Luthael creates enough food and water for everyone and serves it in the name of Khors be praised. He meets all of the former prisoners and enjoys hearing their stories using the nourishment to make the introductions. He wears his faith in Khors upon his chest but doesn't push the faith on anyone.
After he serves Arianne, the prophet offers, "please take my cloak until we can re-equip you." He removes his leather hooded cloak and offers it the elf-maiden.
"So, do we return to my parents? Try to escort them to the centaurs? What's the consensus?"
"Thank you, Luthael." Arianna thanks the priest for both the cloak and the food.
"I think we should track down the gnomes. They could tell us much about their trade, and I would like to know what they did with the rest of my things and get them back if I may. Besides, catching them will give us some time to get the others to safety, since they will not be telling their fellows what happened to them," she says.
"Also get more booze" She says as she stands up and stretches as she adjusts her myriad of weapons.
"Besides they deal in demons and devils which require the lives of innocents, They need to pay be it in blood or in penance" The big bear says as she begins to do some simple routines working out some kinks.
The Rothenian Plain. A harsh open land where the wind is ever present and survival goes to the strongest, cleverest, or most determined. Standing settlements are nearly nonexistent upon this wild rolling grassland bounded by the Cloudwall mountains in the west, the Wormwood in the north, the distant Ruby Sea to the south and the far, far away lands of Leng to the east. The reason for this lack of permanence across such a vast territory is evidenced by the poor souls so recently released from gnomish slave cages. If not gnomes, then angry centaur bands protecting their traditional territories. Or wild Khazzaki raiders riding the steppe ponies for plunder and glory. Or the wandering Kariv bands stealing everything from chickens to gold to daughters to carry away in the brightly adorned wagons. And of course, there is the old witch herself. Baba Yaga. Of who, the less said the better unless one is truly desperate. Among so many threats and unknowns, to survive the great rolling grasslands, the one cardinal rule is one must keep moving. On the Rothenian, even cities ascribe to this credo.
You have all heard tales of the gulyay-gorods, literally wandering towns, of the Rothenian. Massive mobile fortifications built from shield walls mounted on massive wagons or sleds and pulled by great teams of oxen or broad shouldered draft horses. These great moving fortress cities, roam the plains under the command of their bandit kings, mighty mystics, or the ever notorious Khazzaki Warlord. Despite the many legends, few have actually ever laid eyes upon one of these roving settlements, even fewer have survived to share their tale.
The centaurs show little interest in heading north to Lingenau. South and back to their clan is where they prefer. Born and bred to the plain, there is little doubt they will be able to survive and thrive well enough to find their wandering kin.
Those who once lived more static lives along the northern shores of Krakova or within that unlucky nations peaceful forests and farmlands are much more willing to accept the potential benefice of Luthael and his well-to-do family. With food in their bellies and water flowing in their veins once again, the former prisoners are able to help repair and ready the wagons. Within a day, a small few are even strong enough to forage and partake in short hunts.
But now time becomes the enemy. Daylight burns and the sun begins to drop steadily toward the western horizon. Shadows grow long. The centaurs with gratitude and many thanks for the aide, food, and kindness take their leave. Their equine forms quickly disappearing into the rolling hills and grasses due south. The wagons are ready, work on a few crude clubs and shields is underway. And the trail of the fleeing gnomes begins to cool. Choices must be made. Who will stay, who will pursue.
"Safe travels," Arianna says in blessing as the centaurs prepare to leave. Her right hand traces an arc from shoulder, to forehead, to shoulder. "May the stars ever guide you to a warm fire and friends to be made."
When the centaurs have disappeared into the distance, Arianna takes advantage of the chance to catch Luthael away from Scramsax.
"May I ask you if you are the same Invictusol that Scramsax referred to? Is it a common name? I am afraid I know little about this area and the customs of Khors and his followers."
Luthael leans in conspiratorially. "Probably. I know of only myself with the name of Invictusol. It's more of a nickname or title than a family name given to me by brethren in my church. You see I am a prophet of Khors. He blesses me with visions of my future path to guide me there."
"I would be happy to enlighten you about the faith in the Lord of Light. But first, why don't you tell me more about yourself."
Scram was about to unfurl the Nasty Rug, but paused in a stroke of inspiration. The halfling curiously balanced an oxen horn vertically on a nearby stone before taking about 10 paces backwards.
With a quick flip, the carpet unrolled rapidly, its trademark Cone of Cat Turds spraying violently from the whip-cracking fabric...
...yet did not strike the horn over.
"Damnit. Eh, needs practice I guess." before mounting up with team gnome hunt.
"I'll go after the gnomes on the carpet," says Gunnar, "I have some spells that might be useful from a distance if we can track them down."
"What is there to say about me? My people roam the Fey Roads. When we come of age, we leave on a Wandering. Some last days or weeks, others have been known to last a year or more. I am on mine and was making my way north when I had the misfortune of meeting those gnomes and being treated to their hospitality," she says, her voice growing sharp with sarcasm when she mentions gnomish hospitality.
"I am sorry if I have disappointed you," she continues after a moment, her voice softer and kinder. "I collect stories, and I promised my mother and especially my father that I would be careful and return from my Wandering in one piece. Caution and a desire to hear more of others than to brag about yourself makes for a rather dull person, I fear. I am a dreadfully dull person, Father Luthael, so much so that if it were not for the memories and emotions attached to some of what I had, I would not even bother with trying to find what was stolen from me."
She gives Khors' prophet a small smile as she looks at him. Here eyes now the electric green and blue of an aurora.
"I would love to hear more of you and your faith, but I think that will have to wait for another time."
"May I come with you, Master Thorstein? I have some spells at my disposal that may be of use."
Smiling and nodding at Arianna, Gunnar says, "That works for me. I look forward to seeing your arcane talents as we hopefully recover your items."
"Mind the stain." Scram added, smushing some beeswax (clandestinely acquired from certainly not Ingryd) into his nostrils before gripping the urine soaked tassels of the carpet. "*sigh*...how is there still this much moisture..."
"I think I can show you a bit now," Arianna says as she sees the rug. Her hands move to trace unseen runes as a soft, melodic chant whispers in the wind.
"By your definition, I suppose that I am dull, too. Well, Scramsax is the best storyteller among us. We've certainly had our fair share in the past little bit. We were in the Shadow Fey awhile ago and discovered a sleeping fey queen. So, bend his little ear when you have time."
"As for Khors, I'll start with the basics. He carries the titles of Lord of the Sun, Bright Master of the Chariot, Son of Svarog, the Perfect Knight, Lord of Light and Destroyer of the Darkness, Patron of the Magdar, Friend to Magus and Warrior."
"Artists depict Him with a feathered cloak, heavy armor, and wild helmet plumes striking down dragons, knighting new heroes, and defending common people against the darkness and terrors of night."
"Khors faithful rise and pray at dawn and noon. Bring light to the darkness; never approach a foe by stealth, but only bravely and openly. Cast down demons, devils, and the dark gods without quarter. Stand fast in battle, for courage is the greatest virtue of the warrior. If you must retreat, make clear your intention to return and win the day. Let no shadow harm the innocent."
"Frankly, that was why we had to confront the gnomes and banish their demon allies, because I would not pass by, even if we are already on a great mission from Khors." He pauses not wanting to overwhelm the elf maiden.
"Just as well for my sake and my parents' sake that you did," Arianna says. "I hope that I have not caused too great a delay in your task. Is it something that I may help with? I owe you my life, and if I can repay that debt in some measure, then I would like to accompany you and see this quest of yours through."
"Perhaps. Let's see where Khors takes us. First, is to secure the rest of these prisoners. And I understand that you plan to accompany the hunt for the gnomes to prevent them from repeats their demonic activities."
"Yes, I do. My clan do not take kindly to slavers. We have had a few too many encounters with them. I do hope you will forgive me if I stick with my father's teachings on combat, though."
"There is nothing to forgive."
"Ah, but that is because you do not know my father. He taught me it is better to talk than to fight, and if one must fight, do not fight fair. If we find those gnomes, I intend to be as unfair as I can manage."
Minding the halfling's warning as she boards the nasty rug, Arianna attempts to conjure the foul stain from the feline imbued rug. The elf's magic dances from her lips and hands. Clear, melodic, pure as a spring day. The smelly stain disappears in a burst of rose, lavender, and honeysuckle scent. Nodding with satisfaction, the elf turns and plants herself on the spot only the hear a distant angry feline yowl of ulitmate consternation. A moment later she feels a dampness upon her backside and the foul smell housecat urine wafting up from the rug just as Scramsax lifts off and turns southeast upon the trail of the gnomes.
As soon as the flying carpet turns south, Luthael gives the signal. One of the freed prisoners, Sol, has the reins. The former wainwright clicks his tongue a couple of times and gives a flick of the reins. Moments later the wagon is trundling north, the late afternoon sun casting shadows across the blowing grass.
For the first mile or so, the gnomes trail is pretty easy to follow. The panicked creatures did little to hide their path. But once they'd managed a bit of distance, more care was taken. There are a few false trails. Winding circles among the tall grass. Easy enough to distinguish the real path with a little effort from the air. But then you come upon the narrow stream burbling quietly across the lowlands. At the edge of the stream, the path seems to abruptly end.
One of the prisoners, a young woman named Anette walks along beside Luthael. She is skinny, her dark hair in need of some care, but she's done her best to put it in some semblance of order including tying it back with a scrap of cloth. Clearly still tired and rundown from her ordeal, but volunteering to walk to give those worse off the spots in the wagon. She looks at Luthael with her brown eyes.
"Are you really blessed by Khors?" She asks the prophet. "Is that why you could conjure the light of the sun and cast those demons away?"
Scramsax was too distracted to notice the footprints, not so much from the endless animal dander watering his eyes but thoughts of his distant dreams. The sapphire orb was less a novelty now, but had sent deep roots latching onto the halfling's neurons. The pulsing psionic energy across his nervous system was like an endoskeleton, more in control of his metabolism and sensory input than the natural chemical reactions and organs he was birthed with.
At times the bones of the energy endoskeleton were tinged and vibrated like a tuning fork, as some distant influence manifested. The technical matters of psionics were totally lost on the soul-knife, and the invaders came as dreams in his subconscious. Echoes of Radovan, the Dawnflower, Zove...his own youth and aspirations all blended together in some subconscious construction. It was hard to pull meaning from any of it, but Scram could at least sense they were feeding him, bolstering him, with some unique inner tool.
The pilot struggled to remember his last dream as he flew high over the river bank...
Walking beside the young woman, Luthael replies, "Yes. I am blessed by Khors, because I worship Him. He rewards my devote faith in Him with the ability to channel His divine power in Midgard. I am His servant."
"And you Anette, what is your story? Do you have a divine patron?"
Ingryd takes another swig as she shifts her many weapons about and looks to Arianna.
"What weapons can you use. I have a few just incase." She says with a smile showing off her mini armory for her.
Though not particularly skilled with tracking, Gunnar peers off into the distances and considers what terrain the gnomes might have used to hide their tracks.
”Maybe we look up and downriver for hard-packed or stony terrain that might hide their exit point on the far side of the river,” suggests Gunnar uncertainly.
"My father trained me in use of a number of weapons. I prefer the bow, but I can handle a sword or spear, though I lack the strength to put them to best use," Arianna answers Ingryd. "I do have a few tricks up my sleeve. Now that I'm rested, as soon as we spot them, I can get us right in front of them."
"Huh? Stony terrain? I guess that makes sense...like the shadows of earth, if footprints are what you're hiding..." executing a perfect 30 degree bank towards what Gunnar was talking about, sprinkling urine everywhere.
”Wait, look there!” says Gunnar as they pass about a mile upriver, ”They made a mistake upon their exit from the river and stepped in some mud!” he points at some muddy footprints there exiting the river.
"What the hell...? Ha, you got 'em Gunnar! Wizard's Eye!" accelerating quickly towards the spot...while somehow a giant stink loaf flipped off the back.
"Nicely spotted," Arianna adds. "If we keep this up, we will be upon them just as they think they are in the clear."
The woman sighs. Her eyes take on a distant look as she ruminates upon Luthael's seemingly simple question. But for the last seven years, little has been simple for anyone from fair Krakova. At last she simply shakes her head.
"We once payed homage to Ceres. Occasionally Freyr and Freyja in the spring to bless the fields." She says. Her voice distant, angry. "But what good were the priests when the bloodsuckers and flesh eaters came to take us away." A derisive snort bursts forth. "Running like cowards into the night. Or dying on Marena's wheels until they denounced their faith in a last desperate plea for death."
She glances back at another woman sleeping in the back of the wagon. Her face is swollen and bruised. She could be a year or two younger or forty older than Anette. Life has made it difficult to tell. She holds tight to the tattered remnants of a small yellow and green checkered blanket.
Anette turns back and stares out toward the west and the sinking sun. "After those first horrible months, I thought I could never believe in the gods again. They'd abandoned us. Left Krakova...left us all to suffer and die. Until yesterday nothing would have changed my feelings. But meeting you. Seeing you send those demons back to hell. Witnessing a priest risk his own life to pull peasants from a burning wagon..." She turns to look at Luthael. This time her eyes gleam with something more. A tiny mote of hope. Faith budding like a fragile early spring blossom. "Seeing all of that makes me...makes me want to believe in something again. To believe that at least one of the almighty powers might be willing to lift a godly finger to protect or aide a few poor, wretched mortals. Makes me believe that not all of the temples are packed with greedy cowards who preach for a tithe every festival but run whenever the world tosses them into the real fray for survival."
Gunnar's keen eyes allow you to pick up the trail again, but you quickly realize that to follow by air is nearly impossible. Using their magics, the gnomes managed to lay out too many false trails. It isn't until you land and start tracking the actual footprints in the rain softened ground that you truly start making some significant progress.
Plodding along through the grass that at time reaches four of five feet in height it is Arianna and her keen ears that hear the music first. Fiddle music drifting on the wind from somewhere not too far to the east. A few minutes later there the tangy smell of a sod fire wafts across everyone's noses.
Cautiously proceeding onward, you exit the tunnel like confines of the grass into a large clearing where the grass has been cut and a festival like atmosphere presides. A dozen tables covered in bright checkered cloth sit scattered around a central stage where a trio of fae folk, thin weasel like humaniods, their fur rainbow hued one bright yellow, another bright green, and the final a brilliant turquoise. The weasel folk are clearly the source of the music as drum, fiddle, and flute blast out a wild jig that has a half dozen dancers sweating and gyrating wildly around the stage.
At the far end of the clearing, beyond the stage is a simple wooden market stall. Two massive, yellow, lemon shaped balloons standing more than twice Ingryd's height bookend the stall. Grandmother's Ole Fashioned Lemonade - 1gp a mug in large letters is written on the sign over the front of the stall and upon the balloons themselves. Wiping down the counter of the stall, is a goblinoid with pale yellow skin wearing a square paper hat and red and white striped shirt. Two other pretty elven maids are dressed similar to the goblin and go about the tables picking up or delivering mugs.
Arianna nudges Gunnar's shoulder to get his attention.
"This is a sight. It appears they could use a little more razzle-dazzle, though."
She weaves light into a series of sparkles and streamers, and right over the suspicious barrels appears an arrow that appears paper thin from below but is clearly visible to the group. "Aim Here," it says, revealing Arianna's own thoughts about where the gnomes are.
With throat parched and wanting to wash the cat-taint from his mouth, the pilot interjected "Wait, let's at least give the goblin's product a try...he might be onto something with this lemonade business. Then we can blow it up." Much too far to intelligently investigate the illusion properly, Scram was suckered in for what it was.
Luthael nods in reply. "Well, Khors showed me visions of the undead invasion of Krakovar. Unfortunately, I didn't recognize the location, and few people believed me."
"So, He does care enough to show us. We just have to listen and act."
"He put me in your path to release you. And, He teaches us to destroy demons and protect the innocents."
"What you do with that faith is up to you."
Shrugging, Gunnar says, ”An illusion, you say? Well, if we are wrong, at least this shouldn’t hurt them.” After an examination with his arcane expertise (albeit from a distance), Gunnar decides that there should be minimal collateral damage. Weaving his hands in a complex arcane pattern, Gunnar aims a Dispel Magic spell at the barrels and the general surroundings.
"An here I was hoping for lemonade!!"Ingryd says as she puts away her flask. She had hoped to have a little sweetness to her alcohol.
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Anette nods at Luthael's words and looks at him with even more respect and just a bit of awe as he talks of direct visions from Khors. She watches the grass wave in the wind as the wagon slowly rolls past. The flies buzzing about the oxen. A hawk circling high overhead. Luthael glances at the woman. He has seen such looks before. Especially upon the faces of those from the fallen kingdom. It is the look of someone who has seen, experienced, too much. Weathered too much fear and horror. Lost...everything except their lives and that often feels of little value.
But as she contemplates the prophet's words, something else sparks within her lost and broken soul. A mote of light flickering in an inner world of shadow and dark despair. Hope and faith born anew. Whether it will flourish and grow bright and strong, only time can tell. But the chance is there.
"Is there a temple to Khors where we're going?" Anette asks. "I...I would know more of your faith."
The sun burns bright in the west. Its glorious light illuminating a world. But at this moment the god smiles upon two faces riding a rickety wagon across a lonely open prairie. For no banishment of demons, destruction of undead, or punishment of wayward inquisitors can surpass the service performed when one true to a god rekindles hope and faith and belief in another who thought them lost and shattered upon the path of life.
Arianna's sparkling display arcs out over the clearing resulting in a variety of oohhs and ahhhss from the scattered folk below. The band picks up the tempo with the fiddle player moving his fingers and arms so fast they almost become a blur.
The goblin in the stand shades his eyes from the sun looking up toward the carpet before turning to grab a couple more mugs.
About to cast his spell, Gunnar instead says, “I sense very little illusion magic here. If the gnomes are hiding in those barrels, they are doing so without obvious magical aid. Perhaps we can flush them out without alarming the festival goers here?”
"Wait, are those redcaps the Cones of the Gnomes? Maybe the goblin lures travelers in, only to convert them into barrels of pure lemonade with some foul magics. The hag of the north tried that with us once, made a nice looking respite with some fancy leaf...found myself in a stew. We should probably get a sample...just to be certain." starting to set the rug down nearby, salivating at the thought of a cool glass of gnome juice with lemon and getting his hands on those serving wenches' purses.
"So I should go over and tap the kegs is what you are saying?" Ingryd says tapping her necklace of claws and teeth.
"I best case is I reveal gnomes the worst case is I have to pay for it, Or if the goblins did that then I will have to fight goblins as well. Both I am capable of doing" THe Bear Woman says with a smile.
Luthael smiles. "Yes there is. I'm taking you to my home. My parents follow Khors as well, so you can discover the faith at your own pace. Although, just knowing that there is a divine power beyond us trying to help us can bring solace."
He enjoys the sunset and peace in Khors. The prophet does not have much practice proselytizing but is comfortable in his faith to let others find their own faith.
"Let's circle around before we set down and see if the trail continues on from here," suggests Gunnar, "Just in case this is a false trail. I would feel better about stopping here if I were confident the gnomes were hiding here somewhere."
Gunnar casts See Invisibility as Scramsax pilots them along, then scans the scene and surrounding terrain again for magically hidden creatures or features...
After a few moments of continuing the display, she finishes up with a sparkling finale. She leans into Gunnar and whispers into his ear.
"Do you feel that? The ley line?"
”Indeed, Arianna, and therein lies my concern. If the gnomes know how to travel the lines, they could already be far from here,” replies Gunnar.
"Or eaten by a grue," Arianna adds as they land.
Scramsax slowly circles the wide clearing. As the others looks for trails or signs of the quarry, Scramsax looks for a safe place to land. While there is nothing out here that offers complete cover, for nary a tree can be seen for miles, the grass itself stretches taller than all but Ingryd. Dropping the carpet to the ground will be much like sinking it below the surface of an ocean.
As the carpet circles about, there is no sign of any trails leading away from the citrus themed oasis. Gunnar, he vision enhanced to spot the trickery and illusions so often perpetrated by fae folk, does quickly spot a trio of invisible, dour faced, muscular boar headed creatures standing stoically at the edges of the clearing watching the patrons and the circling carpet. Arms folded across their broad chests, the boar folk have the cagey, bored-but-keenly-alert look like any of the hundreds of tavern bouncers the dwarf has encountered in his travels across Midgard.
As for whether others have crossed over in the last few hours, there is no sign of such a transition.
Not lingering his gaze on the boarfolk, Gunnar says, "There are three bouncers watching us from the edge of the clearing, though they are cloaked with invisibility."
"Well, it seems our quarry is still here, and they aren't the ones responsible. If I had to guess, it'd be some fey with love of citrus."
Audria explains what she's found to Gunnar.
Smacking his dry lips "Eh, you go that way I'll go this way. Meet in the middle?" the rogue gives a thumbs up after stashing the Nasty Rug in Ingryd's backpack. "Oh, I guess we should do that mind thing...c'mere guys..."
As everyone gathers around, Scramsax puts a finger to each temple spouting off "Hamina hamina haaaa. Choo choo choo. La la la..." in a monotone chant. Nothing at all happened. But the rogue renewed his focus, crossing his eyes this time while standing on one foot...repeating the same gobbledygook.
Slowly you realized it was actually you crossing your eyes. For a moment you saw yourself standing there on one foot from Scramsax's perspective, outside your own body...inside the thief's. Flashes of a silver tower floating over a night soaked desert wasteland. An ancient elven cityscape consumed in shadow. The devil's prairie house. An island marooned in a vast blue ocean. Galaxies colliding in infinite space.
The mind of the soulknife was now sharing consciousness with yours.
::Heh, that worked right?::
==15