Ezkal kneels down to help tie up the dazed warrior.
Thaegrin shrugs at Tholan’s suggestion as he helps hold down the large Erenese. “A fire within the city would certain draw attention, and the smell…” the wizard shudders, “A mass grave will have to do, but I was hoping for something less time consuming. I suppose you are correct in one regard to your, ah, internment, but I distinctly remember Jathus releasing you from custody in a moment of anger, just hours before his final breath.”
He stares stone-faced into Tholan’s eyes until his meaning is realized. The old scholar turns to his unseen servant, and then points out a perimeter, “Sergio, fetch a shovel from the groundskeeper’s closet. Dig a very wide pit about eight feet deep.”
A few seconds later, the groundskeeper’s closet door swings open on its own, and a shovel floats to the courtyard, inclines to an angle, and begins turning up earth, as though the floating garden tool had a mind of its own.
“Lucan, keep watch, if you would,” Thaegrin gestures to the open closet door, “If there are tools to do so, some of you should help Sergio –he is obedient, but not the hardest worker. I haven’t decided what to do with Jathus’ body yet, but I will rejoin you in two hours. I have preparations to make.”
The pursuer of knowledge steps inside the twice-ransacked villa, and finds a room with a working door, and closes himself inside.
He lays out his ink, quill, and parchment, and begins inscribing the mysteries of the universe over a crude wooden table.
Once finished, he straps the special wrist-sheathes supplied by the halfblood, glad to see that their mechanisms fully-functional and well-concealed. In one, he stores a scroll of Vanish, and in the other, a scroll of Memory Lapse.
Tholan sighs, looking at the grave being dug. He tilts his head to the side, pondering for a bit, then begins to mutter to himself. He rapidly grows in size, until he towers over the others. "If we're going to do this, we may as well finish it quickly. Ezkal, care to join me?" He grins a little, then grabs a pair of shovels out of the groundskeeper's closet and begins using both to dig a trough.
“Ezkal, you seem to be suffering from a collapsed lung, if I am not mistaken. I cannot help you, but your brother might be able to restore such an injury.”
“We must leave before sunrise with Jathus’ body. I would like to procure mounts, to hasten our arrival to Lehrehn. No doubt messengers and ravens rush to other corners of Erenon, and I worry we are already behind.”
The wizard gestures impatiently. “Now please, if you are going to remain in the courtyard, I require absolute silence.”
Glancing up at the starry sky, Thaegrin produces ink, quill, and parchment, and book to use as a hard surface as he sits on the freshly-packed earth. After a few notes, he uses the edge of his dagger as a straightedge to firstly map the constellations overhead, and then on another page he illustrates a circle including several angular, intersecting lines within. Certain intersections he labels with an arcane sigil, continuing to refer to the stars above and his previous notes. He works at this in silence, occasionally muttering (and once shouting a single guffaw with no explanation), for nearly half an hour. Several pages later, the seeker of knowledge studies his most recently scrawled page, and compares it to his globular design and a few other conical shapes riddled with mathematic scribbles. Grumbling a curse, he tosses away a few pages and begins again on fresh parchment. In another half an hour, he looks up again, tracing the progress of the stars, and again refers to his formulaic notes and bizarre geometries. This time, a small chuckle escapes his lips, and he waves his ink-blackened hands to dry the pages. Without another word, he quickly stores his papers safely in his pack, and steps inside to find a room to sleep in.
Kicking at a dirt clod by the newly made mass grave, the gears in Angas mind turn. Uncorking a flask of healing solution he downs it in one go. Choking down the bitter mix of herbs and oil.
Looking around the compound the keeper of shadows spits and moves out to the nearest, tallest building not a part of the villa. Checking to see he's unobserved he hops up and clings to any outcroppings, making his way to the roof.
Tucking himself into a dark corner of the roof he watches.
|
As dawn approaches, the company prepares to leave with the first light of day. Their belongings stowed in saddlebags or in packs on their backs, the group sets off for Lehrehn.
By midday, they reach the river.
Suddenly, a flair of color catches your attention. On the horizon, from the direction of the sea. A blue sail slashed with yellow clambers up the river toward your position.
|
|
This type of longship with blue and yellow sails can only be the reavers of Grok'Tor, the wooded island off the coast of Thelkon east of Port Ireon at the entrance to the Bay of Narliss. Though their stronghold is on the island, these people control most of the eastern reaches of Thelkon, making them a real threat to both Thelkon and Isteroth. They are treated as a plague of human violence and depravity. The only thing they seem to do better than kill is breed...
These subhuman pirate scum are said to be cannibals who worship dragons from the old stories. Some say the "dragons" worshiped are in fact demons in disguise to fool these violent people while others think that the people of Grok'Tor actually may hold the secrets necessary for dragons to return to the world.
The ship is currently tacking upstream under less than favorable wind, but as you watch, long oars extend to sweep the vessel up the river.
Under oars, with the current wind, and going upstream, this ship can travel 8-12 miles in an hour. Under full sail, in favorable winds, and with space to move, this ship can nearly triple that.
People generally ford this river. It's current is even and not too strong.
The worshippers of dragons, or demons. Either way, foul but very powerful beings. A pity, that we are poorly matched to coax any knowledge from their primordial minds.
“The Grok’Tor,” Thaegrin states, “Reavers, cannibals, depraved beyond all reasoning. What they are doing this far south, in Erenon, bodes ill, but we should be moving, and quickly, before we are noticed.”
Facion spits from the back of his mount muttering a single; "Agreed." though to the careful observer his eyes seem to betray a hint of unease. Reavers? I didn't sign on for no gods dammed reavers. Turning carefully on his mount, the keeper of secrets scans the horizon in all directions. Marking alternate routes if the fording should prove too difficult.
Tholan stares across the river. "I doubt I'd be able to cross quickly enough. This is not good." He ponders, looking around. "I'm not supposed to be the clever one here. You lot figure out what we'll do, and I'll hit things with my sword. Probably with the sharp edge." Tholan grunts and looks around to see if he can spot any good defensible ground or alternate routes nearby.
Thaegrin rolls his eyes. Indeed.
“Halfblood, open that magical bag you recently acquired. Tholan will step inside and you will close it around him. Draw the string around one of his wrists, and hang onto his hand tightly so he is not lost. Tholan, all you must do is hold your breath. Ezkal will guide his brother’s horse. Now please,” the wizard gestures to the approaching ship, “do so quickly.”
"I can do that. Tholan, if you would? Let us hurry" Ezkal said as he side stepped his horse closer to Tholan's.
Tholan pauses for a moment. "Can I bring my horse into the sack with me?" He grins, quickly dismounting, collecting his goods from the horse, and moves to climb into the sack as quickly as he's able.
Thaegin looks over the bag as Tholan steps inside. "Ezkal, if you would rather not swim, climb inside as well, there might be room. Just be sure to hold your breath and hang onto your brother."
|
|
The two horses easily make the swim. After depositing the Thelkonlanders back on the turf of the material plane, the company have about a 2 minute head start before the ship reaches water shallow enough to make good anchor. After that, the likelihood of pursuit is very high.
Ahead, stretch the rolling plains that hem in the Maewan Prarie and the Gibeaus Valley.
Clever use of the the terrain, might keep you hidden.
Watching behind as the vessel approaches Anga tries to help Ezkal as best he can with the task of pathfinding.
Thaegrin spurs his horse once they reach dry land.
Tholan quickly moves to help Ezkal cover their tracks, and to help him find a good route which will conceal their movements.
"Hah! Take that, brigands."
When the savage danger is well away, Thaegrin casually leads his horse beside Ezkal. “Ezkal. I do not know what you expect in Lehrehn, if anything. You obviously take piety very seriously, but I’ve never met a priest who did not have an agenda. However I appreciate your transparency in our short business in Veir, so I will ask you plainly: did your god Gorum give you a specific mission?”
Ezkal turns to the wizened wizard. "My god Gorum wishes for one thing; battle. My mission is to stop this 'peace' business. I am to wage wars against serenity, what better way then to cause wars between countries? All of mankind will experience the glory of battle."
“A world-wide war? Hm,” Thaegrin pauses before answering, “Then you are aptly placed. I trust that your desire to win these wars will override any foolishness? You may not have known Sir Jathus for very long,” at this, his heel nudges the bundle tied to the saddle, “but his lust for battle cost the lives of his companions in skirmishes he survived. The challenges ahead will surely require some …discretion.”
He reaches down and grips the Thelkonlander’s armored shoulder firmly and pushes down to enflame the pain of the collapsed lung. “I can lift this ailment from you, but I require your word that you will not act against the interests of this group. The loss of the Rudianos sworn to the emperor means his orders will be much more difficult to carry out, if it is even possible. If I cannot trust you to curb any ill-timed bout of zeal, your walk to Lehrehn will be very short of breath.”
The wizard’s hand relents slightly as he waits for Ezkal’s answer.
Ezkal glares at the Feraweni. "My god thirsts for battle, not for losing wars. There will be no foolishness when it comes to war. Not keeping a level head while attempting to inciting a war will lead to a quick death, and I can't very well serve my god if I'm dead. I obviously can not start a world wide war on my own, why not stick around with your band to see what can come about." Ezkal breathes laboriously. "But I swear to you, if you want to keep your hands for your fancy writing and your tongue for your spells, you will not attempt to coerce me again with threats. I have provided you with an escort as you sought to explore the town, and to repay me you seek to drive your hand through my chest. For all of your intelligence, you still act the barbarian. Heal me if you wish, or leave me in pain, but know that I plan no harm to this group."
At the Thelkonlander’s mention of threats and coercion, the wizard releases all pressure from his hand, though he continues to touch the shoulder. He nods curtly to Ezkal’s promise.
“As you say,” he pauses to mutter indistinctly, and the war-bringer feels the magic that prevented healing subside. The wizard sits upright in his horse, and while studying his hand, adds coolly, “Coercion, yes, but I did not hint at worsening your condition, Ezkal. In any case, the injury is no longer accursed and should heal naturally, or magically.”
Thaegrin lets his horse meander a more comfortable distance from the hairy, disgruntled foreigner. He wonders if the stars will be visible tonight as well.
Tholan chuckles and pats his brother on the shoulder. "Aye, war is beautiful business, brother. Let me see what I can do about that lung." Energy flows through his hand, into Ezkal's shoulder, and the would begins to heal and repair itself. After a minute, he removes his hand. "Should be good as new, so you can get back to the business of war" With a grin, he claps his brother on the shoulder.
On the nights celestial bodies are visible, Thaegrin diligently illustrates diagrams, star charts, mathematical equations, and geometric shapes. Occasionally, he casts spells on the written papers and rearranges the points, lines, and arcane sigils and mutters to himself. On a particular night, he grumbles a curse and tosses crumbled papyrus into the campfire, and begins his studies anew.
When he expects to reach Lehrehn the following day, he turns to the Thelkonlanders.
“As Tholan is well aware, we did not leave prejudice behind in Veir, Ezkal. Especially with your family’s uneasy business relationship with the Rudianos house, we may be subject to some redundant scrutiny. I will try to minimize these annoyances, but now you are forewarned.”
The seeker of knowledge looks to the quiet Facion. “Halfblood, we both serve the house, so I will ask your counsel. The brothers of Jathus will undoubtedly swear vengeance on his murderers. Lord Rodrik might be more understanding, he was all too aware of his youngest son’s unbridled tongue, but I know he will not easily bend a knee to the emperor. The young maimed daughter will need to be closely watched to prevent her suicidal tendencies, and I will not account for the mother’s unhinged behavior. The question I have: shall we give an honest report, or shall we blame Jathus’ death on the emperor, and spur the house into rebellion?”
The Feraweni scholar carefully watches the features of this secret keeper, hoping to perceive more than the words in reply.