The Father of Waters

Game Master Fighting Chicken

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Round 7
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Round 7
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Oios and Imix are witness to a frantic martial display; Drazen and Istiel fighting against the lifeness ones with the intesity of a freshly stoked flame.

The monk seems especialy engaged, the torch in her left hand brightly sputtering as she deflects the awkward but restless pummeling of a dead, grey Antuk.

Despite the matted blood shimmering against her black silk robes, she shows no sign of stopping her attempts at pulverizing the former guardsman's bones into uselssness.

Imix looks at the fallen. At the wounds on their best warriors. 'Too late' he thinks, hopelessness rising within him.
He sees Istiel shake off another series of blows, and takes heart 'At least we will go down fighting.'.
Raising his shield he calls upon his Power. Raw Life floods in, filling the cramped room, antithetical to the abominations they face.

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Round 7
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With his staff furiously blazing with the holy yellow of Ayida-Wedu Oios moves in to be able to hit either the guard Drazan is engaged with or Antuk. If you need to recover then fall back! he says before starting bringing the staff done on the former Antuk's skull.

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Upstairs, Round 7
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Drazan’s earthen form quakes as it struggles to hold together, but his attacks are still unrelenting.

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Round 8
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Istiel's weakened fists bounce off Antuk - until they don't. With a flourishing uppercut, the monk's fists smash into Antuk's jaw, and the undead guardsman drops at Istiel's feet, suddenly just dead.

Drazan's second axe swipe separates the guard's torso from her hips.

Letting loose a howl of rage, the last guard, singed and battered by holy might, turns with hatred upon Oios, grabbing towards the Shadow's head in an effort to squeeze the life from it; however, Oios' magical protections shunt the guard's hands away.

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Round 8
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Istiel lets out a wracking cough as she feels the life energy ripped from her body, clutching her chest after Antuk falls still at her feet. She grits her teeth and staggers forward as the last guardsman lunges towards Oios.

Moving behind the creature she launches a series of punches at the nape of its neck, attempting to snap the structure.

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Upstairs, Round 8
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If there were anything left to re-kill, Drazan does not leave the threat unchallenged or unharmed.

Those cowards! Even as they accept Shadeholme's surrender and take everything but your lives, they still are not satisfied. Shadeholme's people will not make the journey, not while the First Flame harries them with this corrupted version of their peace.

Twice more Imix's power surges over the battlefield - but this time to heal, rather than harm.
"Are there more?" he asked, tension in his voice. "We must rouse the town. What, exactly, were we promised. Was it not safety in the forest?"

"Remember the Fox Priest" he added "Every deal was kept - to the letter. A devil's deal."

And what of the peace binding made to get Shadeholme through the talks? Drazan growled, as his earthen form fell from his flesh and returned him to his natural form. What of that agreement? No one would agree to this unless they wanted the blood of these men and women on their hands. Where was it that even the fallen would betray Shadeholme? Who killed them in the first place?

The last of the creatures falls easily to your attacks, battered and bisected in a matter of a few seconds. The sound of climbing hits your ears, and soon enough, Nat climbs into the attic.

"There's nothing oiytside. The Lady stays beloyw; she fears the woist. Says she didn't knoiw this royim was up here. Oye suspect its hidden enoigh froym the hall, when the doyr is cloysed."

"The Flame alwoiys kept their woyd, with me. These creatoirs, bodaks, they coyed be boyne from moynd-bending, incoymprehensable evil. Witnessing it oiyven."

The attic, despite the gore, is otherwise tidy. Shelving lines the walls, and tucked into the back, one large wooden map drawer, utilitarian in make, sturdy in construction. Its drawers have been pulled out and lie scattered near the case, its contents piled neatly on the floor, while a couple lie open. The maps are caked in dried blood, as is the floor in front of the case, and now that you have the time to look, in other parts of the attic as well - even on the ladder leading down into the third floor hall.

Oios closes his eyes wearily. Drazan, Isitel. Imix is right. The most important thing is to ensure there are no loose bodaks that might run rampant and spread their corruption. Nat, please bring them back to full health and help them with your light to see if any might have escaped. It seems like we caught this... abomination... as it was starting... but we must be careful. As for me

Oios closes his eyes Damballah preserve me but I must try and find the source of this in this house. The attic seems to be it with this old blood. But...

The old Shadow starts to murmur prayers to Makaya to ask for her help again in this cursed place.

Istiel takes some labored breaths as the last undead falls, clutching her chest with a gore-soaked hand. Something was taken from me. I feel weak.

She looks to Oios with briefly unfocused eyes before nodding slowly. "I will search the house and surroundings." The monk stands up straight and makes for the exit ladder, torch held high above her as she returns to the hallway. The descending flame casts odd shadows over the eviscerated undead strewn about the floor.

Sparing a glance at Lady Bellet, she hops off the ladder and begins systematically searching the house room by room.

Nat nods and wordlessly takes her leave, her face strained with worry.

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Downstairs, the Lady Bellet looks to Istiel, her eyes wide. Clutching the monk's shoulder, Bellet whispers the words, barely able to force them from herself, "Is he..."

Istiel jerkingly halts as Lady Bellet grabs her shoulder, head immediately swiveling left to the noble.

The torch, held high above her right side, illuminates Lady Bellet but shines no light on the front of Istiel's mask. Only the edges of the laquered oak glint orange-tinted reds and whites. The black voids of her mask eyeholes, seemingly empty and eyeless, stare at the other woman for a full second.

"Yes." She says woodenly, "They are all dead." Echos a voice so hollow it could be coming from the mask itself.

Without another word she walks out of Bellet's grasp to begin searching the house.

"Wait!" calls Imix "We must leave this place as we found it. Much as I would like to see it burn, it must stand. Someone - I suggest Lady Bellet - needs to go and see a watch set. We should work together to search this place systematically."

His face grim, Imix looks into the darkness. "Perhaps this is a trick. Perhaps it is a coincidence. Either way I think our best bet is to continue on the path we have already plotted."

Oios stamps out of the house banging Telowo's staff on the ground with barely constrained rage. Of all the terrors we have faced. To have the dead walking is a fresh horror. Telowo's staff is blessed to be able to sense these monstrosities. I will make circles around the house to make sure there are no more. Then we will examine these corpses to see if we can discover the source of this blasphemy. And quarantine the damned attic. Perhaps some evil arcane document of some sort caused this! Before he goes out on his patrol though Oios pauses near the Lady and takes a deep breath If there is anything I could have done to protect your guardians I would have done so. Please call your guards to you and have them stay with you. Let someone now if any more are missing than the ones we... just laid to rest

The Lady Bellet pales and shakes her head barely acknowledging Istiel's words. At Oios' suggestion, the noblewoman leaves, and returns a short while later with five more guards. After a quick conference, a guard turns to Oios and, looking towards the attic, gives an involuntary shudder. "All are here that came with Antuk to pack the lady's things. There was blood, the night we moved in, handprints on the walls and streaked along the floor. We cleaned it of course, after searching the house, of course."

The guard looks again towards the attic, and again shudders. "Didn't notice that, though. She must have laid up there, near death, for days."

Indeed, upon further examination, the attic door blends seamlessly with the ceiling.

Outside, Oios and the guards find no evidence of any more monstrosities. Inside, the Suriname and the Monk start their search of the residence. The three floors of Matla's house turns up little of interest; the Lady's things, in various states of readiness for the journey to lie ahead, the Chief-Engineers possessions unpacked and untouched.

The attic, however, turns out to be a different story. It was, no doubt, where the twice-dead Matla Tolita kept her most prized possessions; fine engineer's tools, some particularly rare treatises on science and nature, and once in the map case, now stacked neatly on the floor, perhaps where she took her dying breath, every engineer's obsession: maps.

Some of the maps, soaked through with now dried blood, are damaged beyond repair, stuck together and illegible. Others - most of the remainder - are of subjects important to engineers; canal elevations, building plans, and the like. There are a handful of exquisitely detailed maps of the Baunti Valley.

One map, however, is completely different. On the upper third of the map, a valley, immediately familiar to all there, although the cities of the Three Peoples don't show on it. A great river, descending from a lake and winding its way south, flanked by mountains. A few runes are drawn, here and there, in an unknown tongue, mostly next to small dots. The river continues winding its way south, and into a large forest which blankets most of the rest of the map. Within the forest, more small dots, and those strange runes, and the lines of the river grow thicker and wider, until about half-way down the map, tucked into a bend in the river, lies a depiction of many fine towers rising into the sky, next to which are printed more runes. The river continues on its way, further south, until, at the bottom of the map, it empties into another large lake, which stretches, presumably, beyond the mapmaker's knowledge...

The Chief Engineer is critically injured in the invasion. Oios says to himself as tries to recreate what happened Instead of seeking help she comes back home to be with her beloved maps. Drags herself up to her attic, collapses, slowly dies, and turns into a bodak from.... the horrors of the invasion itself? Oios slowly shakes his head. Perhaps. Damballah protect us from such evil fortune. Such depths of insanity. Nat, help me sanctify and send all of these bodies to their final resting place in peace with the Gods and away from the troubles of this world. Lady Bellet whatever else you may need that Shadeholme can provide we will do so. We will take the tools, the unsoiled books, and the maps, all else we will leave alone.

Searching through the house for anything that might prove the First Flame's trespass at first grows Drazan's anger and frustration. Not finding anything to justify his hate eventually dawns the desparate nature of the situation Shadeholme is in. How am 'I' to protect anyone... It doesn't matter how. The First Flame was responsible. They will suffer a hundred fold for this.

Drazan relents to the circumstance, and settles to wandering the home as others take stock of anything useful. As Drazan wanders past the maps he does a double take with a look of disbelief on his face. Kneeling down he inspects the map with a pointed finger tracing the glyphs and symbols.

Looking around Drazan looks around to see if anyone has noticed him or the map. If not, he either folds it or rolls it up so he can stow it along side his keepsake of Rigel, the alloyed dagger. Or if someone does notice him, he still takes it, but he uses a silencing finger to shush any words on the matter.

Oooh this is cool loot. Let's take it!

Istiel listlessly searches the remainder of the interior with Imix, seeming to drift from move to room like a spectre. She felt awful. The lack of sleep she could handle. The dehydration from imbuing large amounts of libations at the feast was merely a distraction. Yet, it felt as if the undead left gaping hole in her soul and spirit, and it was the final straw.

As they go through the papers of the attic she is reminded of the Capital- when her and Suuha searched the Mask Archies and discovered the sinister background of Fox Priest. Will that be my final memory of the Monastery? A blood-soaked page slips from her fingers and to the floor.

I cannot decide the best fate for my kin. Did all the monks die fighting? Or did some escape? Survive to fulfill their tenants yet? She wonders, standing with stark stillness. Blinking rapidly and inhaling deeply as she returns to the moment, Istiel bends down to retrieve the piece of paper.

In the corner of her eye she sees Drazen stuffing something into his rucksack, glancing at him. When she is met with a silencing gesture the monk does not respond, simply turning her head back to sorting through maps. We have seen many battles. I will not betray his trust over paper.

Imix searches through the papers, hopeful of finding some arcane ritual that might have caused the change.

"We cannot spend too long here." he points out "We need to be ready to move tomorrow. I fear that things touch has already cost me the strength I would need to truly help when the sun rises."

Oios does not have the luxury of allowing secrets any longer. He stops Drazan. What is that paper? Might it explain how these bodaks were created? he asks the warrior, ignoring Drazan's admonishing shush.

No, Drazan replied sharply, not turning to face Oios. It's a map from before the valley as it is today, and before Three People. I plan to decipher and translate the forgotten tongue for Shadeholme's benefit, or the surviors at least. Then go so far as to have someone copy it. Drazan pauses, waiting expectantly for Oios's next words.

A map of the valley? Why not make a copy of it now? Oios wants to know. And who would you have translate it?

Arching a brow at an unexpected response from Oios, Drazan replies dryly, I didn't think now was an appropriate time to ask an engineer to copy it seeing as we are leaving soon, though if you think there is time enough tomorrow, I will make it a priority. As to who would translate it; I will when I've learned the letters. I plan on learning along with Fulton as soon as my training with the Bloodrage is complete.

The fact that we are leaving means we need good quality maps more than ever. I will have someone make a copy if you cannot and you can keep one of them. Guard it well though. The more knowledge we keep from the enemy the better

Then I will see it copied then and it will not leave my sight.

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ACT II, Desnus 1
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Desnus 1 arrives a bit cool, with a misty fog covering the lowlands below Eel Mound. As Ayida-Wedu crawls over the treetops, you can feel the humidity on your skin; it will be one of those days that while refreshing now, will grow uncomfortably hot as the day grows long.

For now, the Valley is quiet. The Shadeholmers move around quietly, with purpose, weighed down with heavy packs. The gates are opened, and - with your enemies nowhere in sight - the villagers make their way to the levee, and under the direction of Tex, barking orders as she strides up and down the waterline, the boats are quickly loaded for the journey.

Nat stops you, looking into the treeline, avoiding your eyes. "Oye... Oye think Oye'm going to stay. There's soimething here, that Oye need toi see through." Drawing a thin scroll-case from her shawl, the priestess presses it into Oios' hands. "Soime scribblings Oye made last noight. Rituals, prayers, tha loike. Make sure that Issy gets it. Oih, and this." Taking the shawl from her slight shoulders, the Tooyah woman folds it neatly and leaves it with the Shadow.

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By noon, the boats are loaded, the Frozen still unseen, even with Sarre standing atop one of the reedboat's cabins, arrow notched, looking into the woods. The fog has long burned off, and true to your suspicions, the day has warmed considerably, uncomfortably even, the blue sky above you giving little relief from Ayida-Wedu's glare.

At the lead Keelboat, Korya Kolta, the Tooyah fisherwoman, unties the bowline and hopes onto the boat's guards. Looking to you, she flashes a brief smile. "Oi! We ready then?"

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ACT II, Desnus 1
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Focus was not Drazan's strong point, and between the task of scouting ahead and plotting the path through the wilds and the feeling those undead left lingering behind in place of where his inner soul must have been originally, being watchful like a hawk was far from the forefront of his mind. It was only an hour or two before Drazan surrendered the idea of moving as beautifully silent and shadowy as Istiel, and instead opted to stand up like a tree in middle of a grass covered plain, and simply walk along. In his head he justified the tactic, If there is danger here, it will attack and reveal itself. If there are watchful eyes, then let them watch. If danger is too great, it is likely not hiding and we will see it before it sees us; giving us a chance to go around or prepare an advantage.

Resting was not as often as he would have liked, but when the moments came, Drazan forced himself to embrace the reprieve in spite of the missing piece of him. At least the building heat of the sun did nothing to accelerate the rate of his exhaustion.

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ACT II, Desnus 1
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Ayidu-wedu's birth comes as it does every morning, the sky-mother glimmering through the fog. Istiel stops briefly as the first rays edge over the trees, adjusting the two one-hundred pound bags of milled grain she was casually carrying on her shoulders.

She feels the warmth of the Goddess on her hands, the familar caressing of the other's life-giving light, and knows that despite the possibility she may never see the rebirht atop Shadeholme's mounds again, Ayidu-wedu would follow her children wherever they go.

Realizing she is dawdling, Istiel trudges towards the docks to deliver another load of supplies to the ever-growing pile among their keelboats.

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When Drazen and Istiel set out to scout it is done so wordlessly, the two simply seeming to drift off into the trees surrounding the canal on their own accord.

The coming heat caused Istiel to change footwear (the only thing she ever seemed to change), and she now sported a pair of worn leather moccasins instead of thick winter boots.

She can sense the nervousness in Drazen, the kind of spring-frond tension animals often exhibit after being startled by a strange noise. It was infectious and put her on edge. Ironically, when the mystical and powerful warrior stopped trying to skulk through the shadows and instead stood tall and crashed through the brush, she felt more at ease than before. All was as it should be.

The building heat and humidity was punishing to the black-robed monk, but she did not complain. Her sweat copiously soaked the silk fabric as it had for many years, and would continue to do so.

When they prepare to stop for the night Istiel begins to collect kindling. "Mother Hunger will find us tonight. If we do not call it first." She comments, pulling up a heap of dried grass.

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Desnus 1
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Downwind and barely within line of site, Drazan eyes the twenty or so goats. In his mind he was weighing the costs. It did not matter that the goats may have already belonged to someone out here, maybe they were even still alive. What did matter were the risks of either taking what he could now, like the Hunter he was still learning to be, or taking the time to go back to the others and finding someone that could then come back here and wrangle them up. Between himself and Istiel, he figured he could catch three or four of them, but then that was more meat that would have to be cleaned, carried, and prepared for eating.

Drazan rolled his eyes, and then looked to Istiel. I should go get someone to come here and gather these goats. I know nothing of herding, only hunting. Twenty goats would be much more beneficial when compared to a few that we could kill. You should stalk them and leave an obvious trail to follow for when the herder returns.

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ACT II, Desnus 1
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Oios studies Nat's face but finds it unreadable. He considers using his newfound authority to override her but decides against it. I will trust you on this Nat. When we come to take back what has been taken from us then I hope we will find you easing our way back in the name of Ayida-Wedu, and Damballah and all our gods. Just as the engineers are doing. In any case we will remember you.

He finds Isitel and delivers the scroll case and the instructions to her himself. I do not know if Nat has told you that she is not coming with us but she trusts you to succeed her as our priestess and so I do as well. If you have any questions, about anything, then Telowo and I will make time for you. having said this he formally settle's Nat's shawl onto Isitel, formalizing the transfer of responsibility onto the young girl's shoulder.

Later he looks back at Korya Kolta, heartened for the first time in many days by knowing the fisherwoman he had saved from being executed for disobedience so long ago was now helping to save the remnants of the Three People who were heading into an unknown exile.

We are ready. As the light of Ayida-Wedu warms us, we are ready

Later still as the muttering Mountains people watch the Three Peoples leave he starts speaking Hate them for what they have done to us. Hate them for what they have taken from us. But remember the fear on their faces as we pass. And Pity them also. For the accursed Flame of the Wo-Tah has broken them, taken their gods from them, and made them its slaves. And where they failed we have not. We have not lost our way as they have. We have not lost our way of life as they have. We will preserve our memories, of those we lost, and of all that we learned and built. And we have protected our links to Damballah, Ayida-Wedu, Anaisa Pye, Ayizan, Ghede, Legba, Loco, Makaya, Mami Wati, Marinette, Oggun. And then, when we are ready, we will bring their presence back to our land. And the Mountain Men and the Wotah will remember the days of our return even more then they will remember the way we defied them and kept them from overrunning our walls.

Oios walks faster, and then slower, repeating his impromptu sermon to all parts of the line, making sure that everyone hears it at least once.

Imix walks tiredly, surrounded by his children. His face is grey. The magics he used took much from him - and without Nat's help he would not have had the strength to do even this much.

He looks up blankly as Oios walks past. 'Fine words.' he considers 'But the hopes you spread are lies.'. Still, the Suriname keeps his thoughts to himself. Like an old man he walks to the lead keelboat, and there lies flat on the deck.

The warm sun works its magics on him as he lies there. 'I have been cold for an Age, or so it feels.' At lunchtime he rouses himself and eats. His soul aches from channelling power for so long - and this is only a half day into a week-long journey. He shifts, skin growing coarser, head elongating, and dips his head over the edge to feel the spray of the water, reptilian eyes focused for obstructions beneath the surface.