Late
It is gone midnight once you have said your farewells to Sakkarot and his little group and received your new orders - and rewards - from your Cardinal.
Tiadora mentioned a ship waiting for you; as you follow her, she leads you to a ramshackle river barge named Halstyn’s Folly, which is moored at the bank of Lake Tarik; probably not that far from where the late and unlamented Odenkirk met his fate, along with his crew and ship, all those weeks ago. The captain and three man crew of this shallow-bottomed barge are all very obviously and very thoroughly under Tiadora’s control (much as the equally late and even less-lamented Sergeant Blackerly was, briefly). They are certainly no threat.
Tiadora is in no mood to delay. “The master commands you board. You will learn more later.” Accommodations are crude. There is only one cabin and Tiadora has already evicted the so-called captain and made that her own personal domain. Whatever else she may or may not be, she is not particularly adept at sharing. That means that the rest of you must find accommodation and a place to sleep on the deck of the barge.
There is a roof but no walls and at night in winter on the lake, it is bitterly cold.
Still, at least the night is clear; the stars shine overhead in a cloudless sky. It affords a good view of your handiwork, and Tiadora spends the time as you start your voyage gazing at the burning town of Aldencross with an almost wistful expression on her face. "Soon." It is a whispered breath, and you almost certainly weren't meant to hear it.
Without looking away from the view, she remembers herself and snaps out orders. "Get this tub moving. We need to be far away from here by dawn."
The sailors scurry to obey.
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With her bed (coffin), placed in the middle of the area beneath the roof, Tkaara also walks to the rail and watches, with arms crossed, as the burning town slowly recedes into the distance.
How did I come to this? What caused me to change from the good little barrister helping the innocent to the creature (power?) that I am now?
However, this thought is fleeting, if it occurred at all. While she can feel the wind, the coldness of it has no effect on her, it is merely an inconvenience in that it whips her clothes about and musses her hair.
After about an hour, she looks over to Etna, who is standing beside her and wrapped in several cloaks and a blanket against the wind.
Strange. Could you have imagined a year ago that you would be standing on a barge floating away from at Talingarde town watching it burn and knowing that you were the one who opened the door for the barbaric north to invade?
"I wouldn't, no." Etna laughs "Like I said to Sakkarot when we first met him, I didn't really care for Talingrade a year ago. But I'm wondering..." the ifrit looks at Aldencross burning in the distance "Was this really the best move? If we must rebuild this nation, was it wise to open the doors to a legion of murderous beasts?"
Tiadora drifts in; she has overheard your conversation. She sneers at Etna. "The 'poor souls' of Talingarde require a reminder of what it means to defy the powers of Hell. Do you have a problem with that, little ifrit?"
Without a backward glance, Tiadora heads for her cabin - only to stop dead halfway: she has spotted the coffin. Walking over to it, she turns and faces you all. "What. Is. THIS?" The chill fury that radiates off her makes the night air seem tropical, by comparison.
"That, I believe, is a coffin," Erevan remarks off-handedly, casually. There may or may not even be a certain dryness to his tone. Although he does not seek to antagonize the she-devil -well, not at the moment anyway; perhaps in the future- he cannot help himself. Perhaps the weariness of the last few days is catching up with him.
Erevan is both grappled and strangled, so cannot speak or cast spells with verbal components
Erevan takes of ability damage, spread over Str, Dex, Con as you choose.
Tiadora moves fast: Erevan has scarcely finished speaking before he is hoisted into the air, with Tiadora's ice-cold hands around his throat.
"I can see what it is. Do not think that just because the Cardinal rewards you that you are above me! I regard that as insolence. You will answer my questions in full or suffer the consequences."
Taking one hand from Erevan's throat, she grabs his hand. There is a sickening *crack* as she twists it, breaking his wrist.
Dropping him casually to the deck, she turns to face Tkaara. There is a moment's silence as she focuses her supernatural vision on the barrister, taking in those details she previously didn't bother to note.
...
..
.
"So." The word is hissed, carrying across the deck of the barge and out over the water.
The sailors run for cover.
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Tkaara turns back to Tiadora:
As you know, I was not eating properly while at the mansion. That has been remedied now and I look forward to sampling all the innocent faire the fine land has to offer. She looks over at one of the sailors before turning back to the Cardinal's enforcer. I expect as we move south I will find the soft underbelly of this land to be much more enjoyable than that currently available.
Tkaara turns back to Tiadora: As you know, I was not eating properly while at the mansion. That has been remedied now and I look forward to
*ack*
Tkaara doesn't need to breathe; but, apparently, having her throat crushed does interfere with speech. Tiadora holds her up, just as she did Erevan.
Then, tossing her in the air as if Tkaara weighs no more than a rag doll, she grabs the barrister's ankles and dunks her over the side of the boat, head-first into the fresh running water of the lake.
The effect is impressive: the water around Tkaara immediately starts to boil, hissing and fuming like acid. Which it is, to a nascent vampire - Tkaara's face starts to melt, the flesh dripping like wax.
The pain is indescribable. Tkaara's mouth fills with water as she tries to scream, inflicting further hideous damage.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, it ends. Tiadora pulls her out of the water and - still holding her upside down - delivers a lecture to the pain-crazed victim. "Nobody just becomes a vampire - not in Talingarde. So, other powers are at work here, are they? I could stake you out on deck right now and let the sun take care of you! But I won't. You still have use. But remember this, dearest, my sweet. The moment - the very instant - you act against Father's interest, I will destroy you. Gladly. And slowly. I haven't tortured a vampire before... it will be a learning experience. One I look forward to."
She drops the hapless body to the deck. "So give me an excuse, dearest. Just one."
With that, she stalks off to her cabin.
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After screaming for several minutes, Tkaara regains some modicum of composure and calls upon the heavens for healing.
ILW x4
With her face partially healed, she looks to the other members of the Ninth and shakes her head. Although unspoken, the message is clear, the Ninth shall get revenge on the b!tch, one way or the other.
"Temper, temper," Erevan hisses softly through clenched teeth. He may be able to endure it if need be, but he is not particularly fond of pain and it shows. Still, it was to be expected. Carelessness has consequences. Which is why this time the words are spoken after Tiadora has left.
Nursing his wrist -he can almost feel the bones grinding painfully against each other- he turns to look at Tkaara. "I got off easy, it seems."
"Anything you can do about it, Doctor? Or should I simply ask for some magical healing?"
Etna's hair grow brighter and start to flutter slightly around when Tiadora turns to immerse Tkaara in the water. When the devil finishes her speech and goes to her cabin, the ifrit rushes to the vampire's side and tries to heal her with the Infernal Healing wand.
Clenching her teeth, Etna tries to hold back her anger, her eyes taking a strange hue of yellow.
"Can you still move your arm, Erevan?" the ifrit turns to asks the golden eyed man, still close to Tkaara to help in any way possible.
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Tkaara raises her arm when Etna approaches with the wand.
I am mostly healed. Save the magic for when I am out of spells.
She then cracks her neck, portions of flesh still hanging loose and burn marks readily apparent on her face.
So, where do you think the nice lady is taking us? The acidic tone in her voice unconcealed as she references Tiadora.
.
The Doctor does not even bother to look about at the sounds of his companions' distress. Ever since returning to his natural form, the man has been silent, withdrawn. Brooding, even. He certainly has not bothered to speak a word, other than to distractedly answer a question or two. If you did not know him better, you might think him haunted by the carnage wrought at Balentyne. Well, aware of what sort of man he is, it is left to guess what might actually be bothering him.
At Erevan's direct question, he looks up, annoyed. He beckons the injured man closer, then grips the offending arm none-too-gently while eyeing it critically. After a few moments of prodding, causing further pain, Ottakar grasps firmly and twists, causing a second loud popping noise and a split-second of blackness to cloud Erevan's vision as the nauseating pain flashes through him. After a few moments, it feels ever so slightly better.
"Not actually broken," the Doctor mumbles. "Sloppy. Just dislocated. Don't use the arm, you'll be fine by tomorrow." With that, he turns away once more and goes back to his solitary contemplation.
”I believe the Cardinal’s goal – and thus my own - is not to rebuild this land, Etna” Felrin offers in reply to the ifrit’s musings, ”but to break it apart and remake it as something new. A land where the strong rule the weak, as is their due, and the weak serve, as they should. And to achieve that goal, those who would defend the current order must be cast down – and Sakkarot and his troops are well-suited to such casting down, as we’ve seen. I’m certain our Master has a place laid out for the ‘murderous beasts’ in the future of Talingarde, whether as battle-fodder or a means of maintaining the new order. Do not doubt.”
As Tiadora snaps the bones in Erevan’s wrist, Felrin cannot help but shudder as he recalls his own experience with her particular gift of agony. She calls us lords when we board, and it makes us take her too lightly. I’ll not make that mistake again, and my companions in the Ninth Knot should take care as well. Fortunately, now Erevan will wish as much as I do to make her suffer, and will aid me in doing so. In fact, we may have a bit of a race on our hands, with the Doctor in the game as well.
Even knowing how cruel the blond can be, Tiadora’s ruthless treatment of Tkaara takes Felrin by surprise. As the flowing water seems to melt away Tkaara’s skin, Felrin tenses, debating within himself where his loyalties lie. Tiadora carries the authority of Cardinal Thorn, and to attack her would likely mean death and Thorn’s disfavor. But he has come far with Tkaara, and she is one of the Forsaken, and a member of the Ninth Knot, which he has sworn to lead – sworn to Thorn himself. Before he has to decide whether to call the Knot into battle – and find out whether they would follow – Tiadora releases her victim, speechifies a moment, and stalks off. As Tkaara catches his eye, her glare sparkling with a desire for vengeance, Felrin nods in return, swearing a silent pact with the undead barrister. The field of play gets more crowded by the moment...
He watches Ottakar tend to Erevan’s injury and considers Tkaara’s question. ”I’ve no notion where we’re headed, and if the crew knows they’re not likely to say, with good cause. But perhaps as leader of the Ninth, I can ask Tiadora to share her plans with me. Though I don’t believe now is the right moment to ask.”
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Tkaara continues to glare at the door after the ice queen disappeared into her cabin. As she does, she reaches up and appears to once more grab pure blackness out of the air which she then forces into her face causing the flesh to unmelt in what appears to be a most unpleasant fashion. She then moves over to Erevan and grabs his hand, albeit not with quite as much viciousness as Tiadora. As she does so, she causes her other hand to glow with a shiny cloud, similar to yet different to the healing magic she has used in the past. The glow travels down her arm, across her body, and then to her other hand where it transfers to Erevan causing some of the bones to mend and snap back together.
Probably not as much fun as the Doctor's ministrations, but should make you able to use your hand before too long.
She then glances over to Felrin, her face still pitted, although not as much as before, from Tiadora's abuse.
Let her stew. It does not matter what you say or do, she will twist it against you and then administer her method of correction. She is beholden to the Cardinal, not to us. When she deems it is time, she will send us off the boat. I would expect that she will give us our next mission before that time.
Cast Lesser Restoration on Erevan: <-- on whichever stat was most damaged.
Cast ILW on Tkaara:
Early
By dawn, you are far from Balentyne and the wreckage of Aldencross, sailing across Lake Tarik. The few fishing vessels you encounter and the smell of early-morning cooking fires from the shoreline villages are oddly domestic and seem out of place, until you realise that you are the only people in the vicinity who know that there's a war; that Talingarde has been invaded.
In the tranquil light of early day, it seems nearly impossible to believe. The only reminders of your recent endeavours are your own healing injuries, together with the blood-red seal on Erevan's armour and Tkaara's new, altered state as she sleeps soundly in her coffin, hiding from the sun.
Tiadora sneers at the cheerful scenes of country life as you pass by the villages. "Weak-minded fools. It's as if they want to be overthrown."
Lake Tarik is vast: it takes you all of Starday and the rest of Sunday simply to cross it; and you only make such good speed because the wind is in your favour and the Halstyn's Folly is unladen.
By nightfall however, you are across, entering the great network of western riversthrough the great scar that almost cuts the
isle of Talingarde in twain. Off the lake and away from the favourable winds, you make noticeably less speed.
The rising sun is directly behind you; the setting sun directly ahead. Travel is slow, but it is a life of (comparative) ease, verging on boredom.
Tiadora herself is not idle. Though the Halstyn's Folly is adequately provisioned and never docks, every night the barge anchors within sight of a village or keep. Tiadora teleports away to visit each settlement and commit unimaginable atrocities to each in turn. These atrocities she performs, in the form of a Knight of the Alerion, one of Talingarde’s sacred defenders. For one night, she murders and tortures helpless, innocent villagers claiming all the while to be searching for gremlin-like followers of Asmodeus. She kills loved ones, pillars of the communites and those who are obviously incapable of being guilty. She perpetrates these massacres and leaves lots of witnesses.
Every morning, at the barge resumes its journey, Tiadora watches from afar as another settlement wails and mourns the results of her brutal visitation - and smiles.
Night
It is Midwinter's night, the darkest of the year. Unlike 31 Lamashan (The Night of the Dead), in Talingarde this has no associations of evil; it is simply when Mitra is remembered most fondly as the sun-god who will shine on his people even on the darkest night yadda yadda yadda.
On the Halstyn's Folly however, they do not acknowledge Mitra as lord. Instead, you are graced by a visit from your lord and master, Cardinal Thorn, again dressed in black and burgundy robes. He wears black gloves and openly displays his symbol of Asmodeus. After greeting you, he leads you in a simple service of sacrifice (a slave arrived with him) and the Litany of Hellfire and Darkness. Afterward, he conjures a feast; a welcome change from the provisions you have been subsisting on for the last few days. Wine flows freely, and the smell of roasted meat permeates the cabin (Tiadora having temporarily made way for Thorn).
Eventually, however, he gets down to business. "You have served me faithfully, my Ninth Knot, and I have rewarded you both in treasure and vengeance. Thanks to your efforts, the Fire-Axe has been unleashed. Even now he writes his name in blood across the Borderlands. Three battles have been fought and three victories won. The villages of Ambryl and Tarrington Fields lie sacked. The fortress of Lorringsgate is in ruins. Each of you did your part in seeing these triumphs come to fruition. Do not think I have forgotten that. But our work is not yet done. Talingarde has not yet acquiesced to our unholy master nor tasted the full measure of our vengeance. So I have another mission for you."
"Tomorrow this barge will dock in Farholde, the northernmost town in all the realm. Farholde is a backwater of no real significance. Its lord has already left the place hoping for glory in the war. But it does border the Caer Bryr*, the largest unmapped forest on the entire island. Hidden within the Caer Bryr is the Horn of Abaddon, an ancient temple once occupied by a particularly loathesome death cult called ‘The Sons of the Pale Horseman’. Almost eighty years ago the first Darian king, Markadian I called the Victorious overthrew the Horn and destroyed the Sons. No great loss, honestly."
“But what the Victor found within the temple is why we are here. He defeated a daemon prince called Vetra-Kali Eats-the-Eyes. So terrified of this monstrosity was the king, that he had the priests of Mitra craft a great silver seal to forever forbid the daemon from returning to our plane of existence. The seal remains to this day. I have learned the truth about this daemon prince. I have learned what the Victor feared. Vetra-Kali is an archdeacon in service to the lord of pestilence. This immortal monster could create a plague so virulent that it will bring Talingarde to its knees. When the Victor attacked, the Daemon Prince was close to unleashing his masterpiece upon the world -- a pestilence known as the Tears of Achlys**. I am uncertain of the specifics of this plague but if anything could terror in the heart of the Victor, then I want it. The Tears of Achlys will be our poisoned dagger into the heart of Talingarde."
“I already have agents in the great cities of this kingdom. With this pestilence, they could deliver blight and death to the very center of the realm. Caught between the twin storms of the Fire-Axe and Vetra-Kali’s gift, we shall bring ruin to Talingarde. This gift you shall bring to me. It will not be easy. I have already lost one band of followers on this errand. I sent the Fourth Knot to find the Horn of Abaddon. They succeeded at that at least – revealing to me that it was concealed within a great spire of stone less than a day’s ride from Farholde. But then they vanished. I have heard no more from the elven ranger Aiden Kael since. He was at home in all forests, so no normal hazard would defeat him. Perhaps the Horn of Abaddon is guarded. I cannot say. But it matters not! The Tears of Achlys must be mine!"
"I am undeterred by this setback. Where one Knot failed, two will succeed. I will also send my Seventh Knot – the Knot Hibernal led by Elise Zadaria. I task you with finding the Horn and calling forth Vetra-Kali. Elise and her knot will aid you. Elise proved herself a capable assassin in our last venture. The seventh knot will remain in Farholde and see that anyone who tries to find the Horn and interfere with your work meets an unhappy end. Thus, you will have time to do what must be done."
He frowns, as if unsure whether to reveal this next item, and to what extent he should disclose it to you. “There is another who may be able to aid you. Once a thriving cult of Asmodeus existed in Farholde. It was led by a half-elvish noble – the Baron Arkov Vandermir. He is treacherous and decadent, but wealthy and well-connected. Tiadora will introduce you before she departs. I know not what aid the Baron can provide, but his family is old and long has dwelt in Farholde. Never trust him but know this – he’s afraid of me and with good reason. If he does try anything remind him that you are in Farholde on my behalf. That should keep him in line."
Finally, he concludes.
“So: find the Horn. Find the seal and shatter it. Call Vetra-Kali back to our world. Bind him to your will and force service from the monster. And then bring his gift to me. Can you do this, my knot? Have I found servants with might and will enough to see this task done?”
He pauses at last, seemingly not in the least out of breath after this oration.
The Winter wind howls through the desolate ruins of Balentyne. Snow whirls and eddies across the fallen walls (the stone looted to use in catapults) and the fallen keep (burned because that's what bugbears do).
Heedless of the weather conditions and the dying light, an achingly handsome young man kneels in prayer on the floor of the keep. His bright silver armour is rimed with frost; snowflakes gather in his youthful beard. He ignores it, eyes closed, serene.
"It isn't safe to be out alone. Not here." It is a woman's voice. The young man whirls, seeing nobody. There is nobody there to see. He peers into the dusk, finally pinpointing the source of the sound. Drawing his blade, he points it decisively at a patch of ground apparently no different from any other. "Show yourself"
He has guessed aright: where he is pointing, a woman slowly comes into view, fading back from her Invisibility spell. Lean, hawklike (even down to the hooded lids of her eyes), her brown hair is streaked with the first signs of middle age, and her face is wrinkled with fine laughter lines. She is not laughing now. "Hello there, Richard. I meant it - even for you, this is not safe."
Richard nods, and frowns, trying to recall. "Erika." The woman smiles. "I wondered if you would remember - last I saw, you were just a boy; and now - hmmm, if only I were 20 years younger..." She chuckles, a throaty laugh, trying to make him blush as he used to. Richard doesn't blush "You are still as you were."
Erika smiles, wickedly "And I thought paladins weren't permitted to lie! But thank you."
Richard shakes his head. "Not what I meant. You are still cryptic, turning up out of the blue. I take it you heard what happened?" Erika nods, her eyes filling with tears suddenly. He shakes his head. "I do not weep. This is where he fell, defending his honour to the last. I have sworn vengeance on the bugbears who slew him-"
"No." The interruption is swift. Richard raises an eyebrow. "No to vengeance? You have changed."
Now it is Erika's turn to shake her head. "Not what I meant. Come and see." Conjuring a light of pale fire, she walks ahead into the gloom of night, the paladin trailing behind her. Eventually, they reach an outcrop overlooking the lake. Erika looks solemn. "This was my brother's favourite spot when he was out on patrol. I found his body earlier today. He and his men. Looks like they never even woke up." She squeezes her eyes tight shut. "But that's not the point. This is. No bugbears killed them, I'd stake my life on it. And they were killed long before the fort ever fell."
Richard frowns. "So you're saying..." he cannot complete the sentence.
"I'm saying that we have enemies closer than the bugbears." Erika completes the thought for him.
The young man sighs. "It is worse than I thought, then. Do you remember Sir Balin of Karfeld? The witch-hunter who brought those wretches to trial before the King? He disappeared, oh, maybe three, four months back. A month ago I grew uneasy about it. He often was at his work in secret, but never so long without communication. I asked the priests in Matharyn to look into it. You know most of them cannot use magic, so I went on pilgrimage to Vaelterna. There I found the answer. He is dead. I asked more, enough to get an idea of location."
Richard looks bleak. "I found his body in an abandoned manor house. Nobody knew its owner, but it was leased to a Sir Lester Thorn."
Erika chimes in "Let me guess. No such person?"
The paladin smiles. It is a smile that has absolutely nothing to do with humour. "Worse. Look at this, the coat of arms that was in the gate." He hands over a twisted piece of metal.
The wizardess looks puzzled. "So? The Mitran arms and a series of thorns - Mitra's light!" She drops the seal as if it burns her, which it metaphorically has. She looks accusingly at Richard, who holds up his arms in apology. "Forgive me. But I needed to be certain you are-"
"-are not corrupted by my love of the arcane." The reply is bitter. "No, Richard, I know the memories of Sherkov linger in this island, but not every wizard falls to evil. 'Sherkov will get you'" she mimicks the threat of every mother in Talingarde.
Taking a deep breath, she composes herself. "So. Asmodeus then."
He nods in reply. "If this is cultists' work, then they are stronger than I feared, more hidden than I suspected." He turns to his companion. "We have no choice now, Erika. Personal vengeance has to wait. This is a matter for the King. I will find us some horses."
Erika chuckles, a sound of genuine amusement. "My dearest boy, why are we riding when we could fly?"
As much as Felrin savors the unexpected feast, held on this longest night of the year, it is nothing compared to the pleasure he takes in the ceremony that precedes it. Being present to see Thorn offer a slave’s lifeblood to the Dark Prince fills Felrin with a thrumming energy which makes his own blood sing! In response, the knobby ridges of bone and flesh that cover his body at random seem to come slowly to life, moving under his skin like huge worms under the earth or some dark beast of the sea passing just below the water’s surface.
Although the infernal taint in his blood calms somewhat as the feast progresses, his appearance stabilizing as a result, Felrin still feels the powerful energy coursing through him as Thorn addresses the Forsaken. The depth of the man’s planning, the bold plan to unleash a devastating weapon on Talingarde, the suffering it will unleash – all these are so thrilling to Felrin that he finds himself trembling with zeal to carry out this mission, his jaw working and his claws twitching a moment before he takes a calming breath and replies to the Cardinal.
”We can do this, Master,” he says simply, ”and we will.” He gestures at the others of the Ninth Knot and continues, his voice a shade more intense, ”We have served you well and with devotion in overthrowing Balentyne, and I thank you for the chance to serve in such a way, to breach the walls of Talingarde. But to be chosen to unleash this plague upon the Mitrans, to shake them to the core as high and low are taken by the Tears of Achlys, to know, as I hear them lamenting and begging for a cure, that I have played some part in bringing this down upon them – for that my thanks know no bounds. We will succeed in this mission, Master, because you ask it of us, and we will take pleasure in its end, because it brings the last day of Mitran Talingarde that much closer.”
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Tkaara listens to the Cardinal and simply looks at the food, only choosing the most rare pieces of meat, and even those do little to sate her continuous hunger.
Most interesting your Honor. Your plan to use this . . . plague to weaken the resolve and strength of Talingarde is as wise as it is underhanded. It will stretch the healing abilities of those few Mitran priests pious enough to be granted divine healing, thereby reducing their ability to aid the army and paladins.
She then takes a drink of a very deep red wine.
So, have you any other knowledge of the Caer Bryr? Is there anyone else in Farholde that might have ventured into the woods? Or is this yet one more blight on Talingarde that the Mitrans have chosen to ignore?
"So. You intend to pursue this - this... folly, do you?"
The voice is cold, high and sharp. It puts you in mind of a razor. Standing in the cabin - having appeared out of nowhere - is a tall, cadaverously thin elf; dressed in thick robes of heavy black felt, hooded and cowled like a monk. Any idea of saintliness is quickly dispelled by the necklace of skulls and bones worn round his neck. From his robes emanates the heady, musky smell of roses, and death. He radiates a chill, even compared with the Winter air outside the cabin.
Heedless of any disruption he might have caused (and indeed, Tiadora hissed an indrawn breath - and rapidly made herself scarce; pity you have no power to to the same), he continues in the same tone, high and cold.
"I would have thought the loss of the Fourth would have been warning enough, Adrastus. Do not persist in this. You are not trafficking with your Devils" - here he flings an arm out to where Tiadora was lately standing - "you do understand that, don't you? You are meddling in Daemonic affairs."
Thorn's eyes blaze with an intense light - the faintest suspicion of anger; more than you have seen to date (count yourselves fortunate, O Ninth Knot, that you have not provoked him thus far). "Gregorius. Good of you to join us. Do have a glass of wine. Before you depart." He holds out a crystal goblet of finest Kyonin red, rescuing the rest of the decanter from Tkaara's attention.
The elf smirks. "Why thank you, I shall. But you know that I come and go as I please. I am here to offer my aid, as per our... agreement. You are not required to take it, but it would be wise to do so, friend."
Thorn smiles. There are a great many teeth being shown, for what is apparently a meeting between two friends. "I have always been glad of your aid, Gregorius. Can you show me how to obtain what I seek?"
If the elf's voice was cold and sharp before, it is nothing compared to what follows. "You have my aid. The form it comes in is my purview, as per our... agreement. Right now, it is in the form of advice. Do. Not. Do. This. Thing."
Draining the glass to its dregs, he disappears. The crystal goblet remains, falling to the floor of the cabin, where it shatters.
"Pity. He always has such a sense of the dramatic." Thorn murmurs. He shakes his head, and suddenly seems to remember that you are there (neither of them paid you the slightest heed during their talk - something to be grateful for, perhaps). "Had he stayed, that would have been a good time to introduce you. But no matter. And now I too must depart. Farewell, my Ninth."
He nods at Felrin. "That was well said, by the way. I honour loyalty, and those loyal to me will be remembered."
Then he, too, vanishes.
So, have you any other knowledge of the Caer Bryr? Is there anyone else in Farholde that might have ventured into the woods? Or is this yet one more blight on Talingarde that the Mitrans have chosen to ignore?
The Cardinal's eyes gleam at Tkaara's question. Tiadora's voice sounds, mockingly, inside your head. Brace yourself, dearest: teacher is going to give a lecture.
And so it proves. As you have previously observed, whatever else he may be, Thorn is a gifted teacher. "That is a very good question. As you know, the Western frontier of the island is dominated by the massive forest that gives this region its name. Small Talirean border towns flourish in the less wooded South, but the North remains a land of mists and legends. The Caer Bryr is reputed to be haunted and filled with monsters. There are tales of dragons and ancient evils that still haunt the woods."
"As far as I can determine, the only ones who are able to travel here with impunity are the barbaric Iraen, a primitive human tribe that reveres the spirits of the woods."
"It is perhaps startling how little exploration has been done of the Caer Bryr by the inhabitants of this land - but then, their duties and their god do not encourage curiosity and research - as some of you have discovered the hard way! However, in this case there is a good reason: by all accounts I can find (and I studied well before I sent off the Fourth Knot, you may be sure), the Caer Bryr is phenomenally dangerous."
He pauses. "From what I have read, when Farholde was conquered almost three centuries ago from the native populace, a number of expeditions set out to explore the jungle. None of them ever came back. Every few decades a new generation gets the brilliant idea - let’s explore the Bryr! The results are usually much the same: few survivors. What survivors do come back have left scarcely credible tales of an endless wilderness of monsters and barbarians. And so the people of Farholde keep to their hills."
He looks around. "In summary, do not expect to find a local expert on the place who can lead you through in safety. You must make your own path. But I have every confidence you can do that. You are the Ninth Knot - where the Fourth has failed miserably, you will succeed."
Once all questions are answered, the Cardinal hands you a clay seal, identical to the one you had before. "If you recover the Tears or need to report anything to me, break this seal. I will send Tiadora to wherever you break it within an hour or two. Now go with the blessings of the Prince of Hell and see this mission done!"
Once both Thorn and the elf have vanished, Tiadora reappears and orders you out of her cabin.
You spend your final night on the barge warmed by the food and inured against the cold air of the river.
The sun does not rise; it lurks sullenly behind cloud and wreaths of fog, all of which serves to shroud your arrival into Farholde.
Farholde is the northernmost colony of Talingarde. This small city should be a backwater, largely isolated from its parent nation by distance and danger. No King of Talingarde has visited Farholde since the Victor sat upon the throne; and the King's writ runs at its weakest here. But with that, comes opportunity for those bold enough to seek it: Ghastenhall's resident's might like to think that they flirt with the edges of what is acceptable under Darian rule, but if anywhere in Talingarde can truly be called a den of iniquity, it is this place. And yet, Farholde is a keystone of the realm’s defense. Without control of the delta that feeds into Lake Scardynn there would be no credible defense of the Borderlands (not that it matters much now since the Watch Wall is already broken).
You note that almost every structure in the city of Farholde is built on one of nine hills that make up the town. The reason is readily apparent: Lake Scardynn clearly overflows on a regular basis and anything not well above the water will be flooded.
As you enter Lake Scardynn via the river and approach the docks, Tiadora smiles at you, mockingly. "I have secured an invitation to Baron Vandermir's party on Year's End Night. Meet me before his place at 7 that evening. Buy yourselves some suitable clothing - and don't be late, dearest, I shan't wait for you." With that, she disappears. The captain ensures the secure mooring of the Halstyn's Folly and bows to you, politely ushering you off his barge.
Standing on the docks, you are alone in a dangerous town that only superficially recognises the King's rule.
What fun you will have.
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Tkaara, grumpy at being awakened during the light of day, but thankful that the vile sunlight is hidden behind the pall of clouds and seashore fog, looks to her companions.
So, this is the famed city of nine hills. Do you think they have any idea what lies to the east?
I need to see whether any of the shops here might have some method of carrying my new bed as I rather doubt we are going to make good time dragging it through the Cardinal's barbaric woods.
She flinches slightly and almost begins to cast a spell when the sky lightens briefly, but then lets out a sigh of relief when the sky grays up once more.
Rather than traveling as four, we should probably move as two groups.
She looks to Etna and says with a smirk: Do we trust the boys on their own?
Fort: <-- able to avoid attacking the first person she sees, but will need some sustenance before too long
"Come now Tkaara," Erevan retorts with a smile, "what trouble could we possibly get into? I can be quite subtle when I want to, Felrin is used to keeping a low profile in order to blend in and the good Doctor..."
He pauses then as if he is trying to think what to say next. With a soft sigh he gives up. [b]"Well."
"So, should we actually purchase proper attire? Or do we trust in the magic of the circlets once again?"
Months without anything changing, and now I suddenly have several horns sprouting from my skin? I would say that this worries me, but I'm more scared about not being to fulfill my end of the bargain.
For a moment, Etna thinks back at what she heard when the archons almost killed her. That...screaming, even if the word doesn't even start to describe it.
At least, it seems our next mission will be near where I have to apprehend that Azata...
With her mind filled with worries, the ifrit drifts to sleep as she scratches Winston's, the dog sleeping at her side.
"I think we should buy something suitable: as much as it is improbable, I would hate it if the illusions were dispelled and we'd have to wear hemp sacks during Year's End night."
I would really hate that.
"And I think we can leave the gentlemen to fend for themselves" the ifrit smiles back to the barrister "Though, do you have any idea where we could find an inn that would let us in with a coffin in our arms?"
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Tkaara shakes her head:
I was thinking about a magic shop. I was hoping to find something similar to what the Cardinal gave us. She raises her briefcase. Something that could hold my coffin, and perhaps more.
Tkaara would like a Bag of Holding Type II (500 pounds, 70 cubic feet). I assume her coffin is about 54 cubic feet (6'x3'x3') and probably weighs 100-200 pounds. This would leave a fair amount of space (16 cubic feet & 200 pounds) for loot or other things we find).
Not sure if the cash on hand part of the spreadsheet is up to date, or whether we have any loot to sell, but I think this is really important to avoid answering the question as to why we are lugging a comfortable coffin around.
Right now, the cash spreadsheet has Tkaara with 3750, and the Type II bag of holding costs 5000. The only loot I think Tkaara has is her handy haversack (briefcase) and the circlet, plus a few scrolls and potions.
As has happened many times in his long life, Felrin finds himself in a new place, though one smaller and more remote than most he has known. Nonetheless, he sets out to learn what he can about this new town, continuing to use his guise of ‘Dav’, a down-on-his-luck fellow from lands to the south who’s just looking for work using. He makes the rounds, inquiring about guard work or hauling loads to the docks, quietly chatting up locals and learning what he can about Farholde. He studies people carefully, gauging their motives (as they present them to the world and as they truly are), and looking into their hearts to know them better than their own mothers. Where the opportunity presents itself, he inquires about the presence of creators of magic in town, as if he’s hoping to offer his services as a guard to such folk.
In his study of Farholde, he makes a point of asking after the leadership of the place, finding out what he can of Baron Vandermir – what people know of him and think of him, if he is loved or loathed, a fair leader or a fell one.
You spend the day wandering through Farholde, adopting your appearance as you see fit in order to blend in. The only place this doesn't work is Calliver Green, where the guardpost clearly does not let anyone in without a pass - or without checking their papers. Mindful that the only papers you have are for identities which may well be hunted in connection with events at Balentyne, you decide (for now) not to chance your luck.
Rumours of war swirl everywhere through the city: the Lord in charge (Lord Argus) has gone East, together with most of the garrison of Hamarhall. There is disbelief that both Balentyne and Lorringsgate - fortresses that stood for centuries - are just gone, with no reprisals against the monsters responsible. For many ages, Farholde has looked directly North and South for threats; the idea that danger might come towards it from elsewhere in Talingarde has simply been unthinkable.
The population of the town is far more mixed than elsewhere in Talingarde: in addition to Darian and Barcan, human and half-elf, you see locals who resemble the original inhabitants of the island - red-haired and green-eyed Iraens, their pale skin whorled with tattoos of blue and black.
Felrin's efforts to locate suitable shops for his wares prove mixed: there is a very respectable establishment in Auld'Irey that would be happy to take his money for a Bag of Holding (he's not the only one wanting such things apparently: all the rage for the nobility and any other wealthy personages worrying they might have to flee the bugbear horde at a moment's notice), but it is clear that his oblique requests for spells of Undetectable Alignment are not wanted. What business could any honest man have with such magicks?
It is clear that if you want anything of that nature, you will have to investigate the most vile and lawless part of Farholde - Drownington.
Felrin is pleased enough with what he's managed to learn about the town, reporting back to his companions and letting Tkaara in particular know that he's found someone who will sell her a magical bag to transport her coffin.
"I'm going to take a look into Drownington," he says after sharing his information, "see what's there that might be of use to us. It would be useful if some or all of you came along."
He waits a moment for any who wish to accompany him to get ready, then sets off for Drownington. As before, he seeks a place to purchase more illicit magics, and to learn what the people feel about their Baron.
Same drill - I’m planning to explore, blending in with the populace and studying people with detect alignment and Taking 10 on Sense Motive (for a 25). I want to find people who might be potentially useful to us, whether in sympathy for our cause or because they have something to hide, or some other way we can use them. I'll also keep an eye out for someone who might sell him a scroll of undetectable alignment.
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Tkaara looks over to Felrin:
I can join you to get some information out of people. I have been known to be quite good at persuading people in the past.
And, I hear the poorer district of many towns are a good place to find a snack.
How much money dp we have? Tkaara really has not much magical at this point. She had a cloak and armor, but those went when we switched to the Automatic Bonus Progression. All she has at this point is the haversack and circlet, as well as a few potions and three potions of CMW (which should go to someone else since they are useless for her). The Bag-Type II is 5000gp (which is probably just big enough for a coffin), or Type III is more pricey, 7400gp, but would easily hold the coffin and lots of other stuff we might need. I need to know if Tkaara can borrow some, and how much, to determine which bag she can buy.
If she can take-10 on diplomacy, it is a 24. If not, here is a roll.
Diplomacy:
"From what you say, it seems fear has started to spread among the populace," Erevan comments once he has heard of what Felrin found out during his foray into town. "It makes me wonder... Once that fear has taken firm hold, will all of them remain faithful to their god and their country or would there be those among them who would have a, shall we say, change of heart? Survival is quite the strong incentive to reconsider certain beliefs."
He shrugs. "We shall see, I suppose." Returning to the matter at hand, he nods. "I think I will be coming along this time. I am curious to see the town. And with more of us there, we may find out even more information, be it fact or hearsay, that could prove useful."
"People are averse to change, Erevan." the ifrit comments the golden-eyed man musings "Mitra has worked for them since now: if they don't have a reason to switch sides, they won't. Hells, with the Mitran indoctrination that has been going around in the past years, I would be surprised if there were people that didn't even knew there were other gods."
Etna chuckles to herself "Always struck me as hypocritical and ridiculous for them to have outlawed the other good faiths. Were they afraid Shelynites would have took control of the nations by painting them to death? Pah."
"I will join you too, of course." Etna nods "It will be safer if we go together, even if a tour of the slums isn't first on the list of things I'd like to do. If that is the only way to avoid Tkaara catching fire sooner or later because she has not her coffin around, I suppose we have no choice."
”You make a good point, Erevan,” Felrin says with a thoughtful nod. ”I have been thinking along similar lines, that we may find eager converts here, as it becomes clear that their world may be coming apart.” Turning to Etna, he continues, ”I agree that people tend to resist change. But as they see their land falling into chaos, they will come to see the value of a firm hand ruling over all, and will come flocking to worship the Prince of Law. And I will be happy to show them the path to Him.”
”As to the Mitrans being hypocritical and ridiculous, I’ve come to expect it. My Lord expects me to do as I say, rather than saying one thing in public and doing something else entirely when I think no one is looking. In any case, we’ll see what we can learn in Drownington to advance our goals, and count any converts as gifts from Asmodeus – though such gifts are known to come at some price.”
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Tkaara looks to Etna shaking her head:
The coffin is for resting. Without it I will be in an even more ticked off. The burning part seems to be sunlight and flowing water. I seem to have been blessed with the ability to avoid some of the sun issues, but don't know how to avoid the water.
More importantly, it is rather difficult to wander around town, or the wilderness carrying a coffin. So, lets see about what this magic shop that Felrin found has, and what the cost is. We could probably take it by force, but for now our mission is not to subvert this town. While gaining allies, or at least making some less opposed to us, is beneficial, that is not our mission. It is to find this disease and then unleash it across the land.
"I'd say we just keep a low profile, buy the bag, and avoid seeking trouble." Etna comments "Speaking of which, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I don't think that going around seeking converts is a good idea, for now. " the ifrit says to Felrin.
"As you said yourself, it seems people mostly can't even fathom that war is breaking out: trying to stir up people now would be no different than before, and even be counterproductive." the fire-haired woman continues, scratching Winston's head*. "Rumors may go around, and people could put two and two together and connect the bugbears with Him. And, personally, if we are to show this nation a new glorious path for the future, I would start with something more grandiose than finding sympathizers among filthy cutthroats and cheap whores in the slums of a small city."
*Who, in the meantime, was rather distressed by the thought that Etna and the others were merrily going to take a tour of the criminal district of the town.
”Not to worry, Etna,” Felrin responds with a wave of his hand, ”I’ve not made it this far by showing my hand before it was time. I’ll get the lay of the land, look for promising prospects, see who’s afraid of what’s to come and who’s eager, and gain what I can from the knowledge. I won’t be standing on a soapbox in Drownington or elsewhere, nor painting red pentagrams on alley walls.”
”And remember,” he adds, ”Thorn took us out of prison to serve as his Nessian Knot, because he knows that useful tools can be found in surprising places. If you need a throat cut, a filthy cutthroat may well be the tool you need, and a 2-copper whore can bring down a nobleman’s reputation at least as effectively as one paid in gemstones.”
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Tkaara chuckles as she listens to the others discuss corrupting the weak:
I think you all are over thinking this. We need not convert people. Simply spreading rumors to undermine the confidence these fools have placed in Mitra could be a greater impediment. If they lose faith in those who rule, then they will not provide food and shelter to the military. They will instead horde their food and supplies, causing the government to be slowly starved from within, while the bugbears and other tricks the Cardinal has break them down from without.
"I think I find Tkaara's idea a simple and effective course of action," Erevan offers. "After all, rumor starts and spreads without need of some ulterior motive anyway. Simply out of fear. So if such a thing happens here, it would not necessarily point to us or to some hidden plan behind it all."
He shrugs. "Just what happens when war is far and can very well start coming closer. Hearsay takes on a life of its own on such occasions."
Just the word is enough to evoke an image; The reality is even more unpleasant - due to the smell, which words cannot do justice to.
A huddle - nay, a maze - of transients and cast-offs. The fog thick, billowing and wintry; the air, bitterly chill. Fights just beginning to break out with the approach of darkness. People, either wary - or vulnerable. Illegal goods unthinkable to trade up on the hills, openly trafficked. Desperate prostitutes, lush like overripe, rotting fruit, peddle their wares besides drunken river sailors too broke to afford lodging above.
Nobody bothers you - you are in a group and have an air that makes people careful. Normally strangers wandering in are regarded as prey; you are clearly higher up the food chain than most of the denizens of Drownington and they recognise that without a word being exchanged.
There is only one permanent structure in Drownington: built on a slab of rock that is mostly above the floodline (by almost four inches!), there stands a stout stone bunker that has (barely) survived a hundred floods. A crudely made sign in front reads Lord Drownington’s Manor. Equal parts bar, brothel, fight club, black market and thieves’ guild, this is without a doubt the most dangerous place in Farholde.
Naturally, you are drawn to it like homing pigeons.
The Manor is run by a large, unpleasant man named Rubal Thraam. Rubal was - rumor holds - once a captain in the Duke’s garrison until he was caught running a prostitution and gambling ring to “increase morale”. The word you hear is that Rubal was able to avoid being arrested and shipped to Branderscar prison by pinning some of the most heinous acts on underlings. Still, he was dishonorably discharged and ended up here. Rubal killed the last owner in a knife fight and is reputed to be someone not to be messed with.
A night without a knife fight or bar brawl is considered tame at the Manor, and as you enter, there is some vicious little skirmish going on in one corner between two groups of young toughs who appear - with some success - to be intent on knifing one another to death. Nobody pays any attention.
You attract attention, though - word clearly travels fast and your arrival in Drownington was obviously reported. From behind the bar, the barkeep catches your eye and cocks his head toward one of the doors at the back. The inference is clear - you're wanted within. Confident that there is very little here that can possibly be more dangerous than you are (and aware also that now would be a very bad time indeed to show anything like fear), you saunter across the floor. Several pairs of eyes watch you cautiously, and then return to their drinks as you return their gaze.
The door is shut behind you as you enter. A half-dozen plush chairs that have clearly seen better days are arranged around an antique table, which is missing one leg - it's propped up by a rusty longsword.
Already at the table, standing behind one of the chairs, is a dangerous-looking man; he's got at least some orcish blood in him by the looks of it. His voice, when he speaks, is mellow, low, honeyed even. "I don't mind strangers - they can be profitable. One way or another." He shrugs, and smiles evilly. "But I do like to know their business - if they're the sort I can do business with. Have a seat and let's see if our business interests overlap."
Bald, scarred and mean, Rubal Thraam stands before you.
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Tkaara looks at the orcish man with her usual cold eyes, breathing in as she used to to mimic the usual custom of the living. Without waiting for her companions to respond, and hoping that they will follow in suit, she addresses the man.
We were exploring a lead to an ancient cave in the mountains that comprise the wall. When rumors reached of the breach of the Wall reached the village we were using as a base, we decided to head back to civilization. We were fortunate to find a barge heading down the river after deciding that further travel upriver was not advisable.
Our plan is to rest here for a few days and then hopefully catch a ship heading south. Even were we to find a lucrative cache, I do not know whether the north would be safe to sell what we might find.
She pauses and looks about the quiet back room.
Unless we are able to find work in this fine Mitran town that is.
Etna walks somewhat awkwardly around Drawington, with Winston following closely at her side.
Gods, this place is even worse than I thought...At least, they seem to know their place. It's somehow...refreshing, to feel feared like this, for once. Certainly better to pose as country nobles.
_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_
"It's as my friend said: I don't know how safe the Nord is going to be." Etna listens to Tkaara and nods "Beside catching our breath, we are in town to resupply...even if we didn't have much luck with that. As usual, Mitrans are a little stringent on what they sell."
"Yes, simply passing through," Erevan adds his voice to the two women's. "But while we are here, we may as well leave some coin behind, at least if someone can provide what we are looking for."
He smiles a thin little smile. "Or even better, we may even make some coin, if someone is offering work that might be of interest."