Settling in for her watch, Niyut ponders what the shape-changing spirit told her. She remembers that there is a great spirit called the Formless in the book that Dtukk had loaned her. She is too tired to read it now, but during the next rest perhaps.
When they stop for the next rest, Niyut will open the Liber Sanguinem to learn more of the ritual she was learning. Now that the gnolls were temporarily sundered from this part of Haemil, she feels safe enough to risk reading. As has become her practice, she consults with her grandmother as she reads. Her ancestor often sees connections that might have escaped her and understands how rituals work, given that once she had been an elder of the Firebird.
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For the first time since he’s been joined with it, Truk’tosh mentally scowls at the dwarven spirit fused with his own.
My sister is the strongest person I know. I have seen her command the darkness when other children in our tribe would squeal and hide beneath their mothers’ skirts. I trust her to master whatever dangers hunt her within the spirit world and so should you, he warns.
Besides, hers is a path I cannot follow her on. That has always been the way of it: I guard us in the world of flesh and she guards us in the world of spirits.
These are no mere spirits, boy... they are gods and right powerful ones. I know you trust her, and I... well, I've seen her do incredible things... but to tangle with whatever Ealintaine that is... it's just plain dangerous!" Truk'tosh hears the dwarf's voice echo in his head. It's just... it's just that I'm fearful for her... and you. Dammit, boy! Your feelings are starting to rub off on me... the voice trails away as it fades to the recesses of the half-orc's mind.
As the biting winds intensify, the ground rises up before the group as they plod along the well worn road to Haemil. The massive peaks of the mountains loom above blocking any of the ambient light from the distant stars. The way continues to climb into the foothills before opening up to a wide, smooth stone road. Before long, the group ahead as the sound of hooves beating the roadway echoes like rolling thunder across the plains. A surge of cortisol rushes into everyone's blood stream and their senses heighten with excitement and anxiety. Out of the darkness ahead, a dozen riders on horseback come into view.
The lead horse lord raises a hand as the riders halt. "Our Captain Foramdar sends us to escort you to Haemil where you shall be presented to the king."
Raising his head and dropping his left hand to the hilt of his rapier at the sound of approaching hooves, Garidan relaxes only slightly when the new arrivals are revealed to be, if not friendly, then at least not immediately hostile. Clearing his throat to get attention, he speaks up with a rather pertinent question. "We're not exactly in any state fit to see, or be seen by, such a personage. Long and bloody journey, with little time or opportunity to get properly clean, you know? Will we have a chance to make ourselves somewhat presentable before this, well, presentation," the swashbuckler enquires politely.
Niyut doesn't want to draw too much attention to herself and she doesn't know much of the etiquette of Haemil. Mostly she knows that the humans here look down on the other speaking peoples of the world. She doesn't possess much sympathy for their position, but she does possess an abundance of tact when being forthright will not give her what she wants.
She worries that Garidan's candor, however kindly spoken, will win them no friends here.
Luckily, in the dark or in dim light no normal human could distinguish her features from a beautiful, young woman of their own kindred. But for the color of my skin and hair, I look completely of their blood. Even in the light, the color is not so far off what is common amongst the Firebird.
"We give thanks to you for the escort, Captain Foramdar for sending it, and the king for extending the invitation. We graciously accept the escort. Please lead us onwards."