Maddok makes no introduction and follows silently on Thomas's heels.
"The world has been thrown into chaos by the intervening hand of Kiravor. Much has been destroyed and lost to the Void, yet there is still hope. We are trying to summon the Hazards for a Gathering. Perhaps together, they can save us all!" Arrington says hopefully.
"Gunther was quite well when I last saw him. Determined to check the Temples... he asked for the assignment. He believed a friend may have been there... a priest, I believe... oh dear, I wonder if he was looking for you?"
The first apprentice is obviously lying about something. "Hmmm."
Thomas gives Arrington the quiet expectant look that Thomas uses on petitioners who had something more to say but weren't yet ready to share. He hopes that the nervous gnome will crack and fill the silence with the truth.
"What?!?" the gnome gazes at Thomas with a bewildered look upon his face. "That's the truth!" he continues. After a few more moments of silence, he stammers, "Ok... ok... the Hazard may have inadvertently stubbled upon the god while gazing into the Ethereal Realm... but it was Kiravor who tried to free himself from the plane and enter our world. He was the one that created the maelstrom that may destroy us all! And besides, we're trying to fix it. I'm sure that we can... if we can get the Hazards here... in time... But Gunther! I was totally forth coming there. He was fine when he left the Tower, we just don't know where he is now. I tried scrying for him, and it should have worked. But there is a dark evil shadow cast upon the city since the Shaping. It is more than Kiravor looking upon us from the Ethereal Realm... something has entered the city. And it is Evil." Arrington relaxes a bit. His posture straights as though a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. "Wow! Confession is really good for the soul!"
Thomas gives Arrington a benevolent smile. "The Sacred Mother tells us that there is no wound that cannot be healed, no harm that cannot be ameliorated. This harm is grave, but we must not despair. Thank you for telling us the truth. How much time do we have to repair what has been broken? How many of the Hazards have come already? What do you know about the survivors: their numbers, locations, and needs? Since you have both the ability to fly across the city, you would be invaluable in uniting the stragglers and guiding them to safety. You need to be coordinating with the Protector of Eastgate and the Archon of Thaedymar. What do you know about the evil thing that entered is it a god, demon, or something else entirely?"
In this, Thomas is very much his mother's son. Problems require solutions. Solutions require collective organization.
Marcusic's keen ears readily note the overtones of deception lacing the gnome's words, along with the lack of malice behind the attempt. When Thomas coaxes forth a stumbling confession, the soldier's brow rises in surprise, then furrows with concern. It seems that his visions were rather literal in their meaning and that bodes ill indeed, for Simurgh was consumed in them. Though Marcusic yearns, deeply so, to pry answers loose from the little fellow, he refrains. Thomas' soothing approach is working well, and the soldier's visions are not something he cares to discuss before the others just yet.
"It seems the Sacred Mother's light would be useful right about now; this darkness - how far does it spread?"
While Denenor kept himself occupied with the informational questions, he did not voice his extrapolations right now. Indisposed can't mean dead, or they'd be in a panic. Unconscious? Sapped of his powers? His thoughts quickly turned away from Baerwynnd with Thomas's call to arms. He felt it was a bit rushed, though he understood the pull of the moment with the severity of the circumstances.
However, it was the other pair he sought advice from.
"Marcusic, Maddok - I am no warrior, and I'm guessing Thomas isn't either. How long do you think a simple person would last out there?" They were veterans of more than a scrape or two; their experiences would give the best assessment.
In a way, Denenor did feel like his presence here was somewhat warranted. He'd been sent to see to the land, and now he was, albeit in a rather warped sense of the phrase. He was not the healer Thomas claimed to be, nor was he the adept combatant as the others, yet if the sun was indeed gone, he imagined a chill future awaited them without special tending. That tending was something he could provide.
Not forgetting his manners, the incanted dug into his bag and produced three loaves of bread for Arrington. Not downsized for gnomes, they were plenty. "As promised. I have not any meat with me, but the bread is good, and you have seen to our horses. Even with the harsh news, it is better to know the hardship than to face it blind."
Pulled from his grim introspection by Denenor's unexpected question, Marcusic stares blankly at the elf before the words register with him. After a lengthy silence during which he is clearly thinking the matter over, he replies. "Honestly, Denenor, I'm not placing good odds for most folk. Those undead, they'd just keep coming until hacked down well past what a living foe would accept. And most of the buildings here aren't made to stand off regular sieges, much less endless assaults from a wall of dead meat." He grimaces and gestures to the east, beyond the tower's walls. "Remember what we saw outside of Eastgate? That had to come through the city first, and I'll wager anyone who wasn't racing ahead of that horde to Eastgate probably got overrun by it."
Swallowing heavily and giving his head a shake to clear the remembered sights and smells away, the soldier sighs. "Not to say that there's no survivors hiding out there, but they'll be well-hidden and earnestly practicing their new-won survival skills. And not just against the undead, but against any other survivors who maybe see this as a chance to finally act in ways that the law would otherwise object to," the skald adds in a grim-voiced aside, his hand momentarily tightening hard enough on the grip of his sword to make his gauntlet's joints creak alarmingly. "But I'm guessing that most of those who lived through the disaster and its immediate aftermath were those closest to places like Eastgate, where defenses were already in place and well-manned."
"Um... er..." stumbling over his tongue, Arrington looks a little overwhelmed by Thomas' line of questions. "Well, the Hazard has secured the vortex that has opened to the ethereal plane. He is keeping it bound in place by a convergence of every power he has. He continually slips into a more catatonic state while his power is dwindling. He can sustain that for some time, but what it will do to him is anyone's guess," he continues looking quite concerned for his master.
"As for the other Hazards, none have arrived as of yet. Bærwynnd sent a group of survivors after the Hazard of Pyrae. He is the Necromancer and will certain be of great help. Just yesterday, I received word from a trusted companion of mine that they were spotted along the King's Road not far from Pyrae. I would think that they should have arrived there by now... if they are alive still." Little did the gnome know that the group he referred to had arrived in the great city and at this very moment were deep beneath the Tower of Necromancy in search of an ancient relic at Sivantanpisil's request.
"We know that many dwarves of Eastgate have survived as I have visited it once. And the gnome caretakers of Kaladrym are largely intact, albeit quite frightened. I have yet to visit the Great Southern Gate. In fact, I was headed there now before I saw you approach our door. We have found few survivors, maybe less than two hundred. They have taken refuge, here, in our tower.... and yes, yes. More communication with Eastgate is warranted, but we have had our handful with the thousands of undead that have besieged the Bright Tower since the Shaping. However, they all seemed to have left... or retreated. It was not long after I sensed the evil thoughts within the Vale that the undead seemed to be better organized, as if controlled by an outside consciousness."
Thomas clasps the gnome's shoulder in a supportive gesture. "You are not alone, Arrington. There are wizards, priests, and warriors in Eastgate, and likely in Kaladrym and Southgate as well. You need not bear the burden alone.
I would recommend creating a communications network with the leaders of the other bastions of survivors. Delegate the coordination of this network to another of the apprentices. In this way, necessary goods, services, and information can pass between the four key points of which we are aware. If your arcane senses are clouded, then perhaps scouts passing in stealth might be able to discover who or what is uniting the cursed dead. Relying on your strengths and skills alone would be a mistake.
Given the Hazard's unfortunate connection to this present crisis, service and open handed aid can position the Bright Tower as an important member of a coalition to preserve the living and not as a scapegoat or as the architect of our present woes. Idle hands and an unclear path forwards could provide opportunity for sharp questions and unhelpful accusations that we can ill afford at this present moment."
Though his face is solemn, Thomas also appears sympathetic and helpful. "I share your concern for the Hazard. Is there anything that can be done to strengthen him and ease his burden if the other Hazards are slow in coming?"
A smile breaks the solemnity of his mien. "Take heart, Arrington, we heard tales of strangers performing mighty deeds in the depths before passing beyond the mountains. These could very well be your survivors. Now, I believe that Marcusic would like to deliver several messages to you. Marcusic, are these messages verbal and requiring some privacy? We can give you space if you need it."
The nobleman turns to Denenor and Maddok. "Denenor, I plan to venture out into the temple district to seek out Gunther and Haessen Sigocurt. I also plan to do what I can to save what life remains here in the Vale. Your magic would be of great aid in this undertaking, but I have no right to presume to have it. There would be no shame in staying in the relative safety of the Bright Tower. However, if you do choose to help me, I can pay you.
Maddok, by bringing me to the Vale, you have fulfilled your contract to my lady mother. I can no longer presume your aid anymore than I can Denenor's. But if you are willing, I would like to extend your contract until safety is restored to the Vale. If my present stores of gold should run dry, you have my word that the Thorne estate will make good on any debt incurred in my service."
Maddok softly sighs as his hopes of finding someplace quiet to wait out the end of the world slip away.
"If I come out of this alive I'm going to live like a king for a month", he explains with all seriousness. "In the meantime, I'm your man princeling. I'll keep you safe from the dead and whatever other horrors are waiting for us out there."
Arrington turns to Denenor, ”You asked where the shadow has passed over the world. I’m sorry to say that the Deathbringer’s shadow has consumed the entire world as we know it. We float aimlessly in the void now. The sun and the moons are gone. The bleak and cold vastness of the void will one day overtake all of us if we cannot find away to save our world.”
Arrington forces a smile at Thomas, “The Chosen are doing what we can to support the Hazard, but there are only three of us remaining. Four, if... no, when Gunther returns. Several neophytes have also survived survived. Perhaps, we can use them as messengers to the entrances to the Vale.”
Just then, the matronly looking dwarf runs back into the main audience chamber and informs Arrington that she has found a small crate full of the oils. ”Very good! I’ll take it to Katadante and see about setting up some communication regularly with him. How do you plan to get to the Temples? I might be able to provide some assistance if you would like a ride? Although your horses would need to remain here in that event.”
Turning from Denenor to address Thomas' questions, the soldier gives his head a brief shake. "No, just one message for Baerwynnd, and it's a letter," he adds as he digs the slightly crumpled missve out of his pack. Frowning as he inspects it to ensure that it is still sealed, he continues. "I was instructed to hand this Baerwynnd directly, but that's not really possible at the moment, is it? And there's no way to know when it will be, either. Well, as you're apparently acting in his stead for the time being, I guess it falls to you to accept delivery," Marcusic concludes with a slightly anxious expression as he offers the message to Arrington. Clearly, he's just a touch unhappy at being unable to properly complete his task.
Listening with a set expression to the gnome as he explains the full scope of the catastrophe, Marcusic can't help but recall those horrible visions, his very reason for trying to reach Talanor. They've come to pass, and he has absolutely no idea what to do now. His thoughts are a disorder mess, though a number are unpleasantly recurrent; what if he realized earlier that they were more than bad dreams, what if he had acted sooner on the warning they gave, what if he had told someone, what if, what if, what if? Eventually, he gives his head a hard shake and growls to himself. "Nope, no more of that! What's done is done, and now we do what we can, if anything can be done, to survive and maybe fix this. Anything else is a waste of time and energy that I can't spare, not anymore."
Hearing Arrington's offer of transportation, Marcusic speaks aloud once more. "Then I'll be heading along to the Temple District as well, since I've a message bound for someone there as well, if they're still alive. Won't miss the horse, to be honest. Nice enough animal, but if I wanted to ride one all the damned time, and fight from the saddle as well, I would have joined the cavalry." He glances at the wall,as if seeing the ruin beyond, and shudders faintly before adding. "And I'm not terribly upset at the prospect of not having to venture through those streets again so soon."
Thomas nods his thanks and does not correct Maddok about his rank. Though in terms of the peerage, I am far from a prince.
Arrington takes the sealed letter from Marcusic and thanks the skald. "I shall bear this message personally to the Hazard upon my return from the Great Southern Gate," he says nodding formally to Marcusic. "Murrubelle," he continues calling the dwarf back. "Please request a ride from Grimclaw for our guests. Let him know that I will personally thank him for the task upon my return."
Turning back to the group, Arrington explains that their ride will meet them on the entrance to the bridge. He excuses himself and departs, flying quickly to the south. The group leaves their horses with another of the initiatives and makes their way back to the bridge. After a few minutes, a loud screech announces the presence of a flying creature above you. Looking into the black night, nothing can be seen or heard again until a rush of wind and feathers descends upon you in a flurry. Landing on the bridge in front of you, three large griffons stand regally. They glare at you as if expecting something.
Initially puzzled by what sort of ride they could find on the bridge, Marcusic makes his way back outside with the others. The lack of anything waiting for them is quite confusing to the soldier, until the screech draws his eyes upward. Forewarned by the call, he watches guardedly as the trio of hybrids enters the radius of his ioun torch's light and wings in for a landing. Speaking in an aside, with his eyes fixed firmly on the large predators before them, Marcusic remarks. "Huh, didn't know Talanor had any griffon stables. Did any of you?"
Slowly approaching the griffons, the great beasts lower themselves and allow you to climb on their backs. In a burst of strength, the griffons take to flight and climb to a great height, circling the Bright Tower.
Once they have reached a height that the emptied lake and surrounding city appears void of all light, they begin to head in a direction that you can only assume is north. After several chilly minutes with a cold wind in your face, the great beasts begin to dive. The frigid temperatures and biting wind make your eyes water and you lose all vision briefly. Finally, they pull out of the dive and you feel them begin to slow themselves with a spreading of their giant wings.
Soaring just above the height of the great temples, the griffons maneuver back and forth, surveying the area. Several small, smoldering fires are seen throughout the area, but no movement. They circle one last time and then land on a 25' wide path in an open grassy field. Several dead trees dot the previously lush gardens in which you now stand. A large cherry tree is almost completely uprooted and lays toppled over in the center of the garden, along the path leading to the temple. With no more than a nod, the griffons take back to the dark skies and disappear from sight.
Fifty feet behind you is an iron gate, still closed and chained, that leads to a wide boulevard. To the east, a small, stone temple sits quietly in the darkness of the eternal night. The path before you, leads around the dead cherry tree and to the wide stairs leading to the ornate wooden doors of the temple.
Maddok was grateful for the experience of soaring through the darkness on the back of a griffon but he's happy to have his feet on solid earth again. The skies were a far cry from the familiar sensation of standing on the swaying deck of a ship
After a quick check to make sure he didn't lose anything during the flight, the bodyguard readies his cudgel and shield. He narrows his gaze on the dark temple and gives his companions a quick nod confirming his readiness to enter.
Once again, Thomas petitions his goddess for light in the darkness. Radiance spills forth from the priest.
Some instinct draws Thomas towards the tree. He lays a hand on its trunk and mourns its passing. He then walks towards the wooden doors.
Perception
As Thomas approaches the fallen cherry tree, a deep voice calls out from the rubble just to the right of the stairs. "That's far enough, boy! I suggest you turn and leave. They'll be no looting here!" You can see that part of the rail to the right of the stairs has crumbled, likely from the Shaping. So, has the large tower on the right side of the Temple.
Following the flight over the desolate city, which Marcusic is profoundly grateful doesn't last long, the soldier warily considers the vacant courtyard of what he supposes is their destination. Drawing his sword in a two-handed grip, he moves cautiously along the path to swing south of the dead tree, though his advance is checked by the unseen voice. Eyes and ears straining, the soldier tries to locate the speaker.
"We are no looters. I am Thomas Thorne, a light-bearer of Teysura. It would not be meet to strike one of the Sacred Mother's priests on her dedicated earth. Come. Let us talk in peace. Perhaps we might share valuable information and succor with one another."
The sun and moons are gone.
Though it was but the arcanists words which were spoken to him, they cut into Denenor like a knife. Changes this large went beyond mere distance. They could cut into places beyond their spot on the plane; the forces involved were surely potent enough not to constrain themselves simply to their field of existence.
Maybe in the realm of the ether, things are changed. Damaged. Thomas should know Teysura would be worried about this, but what if she was indisposed herself?
That wound of worry spread, but it left the farmer with little choice. "Yes, Thomas. I will join you in visiting the temples. It's not as if my vocation is needed anymore anyway."
Though despairing from the news, the majestic trip on the griffons buoyed Denenor's spirits. While the wind was harsh for some, he found it invigorating and was a touch disappointed when their passage was over. It was moments after they set foot on the ground they were accused of being looters though.
And to think this tree would now die-out regardless...
"He speaks the truth. We want loot no more than this darkness."
Hiding in the shadows created by Thomas's radiance, the voice remains hidden from Marcusic although he can tell it is coming from just to the right of the stairs.
"Ah, now... you shouldn't have mentioned that. I was guessing you were a red eye looking for artifacts. We've taken this temple, father. I'm afraid you can't have it back." As the voice calls out, the door to the temple cracks open with a discernible creak.
Thomas continues to move towards the voice to shed further light on the subject.
"The Sacred Mother welcomes all into her embrace. She would welcome you as well."
Groaning softly, Marcusic hurries to keep pace with the cleric, muttering quietly to him once he's in earshot. "Careful, I don't think that speaker is alone, and I don't he's up to being friendly with you either," the soldier says with a worried look in the direction of the stairs, then another toward toward the general location where that voice is coming from. "In fact, I'm pretty sure we're about to have a fight here, and nothing you say is going to avoid it, not if the temple's current occupiers are what I suspect." The soldier keeps pace with the cleric, eyes flicking watchfully between the temple's stairs and the unseen speaker's position.
Maddok keeps pace with his charge. He keeps a wary eye out for hidden attackers should the forces holding the temple prove hostile.
Initiative
The door to the temple opens slightly and a armored gnoll steps out. In a raspy voice he exclaims, "Enough talk!" His hands come into view from under his cloak, holding a blackened longbow. Without any hesitation, he fires at Thomas, striking him in the right shoulder before anyone can act.
A voice calls out from the darkness as before, "See! I told you!"
"Your arrows will not overcome the light of the Sacred Mother. It beats like a heart within me. Forswear this violence before it consumes you."
Thomas lifts a hand to his shoulder and the pulsing light within him seems to push the arrow forth leaving unblemished flesh and a relatively serene priest.
The light of Teysura surges around the young cleric, healing his wounds. The gnoll looks in amazement as his arrow slips from Thomas's shoulder and falls to his feet. He turns and looks over his shoulder at the open doors to the temple and shuffles his feet backwards. Then, puffing his chest out, he exclaims, "I have more arrows that your feeble god can match, tree-lover!" and he begins to draw another from his quiver.
Out of the shadows, a large dwarf with four arms comes charging at Marcusic and rakes a claw across the skald's face and torso. As Maddok turns to face the giant dwarf, an arrow pierces his left thigh and another hits him in the torso, slipping between two ribs on his left side . Snapping his head in that direction, he sees a young human with a composite longbow standing up behind the far stair rail.
Despite being bloodied by the arrows jutting from his flesh, Maddok interposes himself between the dwarf and his charge. He raises his shield defensively, hoping to distract the monstrous dwarf long enough for the skald to kill it.
Groaning in frustration as Thomas gets pretty well exactly the response that the soldier anticipated, Marcusic is still caught out when the unseen speaker appears and charges into the fight. The new foe's odd appearance draws startled glance from the young man, which quickly turns to an expression of pain as he narrowly avoids losing an eye to a clawed finger. "You sonofab%##+," the skald swears as he takes a quick step back and brings a hand up to wipe the flowing blood away before it impairs his vision. "I'm going cut those hands off and bugger you with them," he snarls before lifting his sword and beginning a song about a soldier famous for fighting on long after those around him were dead of their injuries.
With a spin and liberal wave of his arms, the foreign farmer spoke three words. A gust pushing outward could be felt by his neighbors, but soon it was a sustained breeze pushing South. Mist began to form in the air to accompany the breeze . Through it all though, an eye of calm in the folds of the local weather grew into view, halting but a few feet from Denenor.
In Elvish, he spoke to Thomas as not to reveal his plans to the enemies. "A storm will brew, but calm will remain near me!"
As mist begins to form around the skirmish, the gnoll fires another arrow at Thomas embedding into his left thigh. With a broad grin, the dog barks in the common tongue "Finish them!" He turns and enters the temple.
Light begins to stream up from the ground to flash into to a flowering tree.
Another arrow falls harmlessly to the ground.
A glowing light radiates from the cherry tree produced by Thomas, and the group feels a surge of energy as their wounds begin to heal. As the arrow falls harmlessly from his leg, the human yells, "Finmoc! Feumaidh sinn an sagart a mharbhadh an toiseach! Tha e gan leigheas!"
In a flash, the massive dwarf blinks from existence and reappears behind Thomas and Denenor. Laughing heartily, he swipes at the cleric with his sharpened claws. The first rakes across Thomas's chest, opening a deep wound and spraying his blood upon the face of Denenor. The second claw strikes the back of Thomas's head, slicing off a portion of his elfish ear and staggering him. Thomas begins to fall from his horse, but is able to stay in the saddle slumping significantly.
The human roars in victory and turns his aim towards Maddok. Stepping into the open, he launches an arrow that strikes the mageknight in the upper torso. Maddok cringes from the pain.
Marcusic growls as the dwarf blinks away from his present location to reappear within reach of Thomas. "Oh wonderful, he do that? As if we didn't have enough to deal with," the soldier mutters before fixing his sword in a firm doublehanded grip and charging the oversized dwarf with a roar. He makes some effort to avoid those swinging arms, but Marcusic's focus is mostly on slamming a few feet of edged steel into that body, and he puts his all into the swing from right to left across that large torso.
Marcusic charges at the dwarf who turns and slashes at the skald. The force of the blow from the enhanced shifter sends Marcusic sprawling, yet he regains his balance and lands a vicious blow upon the dwarf. The blade slices open the dwarf's chest as he growls in anger and disgust. Blood gushes from his chest and his clawed hands press to stop the bleeding.
Finding his armor and shield useless against the archer's attacks, Maddok changes his focus to the threat he can deal with. He could only hope that the elf was summoning stronger winds to ward off the arrows.
He closes on the giant dwarf's flank with his cudgel before rearing back for a mighty blow.
Maddok advances upon the dwarf, moving through the enlarged shifter's reach. But the dwarf isn't nimble enough to react, and Maddok's cudgel slams against his left side. The dwarf grimaces as he stumbles back from the blow. Bruised and bleeding, he looks desperate towards the stairs and the temple. The winds begin to pick up and a light storm erupts, yet the eye of the storm around Denenor remains calm.
This time when the tree of light flashes into being, it is not enough to staunch and repair all of Thomas' wounds. While more powerful healing is available to him, he is more concerned with the health of his companions.
He then steps back hoping to draw the shifter away from his injured companions to expend his fury on Thomas' defenseless flesh.