The Father of Waters

Game Master Fighting Chicken

The tumored beastling nods, a small smile crossing its lumpy snout. The "talking" has taken hours, and Ayida-Wedu's light graces the horizon, but it seems as if he's gotten the gist of what you want. He turns to Mac and they engage in a long conversation that suddenly cuts off as Mac turns and makes his way back from where you came.

The beastling turns to you, and taking a stick, begins to draw pictures in the dirt, speaking slowly as he does so and gesturing for emphasis.

After an hour or so, Mac returns with a wooden idol, made of sticks lashed together with vines. It is, it appears, a stylized star. Over Mac's shoulder, he has his strung his weaved basket.

Mac is a wall-watcher. He has the authority to travel from tribe to tribe. For the most part. The Tower People look at us with sentiment not clear. Mac could travel with you. But why should he? What do you offer us for passage?

Istiel had settled on the ground during the talks, meditating on the battle. She had nothing to offer until this moment.

Standing up as the others discuss what to give Mac as payment for his guidance, she produces one of the metal rock-smashers from her belongings. "Offer this." Istiel says, presenting it head first to Oios. "My hands are greater weapons. I do not need it."

Imix takes the lizard, and forces himself to bite down on it with his sharp, pegged teeth. While careful not to overrule Oios, he does offer the occasional illuminating suggestion, and his ability to animate Oios's crude stick figures is on not unhelpful.

When Istiel offers the priceless pick he sucks in his breath, but carefully says nothing. Instead he simply finds a chunk of rock for Oios to demonstrate on.

The old beastling smiles as Oios and Imix bite into the lizard, obviously pleased. Gesturing to Istiel and Drazan (Nat has stayed with the boat), the beastling stuffs his portion into his mouth and chews, lizard blood running down the side of his bulbous tumored chin.

Taking the pick, the beastling looks at it curiously, and then hands it back. Taking a branch, he begins drawing in the dirt.

Funny sticks are not needed. We need offerings for our god. What can you offer?

What sort of offerings does your god wish for? We have some stores of food. We need it for our caravan but perhaps we can gift a portion of it to your people as we travel across your lands Oios writes back. He is concerned about the mention of a god as he glances at the wicker star.

Istiel is in the process of wrapping her lizard meat up in paper while Oios and Imix are consuming theirs. Between the fact she had no intention of eating the tumor-infested meat and the hassle of unbuckling her mask and letting down her veil, there was no chance she was doing any eating.

The old beastling draws in the dirt, taking his time as he works. A coil of rope trailing to the body of a bug. A suit of wooden armor.

Your people have a facility with invention. We've seen your rope made from the belly of bugs. We've seen your armor. We want both, so that we can defend ourselves from what you run from.

Oios nods, it was a reasonable price to pay It is done.

He does offer a warning though Our inventions did not save us, and now they belong to the enemy. They come with lies if their flames and soldiers do not work. They come for your god, just as they came for ours. he relays. But they came first with scouts and spies that we did not find until it was too late. Make sure that they do not know your land so that you may be able to use it against them.

The old beastling nods, and speaks with Mac at length again. Turning, Mac takes the wicker star and waves you all back to the island's far north bank, where you originally made landfall. Pointing to the beach, the meaning is obvious. You will sleep here.

The next morning arrives, cool for these low altitudes. You awake to beastling women already in the river's waters, working with reed nets to catch the occasional fish. Guards stand in the treeline, eyeing you warily.

Istiel relaxes as the negotiations go well. She wasn't really sure where this was all going, and certainly couldn't do much to help.

Their escort to the point where they made landfall gives her another chance to look over the various huts and structures dotting the village. They have little. Will the Flame even care?

She looks up, past the huts and towards the cliffs looming in the distance. They say the Flame consumes all. Will it burn itself out in the Valley? Will we return to ashes?

The monk decides to meditate on the subject, settling on the beach next to the foul waters. Stoic as ever behind her lacquered mask, she stares at the nearby flowing water before closing her eyes for the night.

-----------------

The next time Istiel opens her eyes, the cool morning breeze is wafting over her body, finding its way into the cuts of her robes. Falling asleep while meditating would have probably earned her a sharp whack from Domhnall not too long ago, but... she was surprisingly tired from the previous day.

Standing, she starts to go through her morning stretches and exercises while the others ready for travel. "Do we return to the Flight?" Her words punctuate their uncertain future, and a longing for fresh water.

There is little more to do here I believe Oios agrees with Isitel. We have procured a guide and the promise of safe passage. If they continue to respect us, then we will continue to respect them.

===========
Sarenith 5 - 8
===========

The voyage back to Darholme is uneventful, if slow-going against the current and with Mac's little round boat alongside you, which he refuses to abandon.

Early in the morning of Sarenith 8, you find yourself back at Darholme pier. Already, the pier is busy with action. Boats - flatboats now, repurposed from the keelboats you had above the wall - bob in the water as they're loaded by a crew headed by a huffing and swearing Korya Kolta, the once-fisher. A group of laborers hammer wooden pegs into the last - and yet unfinished and unloaded - flatboat down the line.

Wiping her brow, the woman casts barely a glance at the beastling, having seen stranger things these last few weeks. "We were told this morning to get everything loaded yesterday. Don't know what that's about. Beastling - I assume - should probably stay here."

You find Hamfatten, Bellet, Sarre, Cogsward, and Antuk speaking quietly - but urgently - in the library.

Antuk gives you an guarded look as you enter. "Thought we may not see you again. Sarre's been ranging north. She saw campfire smoke - a lot of it - this morning."

Istiel is the last to climb from the canoe onto the makeshift docks. She pauses to look over the industry of their people- flatboats, hastily constructed but capable of carrying the surviving population of Shade Holme to a new life.

She turns and approaches her group in time to listen to Kory a, and they proceed to the library.

Istiel crosses her arms over her chest. "Ashkesh comes." Her voice is flat- they are up against an inevitably.

With the safety of the Flight paramount, she looks to Imix withfierce hazel eyes gleaming behind her mask. "Suriname. Can we collapse the entrance of Darholme if we use the metal rock-breakers? We hold them with stone. Or hold them with our lives."

Drazan doesn't seem quite ready to leave Mac to his own devices, trust being too much a liability for the flight. So when convenient, he asks one of Sarre's men to keep an eye on the Beastling and keep him from getting into anything of importance upon the party's return to the Flight.

At the meeting, Drazan shakes his empty fist, ready to do what must be done, Holding them with stone should be secondary to us leaving here. Now. Before they arrive. I'll see to the Fyorge and the entrance. The flight should not wait. Can not wait.

I agree with Drazan Oios responds. We did not abandon Shadeholme only to enduure another last stand in this alien place. We sabotage everything that we have not scavenged and, with the beastling Mac to guide us, we continue the Flight. If they are foolish enough to pursue us then their might will be scattered and we will pick off their advance parties as we go.

"Give me the engineers, 10 strong men, picks and the blasting paste. I will slow them down. We must do this now. Send off anyone slow now, to go an hour away. Leave the last boat here, and make it a fast one. When we trigger the explosion we will come down and leave on that boat. At that point anything remaining behind is left behind." Imix says grimly

"Whatever you're going to do," Sarre says, her voice shaking with rage, "Do it quick."

"Their fires were perhaps half a day from here, and we spotted them hours ago."

Hamfatten pours himself a mug of mate, and then adds some chicha, his face flushed. "The fastest boat? A flatboat is only as fast as the current that carries it. Your best taking the magic canoe."

A silence settles over the room, largely now cleared of books. Bellet stands, staring absently at an empty shelf. "So, we're leaving immediately, then? And you all will stay and sabotage the city?"

"The canoe won't hold everyone. We'll use the last boat you are loading." Imix decides. "We move, now. Have the ten men armed with the metal weapons and meet me up top. Oios, give me the paste and get ready to leave. We cannot lose you. Drazan, Istiel, I could use your strength."

Istiel listens to Imix's plan. She considers carefully before lifting a hand. "Suriname Imix. I would gladly die fighting alongside you. I want to send more Frozen to their foul gods." It sounded like Istiel's typical stance on matters, but after Sarre's assessment on time her ideas had changed. "But I now agree with Oios. We cannot risk other lives. We are too few. Time is short. The tunnel will take too long. Everyone else on the boats. You, myself, Drazan do what we can. Destroy the metal-maker. Destroy the Nargun-maker. Leave in the canoe."

You hear footsteps pounding down the hallway, and Nando bursts into the room, the chasqui's conditioning barely raising his breath as he blurts out, "Frozen! Here! At the lakeline!

Antuk steps forward, his face pinched with worry. "We've been practicing in the shieldroom. My men can hold the line there."

Istiel's head quickly snaps to the Chasqui, her body stiffening in response to his words. "How many? Do they have boats?"

She looks to the others, eyes gleaming like hot coals in the torchlight of the raided library. "Let us meet them above. If Ashkesh was foolish enough to come I have a promise to keep."

So soon?! Fftc! Drazan shouted, his infernal tongue souring his surprise. Guard to the shield room, buy time for the retreat of the flight. Prepare the retreat path with a tunnel collapse and hurry! Then Drazan steadily breaks into a run toward the entrance, a cross prayer to whatever greater power gifted him the ability to harden his body to match his suicidal resolve.

Imix calls over his shoulder as he runs "Get the chain. Destroy the two rooms. I will try to make some reinforcements, then come back down."

Antuk and his men take position in the shield room, while above ground, at the treeline, and within it, you find hundreds of Frozen. They stand watching, weapons drawn, as if waiting for the word to attack...

Istiel breaches the top of the stairs cautiously, but there is no danger to be found on their island yet.

Instead, through the mist of the falls she can make out the on edge Frozen in the trees. Battle-ready and battle-hardened, she is both impressed and honored by the sheer number of warriors they have brought to bear on their relatively small band of refugees.

The monk stands in the entrance of the tower, staring forward at the assembled forces of the Flame without fear. "Do they intend to swim?"

A bottleneck is the best that we can hope for here. The only way to buy good time is a collapse

Imix gathers his power as he walks.

At the Ritual Room he stretches out his power, wrapping it around the chain, the cauldron and even the very rocks in the walls. Slithering like a snake the shiny chain wraps itself around his torso, the two ends lashing at the walls.

"Destroy the chimney." he tells the rocks, and he walks on.

As he passes the mine he stops, and once again his power lashes out "Come with me." he says to the fallen rocks, and they gather like children in his wake.

At the surface he squints under the bright light. He looks at the Ruin of the Nargun, wrought upon the surface. Rocks that were never Nargun. Rocks that were once Nargun. Rocks that will be Nargun - or not quite.

Imix sees, now, the hubris in binding an elemental to service like this. It would be a sin to do so, only to send them against the Frozen.

He empowers them, as he stands in the shadow of the door, but does not order them to move. Still and silent they lie.

Oios nods at the others, mutters a few prayers for protection over the group and then, protected by his gods, strides out of the door.

Outside he stares at the warriors YES? he shouts out in a booming voice that is projected to carry. DID YOU WANT SOMETHING?

Nat, her face pinched with worry, gives everyone a quick nod before heading towards the door. "Oy'll get the people down below and the boats loaded. Stall them."

-------------------

Across the lake, the Frozen mill about, more and more emerging from the treeline, some larger and broader than their mates.

Oios's shout goes unanswered for a few minutes, until a large cry echoes back across the lake to you, hundreds of warriors raising their weapons in the air and shouting back.

Then, as one, the Mountain Men wade into the waters, and begin the swim to the tower beach...

Istiel recognizes the white hair and monstrous bodies of the Kartesh tribe, but says nothing. The Flame has sent the entire Kartesh warparty after us. How many will not return?

Behind her mask, Istiel's lips slowly curl into a smile when the cry goes out and the warriors charge directly into the water. They swim. This is their plan. This will be glorious. The monk moves to Oios' pack and begins to calmly sift through its contents, pulling out one vial after another, reading the label, and drinking it. With breath that could fell an ogre she moves back to the entrance of the tower, two foul-smelling, sealed containers in her hands.

"This is the fight Shadeholme deserved." She comments on their odds, staring at the writhing forms of the Kartesh climbing onto the beach.

Imix called back into the tunnel "Someone bring forward some ranged weapons."
Even as he spoke his form shifted into his scaled form.
He turned to the little rocks clustered around him. "Go forth to the place where the water meets the land. Attack those who come forth."
To his allies he stated "The Frozen are poor swimmers. Tired, in the water; this would be a good place to make them fight to gain land."

Oios maintains his concentration on the aura surrounding him though he does drop the barrier to keep from interfering with the others. Arrows from long range he grunts in concentration and then starts to take out all the throwing flasks he has left in his pack Then flasks from medium range. Then we make a bottleneck to hold them off. If we have any of the paste left then we spread it on the doorway as a final blast before we retreat.

Drazan returns the foes' savage mountain battle-cry with his own before transforming his earthen form into that of a large water elemental. When reaching the height of his form, he crashes down into the water rushing out to meet the attackers. As he draws near, his form spins into a vortex threatening to batter the flight's foes on crashing waves and the rocky lake bed, but it is the threat of drowning beneath the surface that terrorizes those without the skill to escape.

The Frozen run into the water moving in mass towards the beach... slowly. Very slowly, actually, as you gather the Kartesh are hardly riverine folk.

Sarre's team appears on the beach, their leader's face pinched with excitement. "Nat sent us, but I wouldn't miss this for the end of the world."

Pulling her bow, the archer nocks an arrow and adjusting for wind, lets it fly towards the swimming swarm, as her men do the same. "Again!" Sarre barks, loosing another arrow. "Again!" And another...

In the water, chaos reigns. The men, poor swimmers and lightly armored, fall easily to Drazan's attacks, and still others are caught in his vortex, battered and drowned.

From the beach, the Frozen don't seem to be fighting Drazan, nor do they seem to be letting up. Many, perhaps most of them, will make the beach unless the dam is blown...

Cue paste spreading and bamphing!

As the battle begins in earnest about her, Istiel stands in front of the tower like an unmovable and ancient oak. Arms crossed in front of her chest, the monk stoicly watches the Frozen swim towards them.

Arrows fly over her head and pepper the river, and at this distance she can make out the splotches of blood blooming on the surface of the churning Cheya. Ocassionally a Frozen disappears from sight all together, swept underfoot by Drazan to be hydraulically crushed.

Focused on her duty above all else, she awaits the approach of their sworn enemy, intent on not only protecting the archers behind her, but the townspeople fleeing now fleeing on boats.

She knew some of the Frozen would survive the initial onslaught. Their impending deaths, by her hands, would add to her ever-growing glory.

Oios sprints as fast as he can towards the rocks having consulted with Imix on how to use the power to free power of Damballah's waters and make life much much worse for their foe.

Hoping that Sarre's arrows and Drazan's vortex draw attention away from him the aged former Inquisitor arrives at the rocks holding the river back and fixes his gaze on the appropriate spot and lets himself move there through the grace of his pantheon. Then he spreads the paste liberally but not wastefully before lighting a torch. He stands up and surveys the battle on the river. He prays to Marinette over the torch before tossing it up. Then with another prayer to Makaya he vanishes back to what he hopes is safety before it lands.

Imix spies a spot along the wall; a large rock wedded into place with a mixture of dirt and smaller rocks, which if blown, should open a hole great enough to send the large rock over the edge of the cliff, explosion, Damballah, and the water willing. Upending all of the explosive pitch onto the rock and mud, Oios spreads it, making sure to get as much pitch as he can into the nooks and crannies of the wattle construction.

Within the water, Drazan continues his assault. The water, frothy with blood, claims more and more Frozen as the seconds tick by, the surivivors ignoring the Man From Fire Peaks in a desperate attempt to make the island before they too, are snuffed out. Drazan counts well over a score of enemies dead by his watery hands in the matter of a minute.

Back on the beach, Sarre's archers send their arrows through the air, avoiding the churning in the water where Drazan seems to be. Though the archers do little damage at first, as the swimmers get closer their efforts do not go in vain; eight more corpses fall under the lake.

Oios tosses the torch into the air and then calls on Damballah's grace, folding space as far as he can, close to the beach and directly behind the tower, standing waist-deep in the lake.

A great explosion echoes with a CRACK across the lake, and for a second all seems still...

And then with a second crack, the boulder falls away, and the water - all the water - within the lake begins to rush away, as the breech in the dam wall widens, more rocks crashing with the current over the side.

Frantically, Oios struggles against the pull of the new falls, but just as he's sure he'll lose his grip and be taken over the edge, the water drains away, the tower and the island leaving the Shadow protected from the worst of the savage current. Damballah's grace is surely shining upon the old man today.

The Frozen are not so lucky. Some drown, some go over the edge struggling silently, some go screaming. But in a manner of seconds, almost two-thirds of the Kartesh tribe lie dead on the now muddy expanse of the once lake, or are gone forever, washed over the cliffside.

Drazan is able to negotiate the current with ease, his watery form washing up on the beach next to the rest of the party.

The remainder of the tribesmen slowly begin to stand, wobbly and stunned. One, a large man with obvious ogre blood running through him, stands, his misshapen face purple with rage.

Pulling his spear, the man leads the charge of the remainder of his people...

A couple more Nargun fall to the archers and one Mountain Doubles over, sick to his stomach from Istiel's ghast wretch flask, as the rest try to manuever around the rocks Imix has placed in their way, when the Nargun come to "life"...

While Sarre's archers retreat into the tower, the Mountain Men crash into the stone barrier and begin climbing - until the Nargun come to life. Yells of surprise and terror go up from the crowd of men, their bones breaking under the onslaught of what they thought just seconds before were conjured but lifeless rocks. And then the attack from behind comes.

Looming even over the ogrekin leaders, the Nargun smash into the Frozen and mow them down, moving back and forth through their frenzied mob. The Mountain Men lash out, trying their best to save their lives and those of their fellows, greatclubs and spears splintering against stone. A few Nargun crash into rubble in the ensuing melee, but it is all over in a matter of seconds.

To the south the dam continues falling over the side of the cliff, the Cheya less diffuse now, the once-lakebed nothing but a mix of mud and gore. The last ninety warriors of the Kartesh Tribe lie upon the beach, their bodies ground to a pulp below the crushing weight of the Suriname's magic.

Across the now emptied lakebed, a large birdlike creature lifts from the trees and takes flight, headed to the north...

An entire tribe, dead Oios says shaking his head to try and rid himself of the terrible screaming that had just ceased. Would that this were enough to convince the Flame of their folly in coming against us. We have bought ourselves some time. Let us use it to leave this city of the dead twice over. Your magic has delivered us once again. Imix. Perhaps your Nargun can be used to sabotage this place as we leave?

Istiel throws her flasks and retreats into the tower, Imix's rock wall springing up behind her.

When the faux-nargun spring to life the monk watches from a few feet away. She can catch glimpses of the battle from behind the flailing rocks, but most of the information regarding how it was going came from her ears and nose.

Screams of pain overshadowed Abysal war crieswhile weapons of wood and bone splintered with futility against rock.

There was no hint of sweat in the air- acrid blood and the bodily expulsions of death were all that reached her nose.

The seconds pass while Istiel waits, opening and closing her fists with impatience. She longed to join the battle, to met out justice for all that people of Shadeholme she was not able to protect.

Yet, something unexpected happened. All of a sudden the screaming stopped, the faux-nargun stomping the life out of the last Frozen still functional enough to use their lungs.

Panicing, Istiel runs past the faux-nargun blocking the entrance of the tunnel, deftly leaping over mangled, white-haired bodies. Her pace slows as she makes her way to the gore-filled bed of the once-lake, coming to a standstill in front of the huge ogre of a Frozen that lead the charge.

It lay in a heap, its arm shattered in the middle as if it tried to block a falling wall, and its head smashed open like a melon onto a cobble street.

All of them...? The entire Kartesh tribe... She thinks mournfully, looking at her clean, unscathed hands. I did nothing.

Catching sight of the birdlike creature taking flight from the trees, Istiel shudders with surprise. A champion! I could still...! The thought fades away when it makes no effort to engage them in battle, instead going north.

Her hand flops to her side with abject disappointment, hazel eyes tracking the Flame's champion's flight for several moments. When it disappears she starts to make her way back underground, barely acknowledging anyone.

She flatly informs the soldiers in the shield room that the invaders were dead before proceeding to the docks and delivering the same message, with the addendum that hurrying to load the boats is no longer required.

Antuk's eyes widen at Istiel's news, and he gives the monk a quick bow of respect. "You must have been a fearsome sight on the battlefield, then, warrior-monk."

Istiel flinches at Antuk's words, feeling a greater pain than if she had actually been hurt in the battle. Which would have been preferable. She doesn't respond, quickly looking away and moving past the soldiers.

"As you order, Oios." Imix pauses "There were three tactics here we will not be able to use again. Any two would not have been sufficient; still, perhaps the Flame will learn some caution." Imix starts to order his faux-Nargun to destroy, then hesitates. "I think we have time, while I hold the once Nargun. The Frozen came against us with weapons, and with pouches of rations. Oios; will you order Sarre and her archers to pick through the dead on this island? You yourself could look for any dark magic that may be reclaimed for good. Be fast, rather than thorough, but this is a brief opportunity. I myself will take the Nargun to ruin the looted corpses, lest we fight them again."

Oios nods at Imix's wisdom. Sarre, have your people pick through the dead for items of value. We can spare ten minutes for the task, focus on the large ones. Perhaps they were provided with special equipment. The Flame seems generous when it comes to that.

Oios himself moves to the center of the scene of carnage and closes his eyes to see if there is any work that can be turned towards their purpose rather than that of the enemy as the work of scavenging starts.

Most of the Frozen lie dead at the foot of the tower, smashed and crushed beyond any (re)use. As does their equipment, sadly. More Frozen are simply gone, swept over the cliff after the dam was blown. As was their gear.

The remainder, the bodies of those drowned or felled by Drazan or the archers and snagged in the mud, or along the few rocks that still stand at the cliff's edge, have little. Among the items not ruined, you find ten gourds of alchemical cure moderate wounds, five gourds of alchemical cure serious wounds, and an assortment of mundane armor and weaponry.

One greatclub, likely belonging to the leader of the tribe, sits undamaged among the remains upon the beach, and Oios divines it to be magic.

Of rations or supplies, there is nothing. Likely, the warriors did not swim with either.