With an angry snarl Mot swings his spear haft once again. Looking to knock an arm or a leg out from under the rising ne'er-do-well.
Skipping sloppily over the highlander’s spear, the small man skirts out of Beorae’s reach...
…and right into Shark’s.
----------------------------------------
Themp hears gasps from the two as he launches himself from the window, and as he makes for the street, he can hear the shrill maid ordering the gardener back outside to give chase. But the quick and quiet-footed Themp is able to make good his escape. The hired help cry “Thief!” and draw the attention of city guards, but in no time at all, the burglar melds with the rest of the commoners on the street and his pursuers long gone.
He continues down the road, toward the stables, mindful of every guardsman walking the streets, a successful thieving still buzzing his senses. At an intersection ahead, he hears a call for guards, and two uniformed men do their best to run to the caller’s aid with their sheathed swords jostling at their sides. It was just one word, but Themp thought it sounded like Beorae calling for guards, down the left turn up ahead.
Ego buzzing with the successful heist, Themp wastes no time ditching the disguise, more by autopilot than actual thought.
As he hears what sounds like Beorae calling for guards, his mind focus back on what he is doing at moment.
Damn, I should be paying more attention to what I'm doing. I've just robbed some kind of conspirators!
Let's see what the fuss is all about, shall we?
Themp runs up in the direction he heard Beorae voice come from.
The sudden movements of Gregor’s frantic running triggers Shark’s primal instincts. Baring his fangs with a growl, the tiger lunges at the man, jaws wide and eyes aglow.
Recoiling from the savage bite in his upper leg, Gregor yelps and continues running.
"Halt!" one of the guards command as they close in, but the small man does not stop,
"Red?! What the hell is going on here?!" shouts Themp as he takes the scene in.
"Another round, Ruby?" Nme'an mumbles, his face firmly planted in the dirt.
Turning to follow his fleeing prey, Shark lunges at the man's exposed back, attempting to drag him to the ground before going in for the kill.
Meanwhile, as Gregor tears free from Shark's initial bite, the druid rounds about, watching the man's trajectory before bellowing a druidic incantation. As her hands weave patterns through the air, vines, roots, and other plants suddenly erupt from below the street, their small tentacles grabbing onto anything and everything they can, including the poor, defenseless paladin lying in the middle of the street. She vaguely hears Themp's shout from behind her, but his question doesn't completely register in the heat of the moment.
With one final ultimatum, Beorae calls to the man with a firm power in her voice, “Gregor, stand down and I will call him off.”
Mots blood begins to burn as his opponent dodges his attack. Wheeling in solace he again brandishes his spear and gives pursuit. Red starts to take his vision but the big warrior is brought to a sudden stop as the land before him springs up with unnatural plant grow. Stopping just shy of that tangle of vines and leaves the fighter pacing like an animal caged. Heavy breaths rhythmically billow around him as he stares daggers at the weaselish little man.
The fleeing Gregor is tackled to the ground by Shark, and as he struggles, the vines growing up beneath him curl around his limbs and torso. Likewise, the spontaneous sprouts wrap around Shark, constricting his movements somewhat, though the tiger keeps a firm hold on his prey.
The guards skid to a stop, wide-eyed at Beorae.
“A witch of the wilds!” exclaims one.
“What’s going on here?” the other asks uncertainly.
Before anyone can reply, Gregor calls from his furry and planty restraints. “Fine! I surrender, but I’m not saying anymore!”
Still trying to understand what is going on, Themp notices the unease of the guards.
Slowly, he draws his bow and moves a bit closer to Beorae, careful to stay as hidden as he can.
“This man,” Beorae says to the guards, gesturing to the writhing figure on the ground, “attacked a paladin and knight of the Order of the Dawnflower. He also claims to be a member of a group of bandits who attacked Prince Titus and his men several weeks ago, although his story is full of holes. Please take him into custody, but be careful, he has magical abilities.”
Smiling at the first guard, Beorae corrects him, “And I’m a druid, not a witch. Our man here was trying to flee the scene, sorry for the vines, it was the only thing I could think of to stop him.”
With a wave of a hand, the roots and vines withdraw back into the ground as quickly as they appeared. As she calls to Shark, Beorae looks down the street to the crumpled Nme'an, hoping that he comes-to soon.
As soon as the vines withdraw, both of the guards hurry to Gregor, who remains on the ground with his eyes warily on the big cat. A third guard from another street begins to approach the scene. By the time he is brought up to speed, the other two gag Gregor and lock manacles around his hands.
“Can’t be lettin’ you use your magic words on us!” a guard jeers at Gregor, the one that called Beorae a witch.
Nme’an blinks his eyes open as the uncertain one returns to druid. The other two wait off to the side with a forlorn Gregor, each with a hand on his shoulder. The guard begins to fire off routine questions when he notices the knight stir. Helping Nme’an upright in his heavy armor, the guard points to Mot. “You, here.” He looks to Beorae and gestures to Shark. “Control your beast, then come here. I have more questions.”
The guards pay the innocuous street rat little heed. The lead guard of the trio waits for his orders to be followed before issuing the further questions. “What happened before the knight was attacked? Was anyone seriously injured? Are the whereabouts of his associates known? I will need each of your names and stations, please.”
Nme'an leans awkwardly against the guard for a better part of a minute. Being blinded by darkness he had experienced before, but by spinning, swirling colors was quite something else. Finally though, after his head clears somewhat, Nme'an does his best to take charge of the situation, not realizing that he is repeating some of what Beorae already said...
"I am Nme'an, knight apprentice of the Order of the Dawnflower, he states to the questioning guard. "I will let my companions speak for themselves, but I am uninjured but for perhaps my pride. That man there, who calls himself Gregor, seems to have been following me since we arrived the last evening. Last night he appeared behind me and began to..." Nme'an glances at Beorae and says, "Tafiti katika mambo yangu?"
"To pry into his affairs..." the Druidess helpfully translates.
"Yes," Nme'an says nodding his thanks before continuing with, "...and then just now Bi. Sevenstone here spotted him trailing me once more. When we moved to question him he admitted that he works as a lookout for some group or party who he says had a violent encounter with Prince Titus and his knights. Then, before we could apprehend him, he hit me point blank with a spell of some sort... and I am afraid that is all I can say as I came to on the ground just now..."
Beorae wonders at her seemingly reflexive translation, so automatic it was that it almost felt like someone else were speaking for her.
“Yes, of course,” Beorae says, leashing Shark, “he’ll be no trouble. My name is Beorae Sevenstone, and my companions and I are on a mission from Court Wizard Mortimer Dacius in Thaleniel to find the Prince and his knights, who seem to have gone missing.”
“I noticed Gregor stalking Nme'an this morning as I was preparing our horses for departure,” pointing toward the stables, “so we confronted him and asked him why he was following us. That’s when he told us about his group’s run-in with the Prince and his directive to send ravens and alert others to our presence. He claims that he belongs to a band of highwaymen just south of Axton, but his story has a kind of odor to it. I believe those last few elements of his story are a lie, but he refuses to say more.”
“Anyway, he knocked Nme'an out cold with a spell and made a break for it, and that's when I called for you.”
As the guards make no point of noticing him, Themp gives them no further reason to do so.
It's not like I have nothing to hide right now... Guess the "oh look at this potentially harmful conspiration" exposition time will have to wait for later.
Still, he stays close enough to easily hear everyone's sitreps.
The guard nods at the accounts, turning lastly to hear what happened according to the massive, hairy man towering over Beorae and Nme'an. Gregor fusses at the manacles clasping his hands behind him, but a stiff shake from one of the guards reminds him to remain still.
A cloud hovers over Mots eyes as he glares at the bound malcontent. Running a massive thumb over his spears heavy leaf blade. More by reflex than by following orders he trails along after his companions, glowering at any who catch his eye.
"You," the guard addresses Mot flatly, "Your name, station, and account of what happened?"
He looks up at the highlander with a thin mask of patience, trying to get more than a glare out of the moody mountain of muscle.
"I saw your involvement, and I cannot bring an incomplete report to the captain."
Eyes smoldering with a fire not fully quenched, Mot turns his glare on guardsman and raises a furry eyebrow. "Mea?!" the barbarian growls "Ae ahm tha thuunder en tha east, tha strength ooff tha highlaands, Secoond Son of Eamon Tha Casn!" The highlanders body seems to bulge as he involuntarily begins flexing his muscles, tensed as if to spring at the slightest provocation.
"Ah ahm tha laast sight oof man an beest! Ah ahm tha Woolfsbane an mah naem es MOT CASNS." His voice doesn't raise with the final proclamation, rather instead it deepens. The sound itself seeking to shake the bones of the earth.
He points with spear-tip at Gregor, "Ahnd hea woold have had ae sight moore tah contend weeth than ae meer wee kitty had nae tha plants stooped hem." The near indecipherable tirade comes to a halt as the slowly dissipating bloodlust turns itself away from guard and back to prisoner.
The guard blinks as he tries to sort out the information from the Urlghain brogue. Shrugging as though to say, “good enough”, he thanks the group for answering his questions, assuring that the man in irons was to be locked up for further investigation. At this, Gregor hangs his head.
“Just be careful not to further disturb the peace,” he adds as he turns to lead his two comrades and their captive. His eyes linger on Shark for a moment before marching toward the castle.
"Thank you, sirs," Beorae says. Taking one last look at Gregor, she addresses the forlorn-looking man. "You brought this upon yourself. Be nice to the guards and tell them the truth about whatever it is you won't tell us, and I expect they will go easier on you."
The druidess regrips Shark's leash at the guard's final look and makes her way back to One Sock. She leads the horse and the tiger back to the stables to await Themp and help get the other horses ready.
As soon as the guards are out of sight, Themp casually moves into the stable.
"Hey everyone. Exciting morning, huh?"
He moves over to Daisy and starts packing his stuff on her, all the while checking for the newly acquired goods. He carefully counts his new gold hoard and the potions, hoping to achieve that spike of joy again and make some sense out of vials.
Still busy with the saddle, he addresses Beorae, without turning away from the arrangements.
"So, Freckles, what the hell was all that about? And how did our good friend the Paladin get knocked out cold like that? Or was he just taking a nap?"
"Wait, you saw all that? Where were you?! That guy has apparently been following Nme'an since last night. We talked to him and he ran. He says he belongs to a group that had a fight with the prince and his knights. Anyway, Mot and Shark and I stopped him and let the guards sort him out. What've you been up to?"
Themp finds one hundred gold coins in the large drawstring sack. Two of the potions read Look Like Someone Else (consume, and state the name of who you want to impersonate. Lasts 10 minutes), and the label on the last one says Run Like Mad (lasts 1 minute).
"Huh. That's odd. Didn't you get anything more solid out of him? He could possibly give us a nice lead on those paladins. Anyway, I was following another lead I came upon last night. It required some finesse and stealth and getting caught would probably be disastrous, which is why I went alone."
"It is better we wait until we're sure to be out of anyone else's earshot before I tell you guys my findings, though. They sounded a bit dangerous to dabble about in town."
Mot goes about saddling his horse in sullen silence, carefully stowing gear and weapons within easy reach. Finally satisfied he checks his great sword on his back one last time before lightly mounting, looking towards the north.
"We would have learned more, he was talking to us, but for a distraction... Nme'an grumbles, casting a quick look at Beorae. It takes him a moment to retrieve his vine frightened horse, but he to is soon underway. "We did learn that there are likely those out there, other than the werewolf, who wish to harm us. Any group with enough strength to oppose Prince Titus' party is to be respected for the threat they also pose to us...
The four champions walk the roads toward the castle, getting closer to the sound of the rushing Emestar River. They find the fabled stone bridge easy enough as they round the bailey’s outer stone wall.
On both sides of the beginning of the bridge, raised wooden platforms elevate watchmen armed with bow and quiver, twenty feet above the ground. They pay the four little heed as they scan the western horizon. Other light fortifications are visible on the far side of the river. The stone bridge arches over the deep Emestar, spanning a total of about one hundred feet from each abutment with a waist-high wall lining the twenty-foot-wide walkway. Boots of foot soldiers and a few travelers clap along the hard stone, too busy with their own tasks to offer more than an acknowledging glance or nod to the mounted four. Reaching the other side of the river, Beorae, Mot, Nme’an, and Themp find a small area around the bridge enclosed by a stone wall with single gate. Two more short wooden towers rise up on either side of the gatehouse, manned by more archers. The great wooden doors are open, and spikes from a raised portcullis jut downward from the threshold.
Most notably in the small enclosed yard is a dozen cavalry making final preparations before leaving, presumably on patrol. The two half-elves recognize Commander Morgan among them, leaning down from his destrier to take a pack of camping supplies from a footman. Limited by his full-plate armor he straps it onto his back with some effort, before nodding to Nme’an and urging his horse to the four champions.
“At sunrise I sent a patrol north. Your road to Axton should be without trouble.” He inclines his head to the riders preparing behind him. “We will be riding southwest to look into a report of ‘sand-people’ spotted on western bank of the Emestar, likely from the wastes in the far west. I will not be back for at least three days, perhaps four.”
He leans back in his saddle and adjusts his pack before continuing. “I sent ravens at sunrise, offering a bounty on this werewolf’s hide, as well as ordering trackers to range the edges of Carenthir and to search the Vale. Trust me, the monster will be dead in a week’s time.”
Nme'an returns the commander's nod with his traditional chest high fist in palm salute and says, "Best of luck to you sir!"
“Those wastes are not to be traveled lightly… or so I hear. Thank you for everything, Commander Morgan, and good hunting,” Beorae smiles as the foursome prepare to depart.
Almost as an afterthought, Beorae decides that Commander Morgan might like to know about Gregor. "Oh, the town guards have a man in custody. He seems to have some information about the Prince and his men. Might be worth checking into when you return."
As his companions address the entire frakking guard army, Themp keeps a respectable distance and pretends to be entirely too interested in the sight of the river they have just passed.
He curtly nods at Beorae’s information. “I was told. I entrusted the interrogation to one of my captains, I’ll see what it turns up when I return. Safe travels.”
His eye briefly surveys the Nme’an’s companions and their armaments without comment before he trots his large horse toward the open gate. The rest of the patrol takes note and quickly mount or steer their horses out of the gate as well.
When the Commander sees the company ready, he lifts a horn from its sling and touches it to his lips. A rallying call sounds off their thundering hooves as the dozen horses speed to the south. A trumpet from the heights of the castle return the call.
The four exit the gate and take their northern road. The rolling grassy lowlands of the Vale begin to flatten as they look westward, where the grass eventually browns and is patched with dry dirt. Thankfully, the vegetation alongside the packed dirt road remains green from the nearby river.
Since leaving the walls of Brenan’s Crossing, the four can see ahead on the north horizon: Armaag’s Peak, the highest mountain in northern Vyren, and rumored to be the home to a terrible, sleeping dragon. The sky is mostly clear, though a strong wind high overhead pushes clouds northwest, where they seem to burn away over the distant wastes. The dry and sparse terrain visible from such a great distance is a stark contrast to the vibrant life along the river that the road follows.
The Emestar surges southward, and it is about an hour after travel that a mass of chopped logs go barreling down the river, deeply thudding against another as they bob and hurtle toward the Crossing. Wildlife can be heard, and momentarily seen, as most of the creatures are not keen on the intrusion of the human and half-elf passersby. After two hours of travel, the Carenthir forest on the other side of the river grows thicker and thicker, and before long, the tall, shadowy evergreens fill their view of the east. More sounds of creatures of the wood and water can be heard, and at times large mammals like bear and deer can be seen warily watching the travelers from the far bank of the Emestar.
Themp moves Daisy closer to the paladin and beckons Beorae and Mot closer.
"So, this should be far enough. I have come across a disturbing message on my errand. Thought you, Nme'an, might be interested in it. The scroll it mentions is locked with a spell of some sort, or so I think, so I think it would be better to entrust it with Freckles over here.
"I have also gathered a few evidences on the site, which could possibly be related to the message."
With that, he hands the message to Nme'an.
"Based on Red's report of your incident with the entangled man, I don't think it is too far-fetched that he and his band are in some way related to the conspiracy in the message. Given you're the closest we have in our band to the Law, Justice and Well-Being of All the Kingdom, what say you?"
"A messenger gave you this? Or you found it? Nme'an asks. "Without knowing what the proper scroll the message spoke of was I'm not even sure this letter is of any use..." he concludes, his interest in Themp's business waning.
"I have found this. I followed a suspicious man and managed to snatch this out of his house early this morning. Close to it was a chest which held a few vials of odd potions, a golden necklace with a picture of someone, a tome with far too much stuff written on it and a suspicious looking wand."
As he lists the items, he produces them from his sack and sets them in front of all of them.
"Oh, and I almost forgot. The scroll itself. I think it is best if Freckles herself handles it."
He adds, handing the scroll over to Beorae.
"Followed him to where?" Nme'an asks as he examines the objects.
"Did he happen to talk to Gregor? Or did the two meet?"
"By 'Gregor', do you mean the entangled man? If so, not that I'm aware of. The man I was following was indeed near the bar when I found him, so it might be possible."
“Yes, Gregor was the man I entangled,” Beorae says in a voice that suggests her mind is obviously focused on the parchment in her hands. Turning the scroll over, Beorae inspects the roll of parchment, feeling the texture of the paper in her fingers and trying to detect a lock of some kind. Without knowing more, however, she knows better than to try and open the scroll just yet. “So, what does that note say about this scroll, exactly?” Before anyone can answer, the druid quietly speaks and incantation while delicately moving her fingers above the object.
Mot half-pays attention to the goings on around him. He hears the conversation, but understands little and less of it, only listening out of a sense of idle-boredom. Leaning back, he gives the heavy draft horse his reins, trusting the beast to keep pace with the others. Crossing his arms behind his head, the big fighter looks for clouds, trying to see what shapes he can conjure with his mind.
"It says:
'Sister Banderwort:
Our time draws near, and we must purge the doubters from our ranks. Soon, this very land will be turned upside down, and chaos will reign in the streets. Your earthly baubles will mean nothing. Sell them now, and aid us in the hour of our realization by purchasing the proper scroll. Await further instructions.' and is by a 'Brother Kesten Dannermuld', Nme'an replies.
"Unless that is a scroll to protect someone from evil, or banish undead, I would say Brenan's Crossing is likely to have some serious trouble soon... All of us if this very land is to be turned upside down..." Nme'an says, chuckling to himself a bit at the preposterousness of the prophesy.
The parchment in her hands appears to be held together with nothing but a simple string; there is no magic at work to keep the scroll rolled. This scroll buzzes with arcane magic attuned to the function of summoning. But unlike other summoning spells, the magic within does not seem to bind the summoned creature to obey the summoner. Therefore, the scroll reader could be in as much danger as any intended target, if the summoned creature had a tendency for violence. Speaking of, the druid finds another peculiarity; the beast summoned by this scroll does not naturally live on this world. Wherever it comes from, Beorae gets a very odd and foreign feeling about it.
Mot finds a great cow shape floating in the clouds overhead, though in time it breaks up to resemble two mushrooms, or jellyfish.
Nme’an can see that two of the potions are labeled Look Like Someone Else, and the third says Run Like Mad. The wooden wand looks like it was carved from cedar. Leafing through the tome, it does indeed appear to be a long and thorough list of who begat who in the Banderwort line. The fine gold chain has an older woman’s face and shoulders painted onto the ivory pendant -probably someone very important to the family, such as a matriarch or a beloved sister, mother, or daughter.
Nme'an focuses on the scroll in Beorae's hand for a moment in an attempt to detect any evil aura lingering about it.
It takes a moment, but the paladin discerns a ...wrongness. It seems that while the spell written on the scroll is not evil in itself, it might somehow bring about something that is. It is difficult to sense the actual power of the potential evil because it is not present.
“Hmm…”
,
Picking up each of the potions and wand, Beorae inspects them in turn for their magical qualities.
The druid realizes that this scroll will summon an aberration, a creature of bizarre anatomy, strange abilities, and an alien mindset. Such otherworldly monsters can resist spells that attack the mind (though they are not immune), most can see in utter darkness, but like the inhabitants of the world Beorae calls home, they too must eat, breathe, and sleep. So varied are the species and types of aberrations, and so foreign they are to Beorae’s schooling, she does not recognize the particular aberration the scroll is designed to summon. What she does know: the strength of the conjuration magic used on the scroll hints that the summoned monster could outmatch the four of them in a fight.
A low whistle escapes Beorae’s lips as she scans the magical properties of the scroll. “This… we…” blinking, she snaps out of her semi-hypnosis to put her thoughts in order. “The magics bound within this scroll are terrible at best. I’m afraid that this sort of magic is out of my normal expertise, but I can tell that this scroll summons something from another realm. Something powerful, more powerful than the four of us put together, at least…” she pauses for a moment before continuing, “…which is worth noting because unlike most other scrolls of conjuration, whatever creature this scroll summons is not bound to the will of the one who summons it. And given the context of that note,” she continues, nodding at the paper in Nme'an's hand, “I don't think that's likely to be a good thing.”
Setting the scroll down at her side, she moves on to the potions. “Anyway, the potions are pretty much what you’d expect from the labels. It looks like these are from Ronn's Remidies, the alchemist I spoke with in town. This potion makes you move faster than normal for a couple of minutes, and these two let you disguise yourself as someone else for a little while. Those might be handy, but this,” the druidess picks up the wand, holding it at the ends with her two index fingers and a notable glint in her eyes, “might be the best of them all! It's a wand of healing. It's only slightly less powerful than my own healing spell, but it has a little over twenty charges left in it, and it can be used more than once per day, which more than makes up the difference.”
“I don’t know if any of you can use magical devices, but I should be able to use this without trouble. Themp, do you mind if I hold onto this?”
"Uhh... sure, Freckles. Let's call it a gift. From me... to you."
Says Themp, obviously taken aback at the new information, without forgetting to add his almost instinctual galant wink at the end.
A monster from the Netherworld? What the hell did I get myself into?