::Oh hi guys, its me. Scramsax. We are just grabbing a few things from the temple before meeting you there...::
Ingryd tugs on Aterro. She points and smiles.
"I Think I found our wayward Halfling"Ingryd says as she chuckles.
She begins to head towards the Halfling.
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"Ha! You have the right of it, Ingryd!"
"Hail and acknowledge. Are you allowed to grab the things you are grabbing? Are the things you are grabbing still owned or...attached to their owners? Ah, never mind that. I'm about to pop into the Droopy Unicorn and see if I can't grab a few things of my own! Just let me know how it goes and scream if you need help."
"Oh, nay nay nay, good Ingryd, do not bother the halfling. I have just received a mind-letter from him and he is quite fine. Come, we have traveled all this way and had naught but that lemonade to quench our thirst, and perhaps even THAT was haunted! We must needs drown a few pints of good, stout ale to wash all that dusty business away."
Aterro is unchanged from his mission of ration acquisition and maintains course toward the tavern.
'What an odd name of a tavern. Hope I don't have to burn this one down too.'
"Yes, let us drink eat and hear the troubles that plague the day" Ingryd said knowing the Tavern is the best place to hear town gossip. She is not sure if the locals will talk to a bear.
The steward takes an involuntary step backward at the mention of diseases and quarantines. But he face retains its usual professional, calm demeanor.
"I will inform the staff and your mother and father, young master Luthael." The man says. A pause while he turns to look about the grounds and various buildings sprinkled across the estate. "I believe the east field barn is currently unoccupied." He points toward a solid riverstone structure with a thick thatched roof just a few hundred yards further east beyond the manor house itself. A paddock connects from the southern entrance of the barn while a large field to the north is filled with recently cut grass and lucerne gathered into thick bushels still waiting to be moved into the barns.
Father Tavis gathers up a variety of things upon his return to the temple. Holy water, blessed wine, a larger golden sun symbol, a set of silvered mirrors, and quite a bit of salt, and his worn and tattered copy of the Book of the Sun.
"Come along then son." He says once satisfied he's packed all he needs. "Best we get going, it'll take half a day to walk all the way out to the Invictusol place."
"You two see to things while I'm gone." He says to Meryl and Beryl.
"Oh yes, certainly we will Father."
"You can count on us for certain."
The two reply, with all manner of willing sincerity.
As might have been expected, the tavern is a bustling place during this damp early evening. A favorite with the workers from the nearby foundry and smithy, several tables are surrounded by big, smoke faced men, and even a few women, who happily down a thick dark brown, nearly black, ale along with a pleasant smelling stew served with a dark molasses bread.
A bustling barmaid expertly pirouettes through the crowd avoiding the occasional patron's grabby hand or deflecting a joking remark with her own practiced wit. Seeing the two newcomers step inside she offers them a welcoming smile as she passes with a tray full of brew and bread.
"Find yourselves a table where you may folk." She says. "I'll be with ye soon as I may."
Grabbing what looked like a giant wet newspaper from his other pack "Half a day? Na. Behold!" flicking the Nasty Rug open and sending the Cone of Cat Turds bouncing asunder.
Ingryd still covered in the grime of travel and the battle she enters the Tavern an nods to the girl. She begins to look about for a table as she looks over at Aterro.
"I think I found a table, follow me!" The Bear Maiden says as she begins to move to a table near the center of the room.
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'Well this is interesting,' Aterro thinks, looking at the blue-collar crowd. It was exactly what he was looking for.
He joins Ingryd in giving a polite but dismissive nod at the waitress. She seemed competent. If there was anything anyone wanted to know about the town, she was one to ask.
Which have him an idea.
"Is this thing still on?" he thinks into the theif's mind-link.
"The waitress at the Droopy Unicorn appears quite earnest, to match the crowd. If there was any local knowledge anyone requires, this is the place to find it out."
That done, he trusts that the bearess barbarian knows her business about finding a table and follows.
"Thank you. Alright, everyone follow me. We'll have a roof over our head tonight. Father Tavis is on his way. With his help, we should be able to cure this disease, so not much further."Lutheal replies and tiredly leads everyone to east field barn.
Luthael leads the tired group into the snug confines of the barn. It is a tidy, well-kept place smelling of straw, old manure, and generations of animals. Dust covers just about everything, but it is dry. And once the small herders stove is lit, it is warm. within the dim confines of the wooden walls, Luthael is forced to call forth the light of Khors once again to help drive down the resurgent parasites.
Fortunately, the sun god's prophet does not have to wait out another long exhausting night for aid. It is only a few hours before he here's the once familiar voice of Father Tavis coming across the field to the barn.
"What kind of fool creates a filthy piece of transportation like that?" The old priest exclaims. "Ack! Khor's save me, I'll never get the cat stink out of my robes. Unsanitary blasted thing, ought to burn it and be done. Ugh! How did that get into there."
By the time the old man toddles through the barn door he's in an even more cantankerous state than usual. The fact that he is currently off gassing the stench of prowling tom cat explains much of his irritation. However, once he sees the state of the refugees and Luthael's worn out face, his consternation quickly turns to serious concern and contemplation of the problem.
"Good to see you again my boy." He says to Luthael, leaning heavily on his staff as his clear eyes taken in the sickly refugees. "I hear you've a flock that's been infected with some insidious demonic witchery. Tell me what you know and we'll be about doing Khors good work."
The ale is dark, strong, and flavorful. The food, a spicy sausage and vegetable stew that warms as well as fills a hungry stomach. The musicians entertain with mostly standard lighthearted songs or simply offer quiet melodies to accompany the din of conversation. Pipe smoke fills the air with a blue gray cloud.
Aterro and Ingryd, having found a table, ordered and received their much desired thirst quenchers, are able to sit back and simply absorb the surrounding atmosphere at their ease.
You'd judge that while things haven't reached a powder keg like state, someone is certainly filling a barrel with powder and laying a fuse.
Scram was dejected it was his to suffer alone the old man's whinings "...yeah, stinky little time-saver isn't it...yeah, its nasty...yeah, cat had leukemia..." his best attempt to console the priest. The thief looked odd out on the stairs, lugging the magic Sack of Salvation up to Invictusol's mom's house.
"Oh, Father Tavis. So good to see you." Luthael replies to his old mentor. He motions for the father to walk and talk away from the others. He speaks low, so he doesn't get too close to infect the devout Khorite. "We're all infected with demonic parasites. Sunlight and Khors' holy light can keep the disease at bay but cannot cure it. I've lost track of how many days I've been keeping everyone alive."
"Along the way, Khors blessed me with another vision. I saw a small town. Nowhere familiar, it could be one of hundreds of small towns scattered across Midgard. I stood overlooking this place. My eyes focused on dozens of people strewn across a town square. Their flesh writhing as their agonized screams echoed across the wide plaza. Helpless priests try to comfort the sick, but there is little to be done. Smoke billowed from their mouths, black death oozed from their eyes and pours. One man's screams reach a terrible crescendo, and then he bursts in a spray of blackened gore. Within the grotesque cloud emerge hundreds of tiny demonspawn. Slithering winged worms little more than teeth, muscle and malevolence. They take flight, eager to feed upon the rest of the city. Another victim bursts. Another demonic cloud. Another. Another."
"Also to add to the fun and challenge, we're on a holy quest to destroy an evil artifact which whispers false hope in your ears, so be aware." The prophet sighs deeply from physical exhaustion.
"What do you think?"
Arianna helps as mush as she can with the others that they freed from the wagon. After everyone is settled and Scram brings Father Tavis, she finds Gunnar.
"Gunnar, care to help me with something," she asks the dwarf. "As useful as that carpet is, I refuse to sit upon it again until it is clean or I have exhausted every option I have."
"Of course, Arianna. I am of little use when it comes to the healing arts. How can I help?" says Gunnar, looking up from where he has been scribing scrolls using the supplies he bought in town. "Are you in need of a spell of flight?" he asks.
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Through a wild alchemy of surging libations and momentous luck, Aterro is unusually silent, allowing his ears to catch the words of the locals and put them in the right light.
Intrigued, he ceases his silence and lays in. "Invasion you say? War, you say? Say on, friend.
Aye, the ways of foreigners are always odd and different. Not the like the way of salt-the-earth folk, like us!" he yells, hoisting his mug and taking a pull in toast. "Now you, friends, my companion here, Ingryd the Mighty, is a warrior of great renown. If one of those khazzaki were here now she would rip his legs off and eat them. And she might even use both hands!" he says, laughing at his little joke.
"But say on, surely all this is hearsay, yes? Surely the dark tides of war have not touched this blessed town for the now?"
Arianna laughs when Gunnar mentions needing a spell of flight.
"As much as I would love to learn to cast something like that, I have a hopefully quicker solution in mind. Do you know that spell that lets you do all sorts of little tricks, including cleaning stuff? I want to see if the two of us can get that rug cleaned if we work together."
"Hmmmm...My spells tend more towards thunder and lightning than housekeeping. Still, I will take a look--I am done with this scroll in any case," he says, putting away his supplies. Beginning the Detect Magic ritual (and Identify if needed), Gunnar focuses his arcane skills on the daunting task of purifying the rug...
Ingryd Got a way to focus on what smelt like Honey Cakes. Ingryd loved Honey Cakes. She looked down and checked her purse and sighed.
"Huh? Did you need something?" Ingryd says looking back up and smiling.
"Sorry I was distracted by the Honey Cake Smell!" She then looks down at the others and says."You do have honey cakes Right?"
Arianna, with Gunnar's aid now secured, walks over to Scramsax.
"Scramsax? Do you mind if we borrow the flying rug for a little while," she asks.
"Is this thing still on?" he thinks into the theif's mind-link.
"The waitress at the Droopy Unicorn appears quite earnest, to match the crowd. If there was any local knowledge anyone requires, this is the place to find it out."
::Yeah gotta take care of some stuff, because of the murder and all. Be there in a jiffy.:: the superstitious rogue revealed.
Scramsax? Do you mind if we borrow the flying rug for a little while
Scram tossed the giant flying wet diaper to the bard "What? Why are you whispering? I mean sure."
"Because having a demon gnawing at your innards is exhausting," she mutters in reply after getting whacked in the face by the Nasty Rug.
While Tavis and Luthael prepare, she takes Gunnar to a corner of the barn where they can work in peace. A lantern is lit and Arianna rolls out the cat-contaminated carpet on the ground.
"Well, let's see what we can do," she says to Gunnar, letting him look over the coprolitic cursed carpet before attempting her first cleaning.
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Tavis listens quietly as Luthael describes his findings and the trials over the last few days. The look on the old priests face grows grimmer and darker his brows furrowed in concentration. Once the prophet is finished, Tavis places a bony hand on Luthael's shoulder.
"You've done a fine thing and served Khors well." He says, his usual cantankerous tone diminished by his obvious respect for the younger priest's efforts on behalf of the poor folk huddle within the barn. "I know you're tired and in need of a well earned rest lad, but it'll take the both of us and Khors good grace to deal with this demonic infestation without any further loss of life."
Summoning his own orb of bright light into the dark confines of the barn, the old priest begins removing several large jars and bottles from his pack. As he unpacks he begins directing Luthael and others in clearing and preparing the ritual space.
"Hrrrmmmm," He looks about the confines of the barn. "We'll not be able to deal with more than two folk at a time. Mean's were in for a long night. Best send a runner up to the house and see if they can send us down some food. Soup or stew and good plain bread and butter will do. Nothing fancy, we need to keep our strength up, not titillate our taste buds."
"Next, let's pile straw in these stalls here and lay out blankets. Everyone's going to be exhausted by the time this is over. Might as well make sure they don't wake up with sore backs and knotted necks." The thunking staff makes its way into a relatively large open area storing additional hay and feed. Thin arms direct traffic as he orders the area cleared and then scrubbed.
"Needs to be clean of as much grit and grime and filth as possible." He points to Arianna. "You there, leave your dwarf friend to suss out whatever dastardly demon inhabits that flying feline menace. I heard you say you can scrub an area clean with a bit of arcane effort. Well, this area needs to be clean like your life depended upon it." He gives the frail, sickly Arianna a quick look and nods to confirm whatever internal diagnosis developed in his elderly mind. "And in more than likely does."
With all hands working in preparation, Tavis himself finally sits down upon a mass of tightly bundled hay and begins to softly pray and meditate until the area is cleared and ready.
Meanwhile, having been directed to take the polluted carpet out into the open air and away from the proposed ritual site, Gunnar is able to quietly contemplate the origins of the feline befouled rug and what might be done to rid it of its kitty curse.
The worst point of course was when you zapped the thing with a fairly strong electrical charge. The resulted in a veritable storm of cat feces being flung in every direction as the carpet leaps and twists and shivers all about as the electricity races through its ever damp fibers. You are fairly certain you'll be picking poo bits from your beard for a week.
Yet, in the end, some value may have come out of the entire endeavor. Although given you befouled state, you hesitate to say it was actually worth it. Still, you've at least a few answers.
The first being that there is indeed a cat spirit linked and woven into the very fibers and fabrics of the rug. The best you can determine, is that whichever rather careless (or perhaps fiendishly vile) wizard created the carpet, they incorporated the soul and essence of a rather ill tempered and incontinent house cat into the rug itself. It is the ghost's power and essence that actually allows the carpet to fly. You might also hazard a guess that it is the aethereal spirit's anger and general orneriness that fuels its arcane energy.
What can be done? Exorcism? Banishment? Curse removal? All possibilities. You can't be sure if any would work or if they did, whether such actions would destroy the carpet in the process. Perhaps the cranky kitty spirit could be appeased or carpet trained in some way. Bbut you've little knowledge or incite for such things. You do know of one place that may be of some service or assistance. A place where the feline mysteries are known and even worshipped. Per-Bastet, City of Cats in far away Nuria Natal. There the creatures are treated with holy respect, dwelling in great temple dedicated to the feline goddess, Bastet, who oversees that vast city.
"Yes, Father Tavis," Arianna says before patting Gunnar on the shoulder as an apology before working to clean the stalls as best she can with her magic.
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Apparently not trusted enough to be tasked with anything in the barn, the rogue dumped his sac of salt and other religious crap out on the floor unceremoniously and was about to slip out into the night. Choosing an instant when no one was looking his way, Scramsax back-pedaled with hay-dampened footsteps towards the open barn door...but someone grabbed his hand. A little girl, dying on the edge of one of the triage cots, with a cold locking grip usually reserved for the dead anchoring Scram in place.
"Don't leave me...please...?" the black haired girl with dark black eyes pleaded sweetly. Or as sweetly as she could manage with a giant demon tick/leech/tentacle monster thing tunneling like a sapper inside the foundations of her young life.
Of course the thief's instinctual reflex was to search her for valuables. Pretending to be a barber-surgeon, his little fingers probed various organs starting with her abdomen. "Ah yes, looks like you're on the Road to Recovery already." he lied, disappointed to find that indeed the recently released prisoner had absolutely nothing but her life remaining.
At first it seemed like the girl saw through his ruse, but her face softened quickly, as if she wanted to believe the halfling's fib. "I'm...I'm gonna make it, ser...? *hack cough cough*"
Scram's normally iron barricade against emotion was starting to rust as the splatters of spittle wet his face "Uh...yeah I guess. I mean, yes." poking her in the tummy "Feel that? Thats your flexor carpi radialis...oh man that flexor...never felt one that strong before." the bullsh*tting untrained doctor pretended to diagnose. "And this?" squeezing her liver "Nice solid pancreas, making secretive juices as it should be. You like juice, kiddo?"
"Twinkleberry only." she confided.
"Twinkleberry!? What in the name of rat-hell is that?!" the honestly confused thief asked the child. The child who proceeded to painfully giggle, of course the existence of twinkleberries being a lie of her own invented as a playful trick. "Oh, haha, I get it...pulling one over on the ol' barber-surgeon eh? Ima gonna have to give you a haircut like those centaurs, big bushy stripe down the center and shaved bald on the sides!" Luckily Scram couldn't intimidate anyone, even a little girl...she only giggled more.
Until the giggling stopped, and the hand went cold.
Scram had to act fast. He thought to use the beer from the tavern he got just before visiting Tavis to sterilize his dagger, but then realized his Psychic Blades were rather self-cleaning. For some reason he thought of the copper blades he used to make as a kid, patiently grinding a stolen copper piece on cobblestone until one side was a razor edge. Such was the psychic instrument conjured forth that now cut into the girl's stomach...or tried to anyways. Scram had forgotten the blades' lack of actual existence, except in the mind of the target. There was no way to actually cut anything with one.
But indeed there was a brain nearby, and certainly not the girls. It didn't take long to find the demon's mind, a writhing tentacle or tick-leg of the bloated parasite wrapped tightly around some unknown organ. With a deft strike, the soulknife's stolen powerwell of dryad energies sucked every last cognitive memory and psychic impression from the thing's mental grasp. If it wasn't killed outright, clearly the pain was enough for the thing to release the girl's organ. Scram had done it. She was stabilized.
The girl would wake to see the barber-surgeon sneaking out the barn, whispering a promise to find her a big glass of twinkleberry juice.
~~~
Without crampons, the curious spy expertly climbed the big ancient oak tree that shaded the elf-marked's property for generations. From that concealed perch he overlooked the distant settlement of Lingenau, getting a quick overview of its main roads and postulating short-cuts and escape routes. He wracked his brain trying to think of any intrigue or rumors related to this vassal of the Grand Duchy, but gave up after remembering Aterro's social networking advice.
Still, the night was cool and he wasn't in a hurry...and although he would never admit it was still shaken up about that little girl. She probably wouldn't make it in the end...there was a whole nation devoted to ensuring that was the case.
He wanted to talk to someone, well not just anyone but someone he loved. Loved as much as himself, that is. Letting his fingers soak into the gaps of the oak bark "Illarya...is this thing on?" waiting stupidly for a minute or so before wondering why he was so dumb. Even still, he waited a minute longer. "Trade-ja back yer sapphire to hear you again..." Leaves rustled. A red throated-thrush warbled. Nothing.
Scramsax was a disgusting scoundrel, no doubt about it. But even those with solid ice for hearts had moments when a certain breed of accounting came down to the bottom line. Was the rogue able to walk the tightwire between infinitely greedy self-serving and public mockery? Had he concealed his interests enough, even from the gods, to be beyond reproach? The temple murder certainly tipped the scales, and he wasn't sure how to right it. At least, to right it in a way that was profitable.
Taking out a little brass candleholder no bigger than a thimble, the halfling prayed. Prayed uselessly to his imprisoned goddess, Mnemnosyne. The universe that was taken. Lost beyond the edge of the world, perhaps confined in the only place that made any sense...that place outside the universe. Ginnungagap.
Gazing in the shadowy cup of the candleholder, he saw stars, and felt his mind pulled beyond them.
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There will be little sleep tonight, it would seem. Gunnar spreads out the carpet and looks at it with more mundane eyes. Though he has little skill with animals, he could tell the spirit could not be happy in its current state—and realizing the carpet houses a sentient cat spirit gave him a new understanding…and empathy.
Claiming a sturdy horse brush from a nearby stall, Gunnar starts gently brushing one corner of the rug. Not rushing, not pressing hard, but gently. Coming to a small tear, Gunnar uses his Skill of the Master Craftsman (Mending) on it. He then continues to proceed along slowly, as much trying to soothe the cat spirit as to clean the rug.
"You do have honey cakes Right?"
The waitress gives the big bearkin a smile. "Oh yes we do miss. Every mornin', our cook bakes up a new batch for the folk going on the early shifts. Sadly, they usually sell out by midday."
"But say on, surely all this is hearsay, yes? Surely the dark tides of war have not touched this blessed town for the now?"
A trio of men at the table across from the knight and bearkin turn to Aterro. Dressed in standard sweaters and thick work trousers, they're scarred hands and heat reddened faces easily label them as laborers at the smithy and ironworks.
"Aye, I've no doubt your big friend there could break one of them plains riders in two easy enough." He says with a pause to sip from his mug. "Problem is the other couple of thousand of the bastards that'll be riding with him if they do come."
The other two nod along to the man's words. His companion, wearing a dark blue knit hat lights up his pipe. A harsh, tangy smelling tobacco that leaves your noses tingling and ready to sneeze at any moment.
"True enough, the khazzaki never ride alone, but I'd rather fight them than the undying vermin from Morgau." A few puffs on the pipe add to the storm clouds of smoke already filling much of the common room's upper reaches. His companions mutter darkly at the mention of the Blood Kingdoms and their undead rulers. "Filthy ghouls and vampires and all their rot and disease. Why the gods allow such vermin to exist I'll never know."
He points his pipe at his two companions and then across toward Aterro and Ingryd. "Mark my words, that's where the real threat lies. The riders have plenty of easy targets further south. They're not likely to bother with us. No, it's that blood sucking Duke and the Ghoul Emperor that are looking our way."
The third man, his sweater a patchwork of colorful patches nods his head. "I'd not bet against you on that, Gil." He says. "Why, I heard they found another one of the undead creepers in the cellars 'neath the old Potter's Hall. Found it along with enough chemicals to rig the whole city to burn."
"I heard it was a dozen of the buggers and they were sacrificing travelers to one of their dark gods." Replies the first man.
"Likely both and a lot more they ain't told us yet." Grumbles the one called Gil.
The first man turns back to Aterro. "So we ain't in open war with the devils yet, but they're knocking on our door. But we won't be so easily undone by treachery as the poor folk of Krakova." His companions voice agreement. "The council is cracking down and putting a bit of order to things. Meantime, the Red Queen'll see us safe." He raises his mug offering a quick toast to the queen of Courlandia before taking another long draw from his mug.
"That is sad, do you have any Honey Ham? Mead? Bacon and Cheese? Fighting usually makes me hungry and thirsty"{/b] Ingryd asks wondering what foods they have.
She looks at the men Aterro is addressing and smiles.[b]"The Riders are easy. Set up half walls, trip line traps, log spike walls, and a good mix of pike and bowmen." The warrior says having seen a few examples in her journeys and from swapping tales. She wasn't one for leading armies or whatnot, she was just the arbiter of Divine Judgement on the wicked dark fey, and undead in the world. She was also the warrior of those who cannot defend themselves from such perils.
" As for these undead inside your city, who has been dealing with them? Otherwise don't jump at ghosts, I have been down that route" Ingryd warns as she towers over the others in her holey and ragged clothes covered in blood stains and sweat.
" Though also be vigilant, and work with your guardsmen? Or whoever you have been dealing with it up so far." Ingryd says smiles, showing her bear-like teeth
Luthael nods smiling weakly at Father Tavis and follows his lead preparing the space. When the work appeared under control, the prophet took his leave and trudged to house to negotiate meals himself.
He wanted to see his parents but didn't want to endanger them with this demonic disease. Feeling like a little boy again, he grew anxious arriving to the door.
The steward once again greets Luthael, he face only briefly showing his mild surprise at the young Invictusol's appearance at the house after the earlier concern regarding contagious diseases.
"Ah. Young Master Luthael. What may I do for you?" He says hurriedly. "I trust the barn is suitable for your needs."
Meanwhile in the barn. The cleansing of the area is finally complete to the elder priest's satisfaction. He sets up a quartet of small round stands topped with golden sun symbols, candle holders and a small bowl. He looks around for Luthael.
"Now where did that boy get off to?" He says in obvious irritation. "Well never mind, you there!" He calls to Arianna. "Help me set these up at the proper compass points." He asks the elf woman pointing out the locations for north, south, east and west. With the stands in place he places and lights a thick white beeswax candle in each one. The light of the candles reflects off the golden sun discs brightening the room substantially. In each of the four bowls he adds an ounce or two of holy water along with a pinch of herbs from a thick pouch. The pungent aroma of sage, cedar, and rosemary soon fills the space along with other more exotic, unknown scents.
Finally, the priest grabs a large jug of silvered salt from among the paraphernalia he brought. Carefully and slowly, he uses the fine sparkling powder to draw a pair of large circles within the center of the cleaned space, leaving a six inch opening at the top of each circle.
Nodding with satisfaction, he points to Anette and Arianna who have both been most helpful in getting things prepared. He gives them both a kind but firm look, his eyes clear as day, his face serious, his hands gentle as he reaches them out to take each of the woman by the arm.
"You're both strong and bright young ladies." He says. "I'll not feed you a bunch of honeyed words about this all being easy and nothing by a simple walk across the village green. Those critters crawling around inside you will put up a fight. It'll hurt." He offers a reassuring squeeze of his weathered hand. "But Khors is strong and you are strong and together we will clear that hellspawn from your fine selves and you'll be strong and well as ever with a bit of sleep. The only thing you must not do, is break the circle." He points to the sparkling line of salt blended with silver dust.
He guides the two toward the larger of the two circles. Both Anette and Arianna gasp as the demonic creatures inside object to coming closer to the circles of power.
"Now those things'll put up a fuss because they know what's happening." Father Tavis says. "Put your faith in Khors and step into the circle."
Anette nods and steps forward, only to suddenly doubles over in pain, gasping and clawing at her stomach. Arianna struggles as the demon within her suddenly and forcefully rebels from any further movement toward the circle.
"Easy...easy lass. Fight it!" Tavis looks about and waves to Gunnar who was not far away mending and brushing the rug. "I don't know where that boy got off to, but if you could lend a hand master dwarf, Khors would surely smile upon your soul. Quickly now, else we'll have real trouble on our hands!"
“I am no healer, but I will do my best,” says Gunnar. Turning his magic detection towards the parasites, he extends his arcane senses to look for any threads of magic that the demon parasites might be using to resist the purification ritual. Casting Dispel Magic and trying to loosen these threads, his own Arcane Ward springs into existence. Gunnar stands ready to extend that protection to his allies should the parasites attempt to damage them further.
"Oh we've got ham, it's not honeyed I'm afraid, but we do have a local mead. I'll bring you a bottle." The waitress replies to Ingryd's query with a smile before hurrying off and soon returning with a plate of sliced ham, bread, butter, and a bottle of Buzzard's Golden Meade a grim looking bee stamped into the side of the big clay bottle.
The three men nod at Ingryd's advice about horsemen, but Gil gives as dismissive snort when the bearkin mentions pikemen and masses of archers. "Aye, that's all well enough if you've the men and resources. But most folk here can barely swing a pitchfork never mind a long spear or halberd. Besides with them khazzaki, it isn't so much the big heavy cavalry charge you've got to worry about. It's their blasted bows."
The other two nod their heads in agreement. "Why my pa used to say any khazzak raider can shoot a fly from a sow's backside at a full gallop." Patchwork sweater says.
"But digging a few more ditches and putting up a few more barriers outside the walls isn't such a bad idea." Says the first man. "Mayhap I'll talk to by brother in law about it."
"Bah! That laze about." Laughs Gil. "Why he's the worst guardsman in the town. Excelling at nothing but slacking and eating pastries. I swear what did Angela ever see in him."
The other man laughs, apparently agreeing that his sister has poor taste. "I'll never know. Still, it might be worth a word to him."
"As for the undead, well, that's all in the hands of Sherrif Halvard and his lot." Patchwork again. "He's a descent man, smart. But these lurkers are clever and he's not many men because before all this started, Lingenau was a peaceful enough place. Never much trouble except the occasional rowdy merchants bunch or adventurers passing through. "
Ingryd accepted the bottle and nodded as she listened."If you know how to use a pitchfork you can use a spear, or a bill, I have seen old codgers talk about having to fight in their lords' battles, talked about taking a good tool and making it into a weapon. Especially on the border with those corpse-loving Undead!" She took a long draught of the mead and let it wash over her palet.
" Maybe this Angela, loves him because he loves her food and has steady coin. I know I loved my Bori for his Hives and a steady supply of honey. Made my job as a Brewer of Mead far more lucrative, He wasn't bad on the eys either" came a sincere yet somber memory. A happy one as she relaxed happy to just relax now that those they saved were getting the help they needed.
Arianna does as the priest asks, right until she is about to step into the circle. Every part of her aches and white-hot pain flares in her belly.
No! Nonononono! Please, Elalune! Khors! Anyone! I-- I don't want to die! Not like this. Not here.
The young elf bits back a scream before trying again.
"Father Tavis has arrived. We will perform rituals throughout the night. Please send provisions regularly down to improve our strength. Exercise caution with getting too close to us. Clear? Thank you." Luthael ensures he is understood and returns to the barn.
At the barn, he is surprised Father Tavis started without him. The prophet folds into the ritual adding his voice to the prayers to Khors.
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nah.
Normally a rousing discussion about war and tactics would rouse the paladin to a tirade on defensible positions and troop morale. But. But with the good honest fare of the tavern making pleasent sounds in his belly, and with a goodly amount of the house booze joining it, the action and lack of rest over the past time finally caught up with him.
Yes yes, these town folk are at a hard line. Yes yes, they must needs stand strong blah blah blah. Perhaps he would volunteer himself to see to the defneses, but he would put good gold that with a fresh mind other journeys of greater import would make themselves known. These people could tend their own fires.
At length he finds himself drowsing, and leans comfortably onto Ingryd's soft warm side.
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As Scramsax' Mnemnosyne bauble guided him towards the escape hatch out of this reality, a memory rode with him. The vortex within Radovan's mind, that true oblivion of dark timelessness that nearly swallowed everyone during the Ritual. Back then, Scram had used what Coin had taught him to understand the extent of the vortex's reality...when everything was gone, when you left the universe behind and stepped into the astral void, only one thing remained: your identity.
The soulknife had found an inner strength back in that moment that allowed him to (rather than be pulled into it and obliterated) pluck the black hole out of the static like a ripe strawberry, storing it in his mental vest pocket. This note or psychic echo reverberated as the traveler again reached the edge of the universe, that great chasm leading beyond the stars...beyond the influence of the World Tree.
The massive weight of the black hole propelled him through space at an impossible speed, seeking out an equally massive system somewhere out in Gunningagap like drops of mercury coalescing. Soon he again found himself in a celestial graveyard, and dangling precariously on the edge of an psycho-ionic storm was the strange crystal shard labelled 'Book Rentfree'.
Last time they were here, Coin had explained that whenever a psionic traveler interacted with thought objects here, a reflection of the person was inscribed upon it. Just as a physical body can only interact with objects by trading a touch, identity could only interact with objects by trading a memory. Curiously, Scram had selected Rook Bentknee's name to trade...but the letters were scrambled, perhaps some wordplay joke of the halfling's subconsciousness.
But that also meant Coin, in some way, shape, or form, was also part of the shard. Coin had interacted with it just as much after all, explaining it to be one of the last fragments of an ancient planet destroyed by modrons and demons.
So, in some psionic experiment, Scram wondered what would happen if Radovan's Oblivion interacted with the planetary shard touched by Coin and Scram as well. The research question was in other words: what memories did the identity of void have to trade?
Bringing the black strawberry closer to the shard a vigorous but short lived reaction began. Pink swirls of smoke like the acrid vapors of burning metal shot randomly across space. The vortex, so used to taking, at first seemingly had nothing to give. If utter annihilation had anything to give, it would cease to be annihilation. And that's exactly what happened. It became creation...but not quite the usual creation.
Unknowingly, Scram had unlocked the psionic discipline of Metacreativity...he had generated his first astral construct. A merging of the lost Coin, himself, and whatever strange events befell that dead planet. His astral identity was permanently altered, shifting to include this new lobe of thought.
~~~
Scramsax awoke with a massive headache up in the branches of Invictusol's mom's tree. The splitting pain was numbed to some extent by an urgent sense of action. The Courlandian scribe had explained Familiar magics, how the companion was pulled from the caster's inner self. How the arcane bond was so strong it was almost like sharing a common existence. Scram already knew the form it would take, he had just formed it with Metacreation...and maybe the creature could fill the hole Illarya had left.
Scram pointed his ring at the branch in front of him, and released Find Familiar. A gallnut swelled from the oak, full of hot sap and tannic resins. But when the barky exterior of the swollen growth finally fractured, a creature oozed forth.
It was a tiny crayfish whose chitinous exoskeleton sported every color of the rainbow and more, along with a curious brass colored mark in the shape of a candle holder.
Despite its form, Scramsax recognized it instantly. It was Coin.
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Tavis shakes his head at the wizard as Gunnar does his best to try and severe any arcane hold the parasites may have on their victims. "I'm afraid your magics will have little effect on those things my son." He says to Gunnar. "Only the focused power of a god will render them dead and put them back in the pits of hell where they belong. Khors is willing, we just need to get them inside the circle." He adds signalling the dwarf with look to grab Anette's other shoulder.
Nearby Arianna keels over in pain, but under the still glowing light provided by Father Tavis, is just barely able to find the strength and will to drive the creature back into momentary submission. When Tavis waves her forward the elf woman manages to stagger fitfully through the opening and inside the circle of silvered salt.
Once the two victims are inside the circle, Anette laying curled in a fetal ball, Arianna sitting nervously by her side, the priest of Khors closes the circle.
"Nobody disturb this circle." The old man says. "Else we'll have real trouble on our hands." Satisfied the gap is closed and the circle complete, he moves around and steps inside the second circle, connected to the first. He closes that gap with the powder and begins taps his staff upon the thick wooden boards of the floor.
*rap*rap*rap*
A few seconds later Luthael slips back inside the barn. Tavis not wasting a moment, points the younger priest to a place outside the top edge of the larger circle.
"Lord of Light and Hope, bless us with your holy aide." He begins to pray. Calling upon Khors, each word gathering a thread of the god's power into himself before channeling it first into the circle surrounding Anette and Arianna and then into the one surrounding himself. Luthael knowing the prayer, adds his voice and his own connection to the god into the mix.
Slowly the two circles begin to glitter and sparkle with a light of their own. A platinum incandescence brighter than either candle or glowing priestly summoned orb. The powder slowly lifts itself from the ground, forming a dome of brilliant light around the two women in the center.
Each cry out in pain as the creatures within lash and struggle against the very antithesis of their being. Tavis ignores the pitiful cries and continues his prayers.
"Mighty Khors, we call upon you to drive the foul evil denizens of your greatest enemies from the poor souls held within your glorious hand." The radiant light begins to fill the dome, like water surging into a tub. Arianna and Anette find themselves lifted off the ground, swimming in a bath of light. Light that pours into and through each of them. Entering through mouth, nose, and every pore in their bodies. The very light of the sun engulfs them inside and out.
The demons within try one last desperate attempt to escape. Arianna clutches her stomach and retches. Her entire body convulsing as muscles are involuntarily triggered by the parasite. She feels the thing crawling up her throat and slithering through and out of her mouth. It's high pitched death squeals briefly drowning out Tavis' steady voice.
One, two, three of the things emerge from Arianna's raw and ragged throat. A similar number slither free from Anette. Each is approximately a foot or so long. Reptilian wings briefly stretch outward from the undulating wormlike bodies. A quartet of tiny black eyes, already melting in the bright light, sit above a ringed leech-like mouth filled with hundreds of tiny teeth. Writhing and squirming in the dome of light, the demonic creatures seek escape, but find none.
"Let your grace and light destroy the hellspawn. Cleanse these souls of your flock, so they may once again walk the world and live under the guiding grace of the glorious sun."
The light flares and in an instant, the hellspawned parasites turn to a wispy black ash that quickly condenses and coalesces into a half dozen hard, void black marbles. They each drop to the boards with a *clack* even as Arianna and Anette both suddenly relax and healing warmth engulfs and flows through every muscle, pore, and fiber of their bodies.
Father Tavis closes out the ritual and slowly the light fades from the dome lowering the two woman slowly, gently back to the floor.
Scramsax and Coin heard the commotion and decided they had successfully avoided the heavy lifting going on in the barn. Hard work was for suckers, after all. Descending the oak tree rapidly with a series of tactical falls, the rogue snuck back into the barn and pretended to have been there the entire time.
Popping up from behind another victim "...aha, yes. Cleansed anew, just as the prophet foresaw..." the little rolly beads of the former demon-leeches catching his eye. ::Hmm, now what do we suppose those are..?:: he inquired of his astral companion.
The rainbow crayfish erected a single eyestalk out of Scram's vest pocket, swaying this way and that ::Polished onyx? Demonic gastroliths?" it pinches its pincer in their general direction.
"Say Tavis, what do you suppose those little droppings are?"
Luthael immediately helps the two ladies to their feet, "please let me help you up. How are you feeling? The sunlight of Khors is cleansing but can be painful, too."
"You can rest over here and meet the provisions that will be arriving soon to reinforce our strength and spirits. Father Tavis and I have the rest of the refugees to cleanse."
He meanders over to Father Tavis. "I knew you would know what to do. There is so much of the rituals of Khors that I have yet to learn. We've some victuals are there way, if you need anything before we start the next ritual."
With Luthael back, Gunnar focuses on logistics—taking care of the infected and keeping them separate from the cured, making the cured comfortable and fed as they recover, and being ready to extend his Arcane Ward to protect anyone in immediate danger of taking damage from the parasites.
Anette leans heavily on Luthael's offered shoulder. Her eyes are a little dazed and her voice weak and quiet, but for the first time since the prophet met the woman she appears to be relaxed and at peace. The tension and pain lines that constantly marred her face are gone and she's even able to offer a slim smile.
"Feel?" She whispers still a bit breathless. "Like a dragon has mauled me, yet, it is so wonderful because the pains inside are gone. The horrible sensations of something crawling...eating...draining...me from inside are gone."
She reaches up weakly to hold her hand against Luthael's cheek, pulling him close enough to complete the gesture with a kiss on his other cheek. "Thank you." She adds putting her head back against his shoulder as he guides her over to the area prepared by Gunnar for folk to rest and recover.
Meanwhile, Father Tavis goes about renewing the circles. Picking up the marble sized orbs he tosses one to the inquiring halfling. "Those my friend, are the final remains of those hellspawned, demonic creatures. Condensed, compressed, and purified into potent little stones capable of rendering harm to any other hell born creature along with their undying cousins."
After a brief rest for a bit of the recently arrived food and water, the old priest begins the next round of healing and purification. The cycle continues throughout the night until finally all the former prisoners are deemed free of the demons and a pouch of twenty demonic soulstones are gathered into a small pouch.
The effort leaves both Tavis and Luthael once again exhausted, but within the safe confines of the barn, the warmth of the stove, and plenty of food, wine and ale, rest comes easily and quickly to all involved once the hard tasks are completed.
The events of the past few days having caught up with Aterro, the knight falls asleep in the warm and inviting confines and comfortable atmosphere of the local pub. Ingryd's thoughts on the effectiveness of pitchfork and other typical farm weaponry garner several thoughtful nods as the men contemplate their own handiness with heavy hammers and other mighty instruments of their metal working trade that could kill as easily as they craft.
As for the sisterly Angela's taste in husbands, her brother simply shrugs his shoulders. "You may have a point friend." He says to Ingryd. "She's always been a bit fae my sister. So who's to say why or who might win her heart. I suppose as long as she's happy." He smiles and downs the last of his ale in a lifted toast to his sister.
"Well, best I be off, else my own missus will have much to complain about. A pleasure chatting..." He glances at the snoozing Aterro. "The Unicorn's got a couple of rooms that Master Mortly rents out." A tip of his head toward the back stairs. "I've used them once or twice when things were a bit treacherous at home. Clean and comfortable if not trimmed with lace and gold."
Arianna stands on her own, the feeling of being devoured from the inside replaced by a dull ache all over. She grins when she sees Annette give Luthael a kiss.
After they have found a place to sit and have some food and mulled wine to warm their bellies and hands, Arianna teasingly nudges the young woman with her elbow.
"Should I be calling you Lady Annette," she asks, a mischievous grin on her face.
Arianna slipped into a deep dreamless sleep after eating and drinking her fill. Though not as exhausted as Luthael or the other prisoners, she had little strength left to fight off sleep as it beckoned to her. The fire in the stove is burning low when she wakes, and after a few minutes, she has it merrily crackling again to keep the barn warm.
She walks outside and holds the holy symbol she was given by Elalune. She has met a goddess, but how does one talk to their goddess when not walking by her side? Prayer? She has tried several times, but has heard nothing. Worship? She doesn't even know where to begin.
She feels alone. She had called out, begging for help, but Elalune didn't hear her, didn't answer her. She had thought they were friends, but had Elalune forgotten her? Time flowed so strangely in the Fey Realms. A day on Midgard could be a minute on the Fey Road, or a century. You could spend a night wandering the Moonwood, her clan's ancestral lands that they endlessly traveled on the infinite paths twisting through it, and find decades have passed. Could it be that enough time has passed that Elalune, even with her divine memory, has forgotten her?
The uneasy thoughts keep gnawing at her as the worms had. As the sun begins to rise, she stands and goes to find Father Tavis and Luthael. Perhaps they could answer her questions and help put her mind at rest if not help her hear the voice of her goddess.
Gunnar stands and bows deeply to Father Tavis once all the infected have been cured. He says tiredly, "Thank you, servant of Khors, you have done a great work this night."
Thinking a moment, he asks, "What is to be done with those who have been saved? And can Luthael learn how to do this cleansing ritual in case we run into more infected? Once we have recovered, we will likely try to track this evil down to its source before it can spread and infest more innocents, but we will need the proper tools."
Luthael responds with grace to Anette ensuring her and all the others are comforted. He nods at Gunnar's comments. "I had the same thoughts, Gunnar."
"Father Tavis, does everyone temple have someone like yourself who knows this ritual? If not, how do we ensure every temple does? Because, these demonic parasites could spread across Midgard without it."
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In the morning, Luthael heads to his parents home again. Finally, to see his parents and thank them for their generosity. He wonders if they have any room on the manor for the former prisoners to work until they are ready to move on.
Arianna finds Luthael as he is coming back from his parents' house. She's changed into her normal clothes, something more fitting a traveler than the cheaply made t-shirt and sweatpants she'd purchased from the lemonade stand. Much of her outfit shares the same styling as her pack and belt.
"Oh! Morning," she says, her voice bright and unburdened by the pain she had felt for the past couple of days. "Did you sleep well?"
Ingryd nodded and smiled as she took in the drinks and whatever food is offered. She will then shakes Aterro as the locals began to leave.
"Aterro wakes up my friend we need to figure out the lodging" The barbarian says as she takes another drink and then belches.
"Hell born, you say?" Scram's thoughts drifted to the leather sling he had disguised as a cool bracelet on his wrist, one that didn't see much use in the days of the stolen sapphire. He tucked the single sample Tavis had given him up under this old strap, and kept a careful eye on where the rest of the stash ended up...
The talk about demons and other mumbojumbo unsettled the halfling, who realized he had stolen one of the worshippers treasures. The thief now wondered what foul curse it carried. "Say Tavis, what do you think about this?" holding out the gnome's spell focus from the battle with the caravan.
Luthael broadly smiles when Arianna approaches. "Slept? Yes, very well. And you? How does it feel to be rid of those demons?" He questions are genuine and authentic revealing the prophets true nature.
Wonder what she wants to do? She was eager to join the gnome hunt. Maybe she wants to join the mission from Khors? Maybe she just wants some extended hospitality from my parents for stability and stop running away from something?
"Great! I haven't felt this good in a while," Arianna answers as she stretches her arms and back. She looks towards the north for a moment before looking back at Luthael, her expression pensive.
"You have a connection to your god, Khors, right? You talk to him and you can hear him talk back. Is that something you can teach me how to do," she asks.