The horselord gives Garidan a stern look, but leans back in his saddle as Niyut downplays the request. Nodding to the others, he turns to the swashbuckler, "The King of Haemil does not concern himself with courtly manners and fancy attire, especially in these dark times. Should you be able to walk into his halls, he'll receive you and judge you accordingly."
The borrowed horses seemingly pick up the pace, prancing lightly as they follow the horselords up into the foothills of the Iron Mountains. As the landscape grows more rocky, the roadway continues to carve through the foothills, winding its way northward. The group steadily makes its way towards the distant mountains until they loom menacingly above. Coming around a sharp bend in the road, the ancient spires of the mountain citadel come into view. Their pale white, granite stones reflect what little light is able to penetrate the thick cloud covering. The grandiose size of the structure becomes even more imminent as the roadway finally opens to reveal Earthenwork, the fabled fortress that encompasses the city of Haemil. Carved directly from the mountains, the impenetrable walls of Earthenwork rise over one hundred feet high. Countless soldiers adorn the tops of the walls, peering out over the plains. Two massive doors of oak bound by iron stand closed, sealing the city off from the rest of the world. As you approach, the doors swing partially open allowing you to pass between them before shutting closed with a echoing thud.
Inside, the eclectic collection of buildings and dwellings demonstrate the disparity between the size of Earthenwork and the inhabitants. Clearly, this structure was not made by nor for the mortals that now live here. Cobble stone streets branch off in all directions creating a labyrinth of paths and alleyways. The riders lead you past several turns, eventually coming to a wide road that approaches a sheer cliff that separates the lower city from the upper. Not a quarter of a mile to the east, a shining tower stretches out from the upper city. A single balcony near its top looks out upon the lower city in which you now stand. Standing upon the balcony a lone figure holding a glowing torch retreats into the tower. A raging river splits around the tower and cascades down from the upper city and disappears into a deep ravine that separates the upper and lower city sections.
The road upon which you now stand ends at the ravine. The riders come to a halt, staring out into the ravine and occasionally glancing upward towards the city above. You feel the cold, misty air swirling up from the ravine, chilling you further. There you wait.
As they ride with their escort, Niyut will speak to the horselord who leads them onwards.
"I am Niyut of the Firebird; may I ask what you are called? Our journey east has been so strange. I expected the night to be illuminated by the fires of the volcano that sits above the Pass of Shamet. Did it go dark after the Storm?"
When they arrive at the ravine, Niyut is grateful for her brother's weather wards. She knows she should be freezing, but her body remains comfortably warm. Without his magic guarding her body, this endless trek would be unbearable.
"I am, Hjorväth, Fifth Lance of Haemil," the rider says to Niyut as his steed slows its pace allowing the oracle to approach him. Glancing her direction, Hjorväth's eyes examine the horse upon which she sits. "And the Fist is torn asunder, but I suspect you already know that orc-kin. Any otherquestions?" he continues. Taking but one more stride, his horse raises his head and pins his ears back. "No? Good." With a lurch forward, the gelding resumes its lead position.
Though Gruskorb did not feel the draw of conversation with their escort, he did find it vindicating to hear their tone with Niyut's question. They're happy to not speak with us. We'll be "judged" as their king sees fit. So friendly.
Their rugged nature aside, Gruskorb knew they posed no threat to these riders, and he couldn't intimidate information out of them about the city. It seemed secure and armed, so in the case the receiving with the lord went poorly, escape might be tough. Expansive though. Maybe one could hide within the walls. The sounding of the gargantuan doors closing only drove home the feeling of finality. Nothing escapes.
As his eyes roamed the cityscape though, the rogue had reason to doubt himself. Querkus ... how would a river like that drain? It couldn't possibly be contained within the city completely.
Nudging Redwynn up to Garidan, Gruskorb talked to the talker about talking. "I'm thinking weren't not so welcome here. You feeling the cold shoulder?"
What a pleasant people they are. How joyous our visit will be.
Niyut thinks wryly. She is also surprised that everyone they meet recognizes her mixed heritage. She looks at her brother, who obviously bears the stamp of their father's blood. Though he looks more orcish than the other half orcs she has met, he looks more similar to those "orc-kin" than she does. Only in the light could one see that her almost black hair was truly the darkest green and many humans possess olive skin.
She shrugs at his rudeness. The horselords were known to hate the Night-Blood, for good reason. That clan's thirst for blood was endless. Though it was mainly directed at the goblins of the Lost to the south, the humanoids of the Iron Mountains, and the horselords in the west, even the Firebird were occasionally raided to sate the elders of the Night Blood. Perhaps, those in Haemil believed that all the clans were like the Night Blood.
That caused her to smile grimly. The Lost and the Night Blood hated each other. The only peaceful contact they had was during the Great Gatherings. Things often looked the same from a distance. She had often painted lowlanders with the same brush, but these horselords were different than the dwarves of Eastgate.
The volcano torn asunder? He called it the Fist. It's funny how things bear different names depending on which side of the mountains you live. Perhaps our lands broke off from theirs just as they have broken off from western Haemil.
Garidan is perceptive enough to pick up on Niyut's unspoken warning, to which he responds by pointedly sniffing at one of his armpits and making a face. He doesn't say anything to her directly, but his response to the guardsman is meant in part for her ears. "It's not courtly manners and fancy attire that I'm concerned with. Rather, it's the fact that we're going to smell like we got dragged through a slaughterhouse and a cesspool once we get someplace warm. However," the swashbuckler concludes with a dismissive shrug. "If Haemil's ruler is willing to overlook that, then who am I argue the point?" After that, Garidan lets the matter drop.
Marking the manner in which the guardsman, or Hjorväth as he names himself, answers Niyut's entirely reasonable question, he frowns and carefully brings his own mount alongside hers. Speaking softly, he explains his earlier request. "I'll grant that my education isn't a patch on what Malthazir knows, but I'm not entirely unlearned, and I know that there's plenty of bad blood between Haemil and your people. Bad enough that you and your brother will be getting looks and words thrown your way just for being what you are. But it'd be easier to ignore that lot if you're at least feeling clean and comfortable after so long." He then flashes her a quick smile before continuing in the same quiet voice. "And I'm sure a king has much better facilities to offer than we'd find at any inn."
Falling back from Niyut's side, more by his mount's will than his own, Garidan is content to look around in silence until Gruskorb approaches him. Snorting dryly, he gives the hobgoblin an amused glance. "Only thing colder around here is the wind itself. Two half-orcs, an elf, yourself, and me? We're all suspect in their eyes, probably just a few steps up past the gnolls in their eyes. I'll wager that Foramdar's vouching for us is the only reason they didn't go for their weapons upon meeting us." Shaking his head with a weary groan, Garidan slumps in his saddle. "I was looking forward to spending a bit of time someplace civilized and safe. Now, I'm looking forward getting done here as quickly as possible, so we can be back out in the wastes with the gnolls and the corpses."
Niyut considers Garidan before she murmurs a reply.
"The Firebird have almost no contact with Haemil. The pass that connected the eastern side of the mountains to the western side of the mountains lay firmly in the lands and under the control of the Night Blood clan. Do you recall the story I told you of Vash of the Blood? Some of his descendants also bear his thirsts. The horselords and the Night Blood always were raiding or sending reprisals. Such is the extent of the Night Blood elders' powers that even with hostility from most sides of their lands, they thrived in the darkness. So while from the horselord's point of view there is bad blood, quite literally, I acknowledge no feud for neither I nor my brother are part of the Night Blood."
Niyut pauses for a moment. "I too would much rather be clean. If only some light could scour away the grime." With that she makes a small, subtle gesture towards the stone orbiting Garidan.
Truk’tosh quietly scoffs at the derogatory tone in the soldier’s voice when he refers to the Night Blood flowing through himself and his sister. A few of the other children the twins had grown up with often used similar comments as barbs to tease the pair when they were younger. It was often the cruel intent of their words that had hurt Truk’tosh as a child more than the words themselves. He’d never felt any shame for being associated with his father’s clan - the Night Blood were some of the strongest and fiercest warriors in the badlands.
Though he manages, again, to catch Niyut's unspoken meaning, Garidan is briefly confused by how she knows of that particular ability his sister's vessel posseses. Soon enough, however, he realizes that she must have seen it in use early in their travels, and he can't stop a reflexive facepalm as he realizes that he could well have been using it regularly for the entire party's benefit during their journey. With a few murmured words to his sister, the party's gear gets a gradual but thorough cleaning as they ride. The swashbuckler momentarily considers a bit of petty revenge against Hjorväth by using that magic to thoroughly foul his equipment, but ultimately refrains--for now. Extending the magic to their persons for cleaning is a bit trickier, and neither Garidan nor 'Ruza can tell if it succeeded, though he supposes he'll find out soon enough.
After what seems an eternity, a low rumbling can be heard above the roaring of the waterfall. Looking up, you see a section of the tower above you slowly descending.As it approaches you see a steel beam under the platform angle upward like an arm and disappear into a vertical trench that extends deep into the upper section of the city. After several minutes, the platform comes to a halt level with the road upon which you have waited. Hjorväth urges his horse forward with a jostling of the reins. As he enters the 20' by 20' platform, the other horselords crowd about you, forcing your horses to follow Hjorväth's lead.
Once everyone is safely upon the platform, he lets out a bellow from a horn he retrieved from his belt. With a lurch the platform begins to rise above the lower city. Looking out, you see the distant lights of the city and the vast blackness of the plains. Coming to a halt, having reached a wide road that passes through the tower, you see a small fragile gnome floating above the ground is a seated position. Her legs crossed under her, she glowers at the group of horselords before clearing her throat and speaking.
"Hjorväth, I should have a word with our visitors before you take them before the King," she says with authority. The rider hesitates a moment, then nods. He motions to a number of the escorts, who take them selves to the far end tunnel and wait.
The gnome motions you forward and floats further down the road and away from Hjorväth.
Niyut approaches the woman she believes is the Hazard of Conjuration. "Are you Rhykal, Hazard of Conjuration? We come bearing word and tidings from Baerwynnd and Sivantanpisil."
Her voice is both cautious and respectful.
Truk'tosh is glad to see the woman his sister believes to be the Hazard. Being accustomed to unspoken sentiments of distrust, he doesn't intend to stay among the horselords long.
At least this one has a shorter name, mused Gruskorb. The rogue hoped Niyut was correct though, anxious to complete their errand.
Though he was somewhat in awe of the elevating contraption, Gruskorb had noticed upon his ascension if the city had few - or perhaps just this one - of these devices, it would pose a logistical weakness.
And since our dear hosts have been so kind to us, it might help to have an exit plan. He looked about the apparatus for signs of weakness.
"Yes, I am," the tiny gnome said as she came to a halt and turned to address the group. "And you are Niyut of the Firebird Clan; her brother, Truk'tosh; Gruskorb, the Aegean; Malthazir, the court magician of the Aleamitores; and Garidan, sone of Armant Vissir... yes, yes... we can be done with introductions... and I have received word from Bærwynnd in the past few hours. The Hazard of Necromancy is with him in Talanor now and they request that I join them in Talanor's defense."
The Hazard smiles as she regards the group. Stretching out her hands she continues, "But unlike Siv, I still have my city to save... and the people to protect. The city is dying, we know this. The grain supplies are rapidly dwindling, and I try as I might summoning enough food to keep the city alive is becoming overwhelming. Another solution must be found. The horses are already dying. It is only a matter of days before the people will follow.". Rhykal eyes narrow as she looks at each of the companions, hoping for a moment of inspiration.
"Oh, before I forget your friend delivered this." The wizened gnome pulls a small scroll case from a pocket of her robe. Leaning forward, Rhykal floats over to Garidan and gently hands him the case.
Scrawled upon the case is written, For Garidan - To find your way, Arrington. Opening the tube, Garidan draws out a fine piece of parchment in which a more detailed map of the known world is drawn.
Niyut is more than a little annoyed that the struggles and dangers that they faced since leaving the Tower of Necromancy were rather unnecessary. The other Hazards sent word or messenger through more mystical means.
"I draw my sustenance directly from the world of spirits while I dream. Unless you know of a way to facilitate that on a mass scale, that would be even more impractical than summoning food. The only magic that I have ever heard that could feed a city was the Cauldron of Tizum, the hag who became the summer queen. My grandmother said that from it could be drawn the endless bounty of summer. But unless you know where ancient, immortal crones store their cookware, then the city needs a renewable source of food. The dwarves of Eastgate had farms beneath the earth, using the heat of the earth to grow their crops. All plants need are heat and light. Permanent light could be summoned to grow crops within walls that look like they were built for the primogenitors."
We almost died several times and for what?
A bit crestfallen after hearing his title-less name spoken in sequence with the others' names, Gruskorb quickly shrugged off the damper with Rhykal's implicit suggestion they do something to aid the city.
"Seems to me you can't save the city, so you'd be better off in Talanor where you have a chance at success." The remark was meant to be a touch catty. If she thinks were running around this place looking for mushrooms or some nonsense for sustenance, she's out of her mind. We've done plenty as it is.
Gruskorb had hoped this hazard would be a voice of reason in contrast to the impolite manners he'd been exposed to thus far here, but it seemed he was out of luck. He glanced over at the map Garidan received long enough to understand what it was before looking back to the hazard. "There is no place in the world you know of that has food above ground?"
Rhykal cocks her head at the beautiful oracle before beaming a smile upon Gruskorb, "Clever Hobgoblin! Yes, yes to Talanor we should take the people. But they would never survive the journey across the wastelands with Rgulblux on the move. The ancient Circle of the Whispering Wind... it is the only way!"
The gnome then turns and stares uncomfortably at Niyut before turning back to Garidan. "Your friend rests up in the Tower, but we should make our way to the King. We will need his blessing to move the people... much less to enter the Circle!"
"Do you believe you will need our help convincing the King of Haemil to have his people evacuate the city? Is he so proud? He must know that there is no hope of enduring the coming darkness, alone, within these walls", Truk'tosh adds after a long moment of thought.
"I am reminded that Sivantanpisil asked us to ask you to restore the teleportation circles between the towers of the various Hazards. Did the other messenger relay this request as well? It seems wise to relocate survivors to Talanor if it is a place of safety. Baerwynnd's foolish, physical intrusion into the world of spirits makes all places dangerous. Can they be better provided for there than here?"
Though she had never heard Calledrym's name spoken before the Storm, Niyut easily pieces together that the great spirit must have created a teleportation circle of immense scope.
"Brother, I fear that our words would have the opposite effect. Such council should come from someone who knows him better and who he better loves. If the king's attitudes are like those that serve him, he likely thinks that you and I are a threat much like the gnolls seeking to lay siege to his city."
Niyut turns to the Hazard. "Did the walls protect the spirits of your peoples against the Storm? It is a shame that I do not know the ancient rituals of Chana. Through her arts a sun could blaze where there was no sun to blaze,
but everywhere darkness reigns. Here. Talanor. Everywhere. New food and new harvests are what is now needed.
When the Hazard address him, Garidan visibly startles for a moment. It's not the use of his name that draws such strong reaction, for he's sure it was passed on by one of the other Hazards they'd met previously, but rather the use of his father's name, which he's reasonably sure he hasn't shared with anyone since the disaster. Eventually deciding that it's just something overly powerful spellcasters do to reinforce their reputations, he turns his attention briefly to map. He's unable to stop his shocked expression upon seeing what their world is like now, but tucks the map back into its case, the detailed inspection and its impact put off for when there is a better time and place to deal with it.
Hearing what state Haemil is presently in comes as little surprise to the swashbuckler, however. He'd honestly suspected as much, his plans to gather supplies here more a sincere hope than a firm expectation. Listening intently to what Rhykal has to say, some questions spring to mind, which he poses as soon the flow of conversation allows for it. "I know there are magics can generate the sun's light and control the growth of plants both. Are there none among the city's populace who can use these magics in Haemil's support? And what of the Ealintaine themselves, could you appeal for aid directly to them?"
Garidan readily recognizes one of the titles associated with his Ealintaine patron, but the circle that the Hazard speaks of is something he's never heard of before. Fortunately, he has companions a bit more learned than he, and is content that he can ask one of them later, if the Hazard herself doesn't explain. Knowing that Haemil's ruler must be induced to allow it's use, on the other hand, is not something Garidan looks forward to. Frowning, he adds his thoughts on the matter to those put forth by Niyut. "He may not consider such council at all, regardless of the source. Consider what a blow it would be to be the king who abandoned a city of this one's stature, no matter how good the reason for it. He may just decide that it'd be better to die in place, and take that to the afterlife than the ignominy of flight."
Rhykal looks to Truk'tosh and nods. "The King is cautious and protective of his people, and he will take my counsel, Truk'tosh. Our biggest issue is convincing him to abandon the city and leave it unguarded. King Helluddar is of the eldest line of men that have ruled this kingdom for thousands of years. He is dedicated to Calledrym and will not break the vows he took to protect what he believes is the ancient fortress of the gods."
"And yes," she continues in response to Niyut. "They would be safer in Talanor... should all the Hazards be gathered. The valley is large enough to sustain quite a large population, especially considering that it is now devoid of mortal life. However, the undead must first be dealt with, and that is why Bærwynnd sought out Sivantanpisil first. But he needs more of the Hazards to destroy the undead and to reclaim control of the valley... only then can we hope to restore life to the valley. Now, I can reactivate my tower's portal but without the destination portal prepared to receive me, the portal will not function. You will need to use the Circle to return to Talanor and prepare the portal... and for that you will need the King's permission."
Rhykal looks down the tunnel toward the upper city. "The circle has never been used by anyone other than the faithful of Calledrym and then not for a millennium. The King will not be easy to persuade to allow any of you to use it.," she continues wringing her hands and beginning to levitate around the group. "...And if he agrees to allow us to use it, we still need the reagents to power it."
Wonderful.
Gruskorb sighed inwardly as he saw the obstacles growing before them.
"What kind of reagents are we talking about?"
He was no expert in the matters of magic or religion, but he'd be damned if he couldn't price rarities to a cubit in a marketplace.
This king may need his blessing circumvented and an apology later. Large, drastic magical workings like a teleportation circle bothered Gruskorb, for he didn't understand their limits. Contraptions like the lift could be dissected, analyzed. This circle seemed to open a Pandora's box of possibilities, certainly not good. After all, this whole situation was started by one such architect of arcane apparati ...
Rhykal spins around and delivers a bewildered look at the swashbuckler. She opens her mouth then snaps her attention to Gruskorb and shrugs, pointing back at Garidan. Returning to the human, she clears her throat and begins again,"There are over three hundred thousands mouths to feed here in Haemil... and while we could use magic to conjure up a little food, delivering that many meals to the people, much less the beasts, would prove impossible to maintain."
"And as for the gods, they can no longer enter our world to intercede, and their reach across the ethereal realm can only help so much... No, we must rely upon ourselves. No matter what the priests of Calledrym might say."
Smiling broadly at Gruskorb, the Hazard approaches him, "As your elven friend would surely know, amber dust is need to focus the ethereal energy into any teleportation spell. The Circle was made by offspring of Calledrym long ago. A magnificent amber stone was used to power the massive portal. The stone did not survive the Godling Wars. It was taken from the Circle and hidden by the priests of Calledrym... That, my good hobgoblin, is the reagent we must find!"
The rogue snorted a bit at the arcanist's diction. "Our elven friend is about as forthcoming as your people are fat."
"Three hundred thousand?" Niyut gasps in disbelief. "How did so many survive the Storm?" She asks repeating her earlier question. "I dreamed that fewer than one in ten survived in our village. Unless there were more than three million in your city, that number is astonishing."
The beautiful and angry young woman cannot help but scoff when Rhykal says that the gods can no longer enter into the world of flesh. "Tell that to Kiravor as he tries to scrabble through the tear Baerwynnd opened through the veil. And even if they cannot yet physically violate the Compact yet, then they can still enter if there were an . . . appropriate vessel and they may still walk the world unclothed of flesh. . ."
Niyut trails off almost awkwardly.
The rogue snorted a bit at the arcanist's diction. "Our elven friend is about as forthcoming as your people are fat."
"I try not to overwhelm your mind with information you need not concern yourself with." Malz says, although the ghost of a smile hints of his jesting.
Teleportation...well within my field, although I have not been able to master it yet. A difficult act, and has significant risks. But obviously the rewards are enormous.
The loud bray of the horses at the end of the tunnel relays the impatience of the riders to Rhykal. The gnome smiles at Niyut, "We were fortunate that we were far enough from Talanor to be less affected by the rift in the ethereal plane. Yet, not so far as to have our lands torn asunder like the poor souls beyond the Iron..." she stops mid-sentence as she takes mental note of the oracle's origins. Saddened, she continues, "Your lands were devastated, but by some accounts, many have survived on that portion of the world that floats beyond the mountains. Of our people, we lost nearly twice as many than survived."
When Niyut chirps about the threat of the Harbinger of Death, she nods gravely, "Yes, yes... many of the Ealintaine would seek to enter our world again if the gates were opened. Some for love, but many for vengeance upon the Magi that remain. Kiravor, no doubt, would take advantage of Bærwynnd's folly. That is why the rift must be repaired at all costs." Beckoning for the others to follow, she begins to drift down the tunnel towards the awaiting escort.
"Let us go and speak to King Helluddar. He will accept the truth that the city's inhabitants must take refuge in the valley of Talanor. I just pray that he will allow you to access the Circle and that his priests will reveal the location of the amber stone... assuming they even know it..." Rhykal exhales deeply, then laughs once, half-heartedly, before turning to lead you to the King.
Niyut nods and follows after the floating woman. Her thoughts churning about the amber stone, the map she had not seen, and the assortment of things that she had hoped to acquire in the city.
"Garidan, I wonder if your friend waiting at the tower is the gryphon?"
Hearing how much of the city's popluation remains causes Garidan's jaw to sag in shocked surprise, amd he quickly swallows any further questions on the matter of supplying them adequately. With that vast throng needing care, the number of casters needed would be impressively high in its own right, and he now grasps at least some of the issues involved.
Garidan gives Niyut a confused look before comprehension dawns, causing him to chuckle softly and shakes his head in denial. Showing the map case given him by the Hazard, he replies. "Ah, no, I believe she's referring to Baerwynnd's assistant, Arrington. While the griffon may indeed have gone to Talanor as I suggested, I doubt it would consider itself any friend of mine. Though I do hope it, and its kin, are prospering if they did relocate to the Hazard's tower there." The human shudders, a faintly disgusted expression appearing on his face as he speaks. "While I don't imagine corpses taste all that fine, griffons are fairly hardy creatures according to what I've read on them, and should come to no harm eating their fill from the undead filling the ruins around the tower."
"Well you met Arrington only once and he didn't give you any of his feathers," Niyut says primly. "That doesn't sound like much of a friend to me."
Niyut's mirth dissolves when she sees the map. Clutching it in her fingers she murmurs, "No, no, no. This is the end of our way of life. It looks like the lands of the Firebird and the northern lands of the Night Blood split in twain and are above Haemil. While the southern lands of the Night Blood, the Lost, and the Twisted Iron clans lie far to the south. The families of the Seven Stars clans wandered freely amongst the other four clans. Will any of them survive the endless night? I had worried that the Night Blood would grow too strong, but even their power would be tested if their lands were shattered."
Upon exiting the tunnel with Rhykal, the riders escort you and the Hazard through the winding streets of upper Haemil. The wide promenade of the Main Street cuts and odd angles through the city granting you some insight into its vastness. An eclectic combination of three vastly differing styles of structures can be seen. The most common is a a well-crafted, stone construction with slate roofs and heavy doors. Less common is the work of the gnomes. Intricate contraptions and devices attached to each wooden building give away its origins, as does the small doors.
Lastly, a few, clearly ancient, structures appear to be carved from the mountain itself or constructed of massive, cut stones. So precise is their construction, the seams of the interlocking stones require no mortar and fit together as near perfect as possible. These massive structures are interspersed throughout the upper city and resemble the city walls and main gate through which you entered the city.
Ever ascending higher, the main road ends at a wide set of carved, stone stairs leading up to a pillared forum which extends over one hundred feet into the air. This covered plaza marks the entrance into the great citadel adorned with scores of granite towers. Forty foot high, stone doors stand closed before you. A dozen foot soldiers bearing spears and shields guard the entrance. They acknowledge the riders who fan out and encircle you. A handful of lightly armored men come out from arched doorway to the west and take the reins of your horses, allowing you to dismount and join Rhykal before the elite soldiers.
Once you are gathered and the horses, along with Tacal and the cart, are led away, one of the soldiers speaks quietly yet sternly. "You may leave your weapons and belongings there," he says point to a weapon rack and several large, stone tables to the right of the entrance. Rhykal looks at you and nods.
Niyut has no real weapons, but she does place the dagger she uses for blood-letting on the rack. After the others place their weapons on the rack, she studies the citadel.
Reluctantly, and only because Rhykal--whom he trusts more than Haemil's soldiery at this point--signals her aggrement, Garidan places his assorted weapons on the rack. After a bit of consideration, he places his ioun torch on one of the tables where tneir possessions are piled, murmuring softly. "Sister, keep watch over our things, and sound a warning if someone's fingers wander where they shouldn't. Feel free to use the nastiest, flashiest, and noisiest spell you can release, if need be."
Truk'tosh wasn't unused to disarming when entering sacred sites but he feels a noticeable tinge of distress when he rests his axe in the rack.
Though Gruskorb had emerged from the tunnel, it was as if he were in deeper darkness upon the exit, visibility extending only to some meters on any side of him before vanishing into fog. Though taken aback by this change, he went with it until he saw the metal stalagmites. Towering, jagged structures, the shafts of metal dotted the landscape and trumped the visibility restrictions Gruskorb faced. He saw a circle of them. They were where the group was to head.
This is you, isn't it? A trick! Gruskorb felt a connection to his trap, being of his own making, though he was more than happy to forfeit it at the equipment drop.
The vision persisted.
Swallowing, nervousness began to take him. They can't be seeing this. They would've said something. Withdrawing his daggers and other instrument of reach, he simply couldn't face the swirling doubt alone. The rogue held up his essence-infused whip slowly, offering it a portion of the way to the guard.
How do I not sound like a freak? He was less concerned about his companions' opinions in this case, moreso about the guards.
"This talisman wards me from dangers beyond normal sight. I must ask it is present, visible to me - even if not in my hands."
The rogue left grabbing its hilt to the guards, offering it to any who agreed.
One of the guards looks apprehensively at Gruskorb, before gently taking the whip from his hand. Once everyone else has laid their weapons upon the bench, the massive doors swing outward and the group is led into the audience chamber.
The massive chamber is lined with granite pillars on either side, extending up to the vaulted ceiling high above. The echoes of your footfalls reverberates through the room drawing the attention of the guards located throughout. You are led to the base of a tiered stone platform; each tier five feet above the other giving you the impression of oversized steps. The same theme is continued on the top platform as a titanic, stone throne sits unoccupied. To its right, a pair of smaller wooden chairs bookend an ornate, hand-carved wooden throne. Upon the throne, a bearded man in fine clothes sits talking to a grey-haired warrior clad in bright armor. Standing nearby, listening intently to their conversation is Foramdar.
The guards stop your advancement towards the group, and look up, waiting to be acknowledged. With a few last words, the grey-haired warrior nods politely to the king and departs from view, exiting through an archway on the left side of the chamber. Foramdar motions in your direction and says something to the king in a hushed tone. After which the king extends a hand toward the cavalier before turning to the group and inquiring, "Rhykal, I assume you've had words with our guests?"
"Yes, I have. May I introduce Garidan, Gruskorb, Malthazir, Niyut and Truk'tosh. Come from Talanor, they have."
"So, I've heard," the King scoffs. "What news do bring from the Hazard of Talanor? What calamities has he brought upon us?"
Niyut has been careful not to blame the First Hazard where people other than her companions or another Hazard could hear her. So she wonders is this king just vaguely suspicious or does he seem to possess more knowledge than what might appear to be available?
Garidan examines Haemil's ruler intently, wondering what leads him to assume, rightly as it happens, Baerwynnd's responsibility for the world's condition. Shifting his gaze to Niyut, he catches her eye and cocks his head slightly in the King's direction with a questioning lift to his eyebrows.
He's trying to ask if she wants to do the talking, or if she'd rather hang back and let someone else speak for the party.
Niyut gives Garidan an expectant look.
Not intending to mask his emotions, the King's anger at the Bærwynnd is quite evident as is his respect for both the Hazard of Divination as well as Rhykal. You would suspect that the king knows at least some information regarding the source of the sundering of the world.
The swashbuckler nods at Niyut and, with a faint sigh of reluctance, turns to address the man on the throne. He does his best not to offend with his words, but his rural origins definitely show through; right now, Garidan fervently wishes he'd taken some time to do more than idly browse his father's dusty old volumes on etiquette and courtly manners. "Ah, well, your high-, er, majesty! It's, um, not precisely Baerwynnd's fault. The blame lies with Kiravor, and he surprised the Hazard at a critical moment in the latter's work, when distraction was exactly the worst possible occurence." He doesn't know precisely why he's doing so--lingering traces of the respect and awe instilled in his by his parents, perhaps--but Garidan finds himself unexpectedly trying to defend the First Hazard of Talanor.
"The Hazard is quite skilled, of course, but Kiravor is of the Ealintaine, struck with surprise, and when the situation was most advantageous for him as well. So Baerwynnd, well, might sort of missed a very important step in his work as a consequence, and kind of broke the world," Garidan stumblingly explains, his voice growing quiet as he speaks the last words.
"In other words," spoke Gruskorb out-of-turn and unceremoniously, "the diviner shoulders a good portion of the blame."
He blinked, his eyes drier than they should have been. "It is hoped the other Hazards could prevent additional hazards." A small cleverness with words was meant for himself to relax a touch, little concern of its impact on the other listeners.
Internally, Niyut is dumfounded by how careless her companions words are.
Although it is her opinion that Baerwynnd bears the blame for all that happened during the Storm, she sees no benefit in it for them to tell the king this information. She expected the lowlander monarch to act and speak irrationally.
The King stares for a long moment at Garidan before shifting in the throne to lean forward. "A Hazard's over blown sense of importance never ceases to amaze me. To look through the ethereal plane and spy upon the gods is a fool's game, and it appears to have cost us dearly. I pray that Bærwynnd has suffered mightily. I know my people have... and now he asks that Rhykal, Hazard of Haemil, come and help save him and his precious tower from ruin. What? Should I send my armies and cavalry to aid him as well? He would leave us defenseless against the gods should they cross this breach of the planes. Not to mention the horde of humanoids that wish to invade our lands," the king's voice echoed through the chamber growing more passionate with every word.
"No. I think we shall keep our Hazard here and have him provide aid to our kingdom, to our grand city and to our blessed people," Helluddar, King of Haemil, responded to his own question. Glancing at Foramdar, he continued as he slid back into the throne more relaxed having spoken his mind, "We thank you for your service to the Riders of Haemil. It was unexpected and selfless to lend aid to those you did not know." Snapping his fingers, the King looks to a small vestibule to his left. A young man in a white robe stepped into sight. "Supply them as we can and see them to the gate."
Niyut looks to Rhykal, she certainly has more to lose than they.
Trying to give the Hazard some small amount of time to marshal her arguments, Niyut speaks.
"Your Majesty, I thank you for your hospitality and opportunity for trade and resupply. It is most gracious. Out of respect for your courtesy, I would like to share what intelligence we gathered from the horde and restore to you some property of one of your fallen people."
With a shake of her sleeve, the key-coin that they recovered falls into her hand. She proffers it to Foramdar to inspect it before giving it to his king.
"The gnolls seem surprisingly ready for this invasion. Their scouts range freely from the plains before Eastgate to your own western lands. When we briefly retook Highmark Keep, we learned that their scouts can transmit information back to their warlord over hundreds of miles without having to physically make the journey. Additionally, they seem to be in possession of objects of power that have been lost since the times that the great spirits freely crossed the veil. Given the coordination, timing, and supplies of the horde, I suspect that the Lord of Flesh knew that his brother would clash with the First Hazard long before the Storm destroyed much of the world."
The king's dismissive response leaves Garidan gaping in surprise, and Niyut's subsequent entry into the conversation proves invaluable in giving the swashbuckler time to recover his mental footing and marshal his words. When the half-orc is finished speaking, he once again addresses the ruler of Haemil. "Your Majesty, Baerywnnd likely only cares about you, your armies, and this city in general right now in that they are collectively one more reason for him to spend his power holding the rift in check until his peers can aid him. Because that rift, whose force shattered the world itself, is still very much present and very much a threat. And nothing less than the gathered power of the Hazards, all of them, will suffice to seal it properly," Garidan explains calmly, his earlier nervousness at the prospect of standing before royalty overridden by his growing irritation at the man's willful stupidity in the face of utter annihilation.
"Having one of their number kept here, wasting their power on yet another group of gnolls or whatever it is you think a leashed Hazard should do at your command, is a great way to ensure that everyone who survived the rift's first release doesn't survive the last one." Shrugging unconcernedly, as if the entire affair is no longer of any importance to him, he finishes. "But, I suppose you'll at least enjoy the knowledge that Baerywnnd died before you did as you stand upon Haemil's great walls and watch while your mighty armies, those they defend, and those they whom defend against alike are all sucked screaming into the rift after Baerwynnd expends his last to hold it."