Volcano's Land - Forged in Blood (Inactive)

Game Master Miner Cotren

Samoon goes a-wandering, looking for a cave or just some rocks with some overhang that have a dark space beneath them.

Survival: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11

Unimpressed with his first efforts, Samoon sits down, meditates, and tries a bit more slowly to find a spot.

Taking 20!

Iniga

he looked a little younger in the brief vision

Gag removed, the priest says, slowly and carefully in High Ifrit, "Irae Domini Vulcunus omni malo virentia. That is how you activate it. Now you tell me more about gaining back the mercenaries' trust, and getting me out of this wagon."

Wrath of Volcano to all evil vegetation

Wamblee

Oga laughs in delight at your winning move, breath steaming in the cold clear day. "Very good! Very fun! Anyway, you enjoy a little quiet time, ok? We all need it, Forest knows." She hands you a pouch of the incense.

Waaaammmbbbllleee. replies Wamblee, deciding to try and match the elemental.

Whhhooo yooouuu?

---

Oooooooobb

...

duuuuur

....

uuuuuht.

Obdurate.

By the time this is finished, you realize you are hungry, and that it is nearly time for bed.

Samoon

Marianne crosses your path as you search for darkness. "Samoon, are you sure you should be so eager to connect with your little 'firefly'? Samen is practically infested with elementals, Wamblee is a walking rock, and I'm half-bird. Shouldn't you stay clean just in case something goes wrong? Be a, what do you call it, controlling experiment?"

"Thank you. Both for the incense and for the lesson."

*************
The smoke of the incense billowing around him, Wamblee continues communing.

Obbbdduuurrraaattte, whhhaaattt diiiddd Hoootttaaahhh annnddd yooouuu spppeeeaaakkk offf?

"Hmm... Be that as it may, you didn't answer my question. I want to nurture your growth Spes, but if you begin spreading uncontrollably, I'll be forced to take mitigating action. Neither of us want that."

Wamblee, this conversation is actually taking place over the next few days as you travel

hmmmmm....hiiiiiis visiiiiiiion.....

biiiiig fiiiiire...

..

staaaaaart oooooof...warrr...

...

a five minute yawn.

...

goooodniiiight hooootahhhhh...

Samen, Spes pauses for a moment, as if in thought, and says,

ok!

He pesters you on on and off for the rest of the day to go look at pine trees for very long periods of time

Goooddd niiiggghhhttt Obbbddduuurrrraaattte.

Wamblee takes some time to come back to a more normal manner of thinking, then seeks out his siblings.

"Its name is Obdurate. It thinks very slowly. Hotah spoke with it of his vision. A big fire and the start of war. We...we have to retrieve that hand. It fits together too well with the clashes in Hearth."

this is later, Marianne's talk with Samoon is earlier

"Well? Do some alchemy, or magic, or.." rolling her hand toward Wamblee, "sense them with your feet or whatever, and let's find them! Let me know when it's ready." She walks off to continue scouting, conversation solved.

Earlier

"...yes, well, I'm supposed to be some sort of elder, intelligent brother, here, and I feel like I'm left behind. I didn't want to merge with the thing, just wanted to talk with it."

He crosses his arms. "I have my motives."

Nevertheless, Samoon heads back to camp, only bringing out the staff when the sun sets.

Iniga gave the priest a calculating look.

"You need to apologize to them for starters. I know you think that they are superior to them, and hey, could might be right, but you hid information from them - it shows a lack of trust, and a lack of respect to the people charged with protecting your life"

"If I wanted to improve things further, I'd suggest treating them with respect. They know that they are mercenaries, they know where they stand in the world. So don't preach to them, treat them like equals, heck, pick up a weapon and try and spar with them. I doubt that you would be as good as them but they might respect you for trying to engage with them on their own level. Just some advice."

The Saggezza returns your look. "And ah...when might they be amenable to such an apology?"

Samoon

You have been unable to locate any caves - you are too far north to find much limestone. And, even in the twilit shadow of the Horns, even under the thickest pine tree you can find, peaklight never truly sleeps. The trace amount of ambient volcanic energy is still enough to make your cross-staff drown in radiance, like a tear swallowed by the sea.

"I'm sure that you could think up a natural time or opportunity, but I would think sooner rather than later would be better if you want to repair things. I'll leave that up to you" Iniga replies.

"Very well. Do I have to remain stewing in here, tied up and shivering in the cold, or may I rejoin elenity in the near future?"

Chapter 13. Wintermeet.

another six days pass...
It is Coalday, Witchrites the 19th.

Wamblee, the weight of the earthern bear is upon your shoulders, ready to show as a token of strength as you enter the Meet. Despite the burden, you are the first to notice the thrumming, the vibrations in the ground. Orean feet stomping in time, but miles away. The roots of the nearby trees seem pleased with the presence of music.

After several days' confinement, the priest scuttles out of the wagon like a beetle befuddled by peaklight. "Listen, everyone, I swear by Volcano I understand the lies and all are completely unacceptable, and I'm sorry. From now on, I will be plain as Volcano's own truth." He pauses a moment.

"And I believe we have a common goal of stopping these thieving oreads from doing something awful with the Hand, yes? And surely you can use assistance from an el of the gods?" He holds his arms out, like he is giving a benediction.

Margherita's face is hard as she looks at Iniga, then back at Grico. "...and? You're sorry? That's it?" She pulls out her very sharp dagger once more. "You know priest, I've read the Voce, and it always says that when you do wrong, you have to sacrifice to make it up. Especially a Saggezza. What do you think, 'ipo? Hand for a hand?"

Fillipo, suddenly behind, pins the priest to the ground, holding his arm down at the wrist. Margherita comes closer,

roll init to step in if you wish to do so

marg init: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7

Wamblee continues dragging the bear, tuning out the commotion behind him.

Can he clearly make out what is going on with the ifrits?

I would imagine no. Your arms are busy and you are listening to the lay of the land, not the arguments of ifrits.

Samen looks over his shoulder and sees the lynch mob forming and mumbles to himself, "Oh for Dark sake, what are they doing..."

Init: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 2 = 11

*sigh* "Time to make a scene, I guess..."

He charges in, drawing his staff, hopefully for show. As he arrives, he draws on his contempt for his fellow elens and self-immolates. "Oy! Our contract is to protect this stronzo! If you want to forfeit your share and your life, more for us!"

Init: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13

Fast as Margherita was, Iniga was still faster whirling and unsheathing her Greatsword in one swift movement upon hearing the rasping of Margherita's blade being drawn.

"Don't push me Splendidis, I don't want to, but I will if I have to" she remarks in a firm voice trying to give the mercenary leader pause

Intimidate: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (14) + 12 = 26

"Both of you, need to take a good hard look at yourselves. Saggezza, its no small thing to admit that you are wrong, and to apologize, but recognize that it will take time, and more than just a quick apology before people believe you are truly attempting to make amends. A lesson - as long as you consider yourself superior to everyone else here you will struggle to receive forgiveness and the respect you feel you might deserve."

Iniga turns her attention back to Margherita, still on high alert. "As for you, recognize someone attempting to make amends even if it is a very small step in the right direction. Both of you cannot succeed at anything if you remain at each others throats, not against the oreads, not against the Dark. Margherita, think about how the Temple reacts if you main one of their priests. Think about how the Army responds if the Temple retaliate. This benefits no-one and I wont let a rash decision have such consequences. Stand down.

Margherita drops her dagger, stunned at Iniga's sudden ferocity. Fillipo wordlessly lets go of the priest, but still keeps an eye on him.

The Saggezza looks down, nodding. He mumbles, "Very well. I promise you I am trying my best." Slowly, showing no threat, he takes up the very sharp dagger, which has clattered close by, and makes a long, thin cut along his palm.

Louder, he says, "I am not the type to shed tears, but I will weep blood for you. If you allow it, I actually have a minor spell from my younger days that turns blood into a nice dessert wine. Will you drink of my sorrow, and we can work something out together?" With tired orange eyes, he looks at Iniga and Margherita, questioning.

take 10 sense motive for those so inclined: he is being sincere, this isn't poison or an attack or anything

two of the mercs' waterskins are now filled with wine

for those that partake of a glass despite the early candle, the wine is sweet, and fortifying - +1 sacred bonus to saves for the day

Margherita looks at Iniga. "I don't want to start anything, Iniga. And if you say he is turning over a bad coal, I'm willing to take that step too. But I'm still keeping an eye on him."

turning over a new leaf

She takes a small sip of the wine, then a longer drink. "Mm. Say, that's not bad." She sighs deeply, letting go her fight-ready tension. "Looks like the wagons aren't waiting for us anyway."

Indeed, the wagons of the warrior-merchants have pulled slightly ahead, with Wamblee trailing them as he carries an earthen bear upon his back.

Off the trail, up a tree, Marianne slowly lets the tension out of her bow, mirroring Margherita's own mood below. The ranger takes her aim away from the mercenary leader's back, breathing a silent sylph sigh of relief.

Seeing Iniga has it well in hand, Samen stands down. He goes about his business, mumbling about the capriciousness of elenity.

Wamblee plods on, unaware of the drama resolved behind him.

Samen, Spes picks up on your grumbling, at least the tone of it.

is everybody bad except you and me?

'Bad' is simply a matter of perspective unless there is an ultimate arbiter of righteousness. The closest thing we've got are the gods, and I don't trust them as I can throw them. So yeah, if you're asking me my opinion, all of elenity can rot in the Dark.

ok!

It is tenth candle.

You quickly catch up with Odakotah, as his wagons have halted behind a long, curving line of elens, wagons, beasts, and goods. Although everyone is free to enter the Meet as they please, most wait in line at the official entrance to see the sights, hear the music, and possibly meet chieftains of the tribes.

Odakotah is in very good spirits, despite the wait. "Well, we made it in one piece, ha! You were all very useful, especially against the icy beasts. If you ever need work on a caravan again, please come and find me!"

he tells you roughly where his tent will be set up during the meet, and then gives you all 100 gp each as pay

remember, it was Odakotah who hired all of you for the length of the caravan trip --- the mercs and the priest just happened to be on the same caravan, but you were not directly hired by or on a team with them

As the line slowly moves forward, the rest of you hear what Wamblee's feet have sensed for over a candle - rhythmic stomping and the sound of drums. The smell of livestock and beer wafts toward you on a chilly breeze. You hear the grumbling of drunks and the laughter of children as an impromptu game of siphithiphithi crashes in and around the elens waiting in line. The path here has been trampled into frozen mud by countless wheels and hooves.

Margherita walks up beside Iniga, taking in the sights of food, drink, and tents. "So now that you've gotten paid by the merchant, what are your plans? We could use another pair of eyes to...protect the priest, eh?"

all: these posts are all different times, so feel free to respond to the parts you are interested in

Finally, you are close enough to see glimpses of the Wintermeet. The path curves into a river-carved valley where you can see hundreds of brightly colored tents--yellows, greens, and reds, like bird wings--and thousands of elens. Though oreads are of course the most common, you see ifrits, undines, and the occasional sylph. In the distance, you see a tall standing stone that seems to be the center of the festivities.

Before you is the entrance to the meet, a cacophony of dancing, drums, food, and entertainment. Seated above the crowd in stone-shaped thrones sit chieftains bedecked in beads, feathers, gems, or rings, depending on the tribe. These proud els and eles wave to the crowd, clap for the jugglers, or sit in stony silence.

Iniga gives Margherita's question due consideration before shrugging slightly. "Maybe, I guess that could be an option for me. My ectended family didn't actually indicate that they wanted me to continue travelling with them further, so its possible that I could be at a loose end at some point."

Marianne walks over, hearing the last part. "Well you shouldn't expect the boys to look up from their books and meditations and beakers and notice they are being rude to their cousin." She winks. "But trust me, you will always be welcome with us. Family is about all we have left these days."

Wamblee nods at Odakotah, takes the gold, and replies:

"Shared roots through battle, Odakotah. We may well meet again soon."

Then he hears Iniga and Marianne's conversation:

"There is considerable truth in Mar's words, Ni. Both in our lack of manners and in how welcome you are. We would gladly have you by our side, if you would still stand there."

Samen nods in agreement. "If you die first, I'm not mourning you."

"Yes, we all know Samen cries on the inside. Or maybe we need to find him an elemental made of healthy emotions."

"In this land? It would die of starvation in moments."

Wamblee hoists the carcass of the earthen bear before the likeliest elders nearby, and announces:

"Chieftains, and all others, take witness! I present this bear to the Wintermeet as tribute and offering, slain by my sister and I. I am Wamblee Firenze. I present my brothers, Samoon and Samen, my sister Marianne, and my first cousin Iniga v'Breda."

He looks at the chieftains and crowd for a response.

Diplomacy: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (11) - 1 = 10

Perhaps a minor matter of adding Iniga. But she is kin, and I feel I should speak for her.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (2) + 9 = 11

The crowd applauds the bear, and you hear a few ahhs of appreciation. You also sense some confusion concerning the sylphs and ifrit in your family.

One of the chieftains on the right, an old el with knotted muscles and a frowning underbite, stands upon his dais and says, "An oread with an ifrit's name? Ha! Wamblee Tribeless, more like."

any response from any of you? where are the rest of you right now?

Wamblee stares at the mocking chieftain.

"I am son of Hotah, who came from Cedarsmoke. I am a student of Root. I have slain foes living and dark. I have already told you my name. Need I repeat it?"

Before the wizened el can retort, a handsome chieftain to the left, skin shining like polished ebony, shouts, "Cedarsmoke! We had thought no one from that tribe would grace the festivities this year. A happy occasion, and a strong tribute, Wamblee. You and your family shall feast at my table tonight - look for Ambrosia."

Without waiting for a response, the smiling el gives you a peremptory gesture and beckons the next group forward. The chieftains, as well as the crowd, have already turned their attention to what other travelers still have yet to make their welcomes.

all: you can walk ahead on your own, or you are ushered away from the chieftains by warriors - nothing violent, just standard 'keep the line moving' kind of thing

The line of chieftains is right near the cusp of the valley, and as you near the edge the curving vista opens before you. The thin river cuts the grounds of the Wintermeet neatly in half, with the tall slab of stone standing watch on the western side. The valley floor is covered with huge tents, long feasting tables, stone-wrought huts, and sporting fields. Ringing laughter, savory smoke, dancing lights, and running legs catch your senses among the chaotic mass of people and things. Oread eles wear their best party dresses, twirling in flashes of vibrant yellow, green, and red stripes and swirls.

The priest, silent and in the background until now, clears his throat and says, "Do you mind if we stay together for now, actually? You know, shared burdens made light and all that. I would pay you, just as I do Margherita and her els."

Iniga turns to the priest, with a thoughtful look on her face.

"We can stick together - I don't mind - but only as long as we have a common goal. With that said, my family and I would value freedom of movement, we cannot shadow you daily and expect to make progress. What I'd like from you in return, is figure out how someone knew you were transporting that item. You wouldn't tell us or the mercenaries, so doubtless it was meant to be a secret. If only the Church knew, then one of them is probably a traitor of some description. So I'd recommend you think hard on that because it would certainly be useful to know how they knew all about the item and were able to ambush you so cleanly."

Taking fresh heart from the chieftain's offer, Wamblee walks forward into the Meet.

****************

Wamblee takes in the sights, sounds, and vibrations of the Meet as the group walks in. Not least the eles in fetching dresses.

So many oreads. Even in root, there did not seem this many!

He turns to the priests and Iniga.

"We cannot guarantee to be around at all times, priest. Much could happen at the Meet. But I have no objection to you walking with us, so long as you heed Iniga's words."

Samen doesn't really have anything to say to anyone during the hustle and bustle of the Meet. If no other Cedarsmokes are around to provide answers, this has been an abject failure.

Time to move on to either Light or the Breathless Valleys.