"You're awake." Dramm is sitting nearby, keeping an eye on Anophth. "You... you snapped after the fight. It all must have been too much. Something took over." Dramm can see the emotions already building in his friend at the news.
"Don't worry. You saved Uruuna, and you didn't hurt anyone. We made sure of it. You banged your head when... well when Tabog took out your knees with an arrow shaft. I'm... glad you're okay, Anophth."
"Hey Joy! If you have some more berries, why don't you give some to Delia here. Thanks sweetie, you're doing a way better job then I could have ever imagined. I know I've been distracted but I'm glad you're with us. I'm sure Nutmeg is missing you but he'll be glad you kept his pop in good health!"
With a bit of pride and a bit of sorrow, Tabog tries to sound nonchalant as he speaks to his small friend. He mends his arrows as he does so, a useful distraction from the concern he felt for his Goblin companion.
"It was a damn good shot too! It's too bad you don't remember, well, maybe for the best. It looked like it hurt; speaking of, are you able to walk alright?"
Imedren focuses, recovering his magic and strength some. He looked around at everyone.
"We did it. We all survived exploring a place like that. I have to say those Elven ruins may have provided quite a bit more experience than anything else we've faced.
Delia, thank you for helping us go through them. I'm sorry we didn't find your last companion. Hopefully they made it to Hamlet."
He then turned to the Goblin.
"It's like Dramm said. No one died... but Anophth, we need to do something about your magic." he had an edge to his voice that wasn't there before but Imedren dropped it.
"But we can have that conversation another time. Let's get a bit of rest and then head back to Hamlet. I'm not sure I like staying out here."
Before you leave, Delia suggests sealing the shrine once more to ensure no other creatures can escape and threaten anybody. Once that's done, you journey through the Sentinel Wood back towards Hamlet.
Along the way, you come across the old trail of the bloody bones that escaped Farmer Ham's farm. Following it leads you to a small cave, empty save for a man's skinned body. A few remnants of gear allows Delia to identify him as the last of her former companions, Gerald. The bloody bones itself is seemingly long gone.
You reach Hamlet and the return to Crossings after a few more days. You report to Ezekia everything that happened, from Ham's madness to the discovery of the chaos shards. The young witch listens to it all stoically, finally nodding. "I am glad that the dangers of the shrine have been eradicated. I'd ask that you leave the final chaos shard with me for further study. Perhaps it can grant us some insights on how to defend against chaos magic in the future.
"You've earned some rest, friends. We will speak again soon."
Earlier....
You shot me?!? What the hell, man?! Anophth cries out in disbelief. You could have taken out my eye! I've only got one! And don't give me no crap about you "aiming" for my knees; I've seen you shoot. You just got lucky it didn't do more than it did. Ah! The audacity!
Anophth gets home to walk away, a slight limp in his step. Ya know what? Nevermind. Just.. nevermind.
Two nights later....
Anophth takes the last drink of tea as the full moon rises.
The curse is lifted. As the moonlight shines upon him, he no longer changes form.
It... It worked. It worked! IT WORKED!! He hugs Dramm, Imedren, Uruuna, and then everyone else.
That's one curse down. Now to do something about this demon.
"Sure thing, Tabog!", Joy says with a bit more cheer, now that Anophth has calmed down. She approaches Delia, berries still in hand, trying not to think of the sound that the arrow made when it struck poor Apophth in the knee.
**********
Joy is smiling as the group seals the ruins up again.
"Does anyone have any paint or charcoal? We should write a warning, one that anyone can understand. Even saying that bloody bones lurked here might help someone."
**********
Joy is delighted to see that Anophth seems happier, a lot more like his old self.
"You're getting better, Anophth, and I'm really happy to see it. I'll help Nutmeg and Uruuna with the shop. We'll be there for you as long as you need us."
I hope we can keep that promise!
***********
Joy keeps busy. Very busy. She works in the gardens, Anophth's shop, and with Ezekia, learning as much as she can.
Dramm is increasingly edgy as the night goes on. He paces in front of the shrine entrance, wringing his hands. Finally, it becomes too much and he swallows his pride.
"Have... have you seen my stone, Anophth? I'm sorry I threw it at you. I wasn't thinking clearly. But I... I need it. Badly. I have to have it back, and I can't find it in the shrine."
*******
Dramm is delighted as Anophth's skin touches the moonlight. In a rare showing of positivity, he hugs the Goblin excitedly, lifting him off the ground in triumph before setting him down again!
"You did it, Anophth! The greatest Goblin overcomes the greatest challenges! You'll show the world yet!"
*******
Dramm smiles as they enter Ezekia's hut again. After greetings and the story of their adventure are finished, he breathes a sigh of relief.
"That place threatened to consume us. It wasn't certain that we would come back. It is good to be here again." He seems to take comfort from the more familiar environs. After everyone has had a chance to talk, Dramm motions to Ezekia.
"Were you able to acquire the hammer?" His voice has a bit of nervousness.
"I am glad you made it back in one piece," Ezekia says with a warm smile. The smile fades as she produces the hammer Dramm had requested. "Here it is. Are you easy to tell me what you need it for?"
I'm sorry, Dramm. I do not have it, nor do I know where it went, Anophth says, with genuine sadness in his voice.
"I need it before we seal the shrine." Dramm says to the group. His voice is strained and worried. "I can't leave without it. If no one picked it up, it has to still be in the room."
*****
Dramm takes the hammer and tests its heft in his hands. He won't look Ezekia in the eyes.
"I... I will use it in a ritual. It will help unlock more power. Is it iron, or cold iron?" He also turns to address the group. "I need your help. At least four of you for the ritual to work. It is dangerous, to me and to anyone who helps weave the magic. If... if it fails I need someone there to end me if I'm not myself anymore. I won't force anyone. Only if you'll volunteer."
During downtime....
I.. I need a break. I need some time to myself, Anophth explains. I have purchased a train ticket. I'll return.
Anophth boards the train and it sets off. He's not sure where he's going, he just needs to leave.
He heads towards the south, towards the lands of the old Empire. As he travels, his spirit lifts. Like the tormoil of his past stays behind. He speaks with other passengers, and decides on a destination. When the train reaches the Freeholds of Nar, he sets out and walks the rest of the way towards that old ancient city with giant statues. He heard tales of entire cities built upon the statues themselves, as they reach out towards the coast. In actuality, the statues are the center of a fortress, from which a city is built around it. But Anophth doesn't know that quite yet.
He is seeking one statue in particular - One-Eye. His own singular eye was a conversation starter for many, and this statue had been brought up many times. Anophth decided he wanted to see it for himself. When he discovered that it didn't actually have one eye, but instead two with one nothing but a scar, he was a little disappointed. But he still climbed up it and walked on the outstretched arm stretching over the ocean waters.
He got back on the train and continued south. Past Old Edene and along the coastline of the Auroral Ocean. He visited Kem, the City of Gold - where all of the economy finds its start. He saw Dis, the City of Chains. He walked along the slave blocks and witness men bought and sold. He traveled the streets of Azúl, the City of Death, where then people are in fear of their lives every day from murderers and assassins.
Through it all, he talked. He talked to everyone he could. He listened to stories and histories and tales and whatever anyone would tell him.
And through it all, he put together bits and pieces and designed his own mastery of himself.
Because through it all, one thing remained constant: he was in control.
"It is cold iron, yes," Ezekia confirms, searching Dramm's face with concern. "Of course, I will help you with any ritual you plan on attempting. I'm not about to let anything happen to my only apprentice."
The witch turns her gaze to the rest of you to see if anybody else will volunteer.
Joy steps forward, nervousness etched on her face.
Iron...*cold* iron!?
"Dramm...I will help. Whatever it takes. What do you need me to do?"
Joy's eyes keep wandering to the hammer, as if fixated by it. And with a definite hint of fear.
"Thank you, Ezekia. I owe you a lot already."
Dramm looks as though he's about to object to Joy's brave declaration, but stops himself. He meets Joy's brave face with a nod.
"Alright. You've proven you're as capable as anyone here, Joy. You've earned the right to choose." He pauses for a second before adding, "Thank you, Joy."
Dramm produces a small piece of paper. It is covered in diagrams, notes, and symbols. Dominating the center is a circular design of runic markings. The casters of the room recognize it as a kind of containment circle with protection and alteration sigils placed at the cardinal directions.
"I... I plan on shattering the stone. Completely. It is one of the last things I have of Ezra, and I am certain it is filled with very powerful magic. I need that magic." He points to the cardinal points on the Circle, "I need your help containing the energies released. The process will be excruciating, and my own focus cannot be split between absorbing the magic and keeping it contained. Four people need to drive iron nails into the ground and keep the cadence to prevent the magic from going wild. I have the incantations, and it will take me two days to prepare the necessary materials and... alterations. I need two more people."
Those with a sharp eye notice Dramm give Anophth a quick, silencing look as if to keep quiet.
Anophth stares at Dramm with a hard look.
No. he says, flatly. You will not prevent me from helping you. I will be there, side by side, for every moment of it. I don't care if it breaks every bone in my body. You will let me help.
Dramm gives a defeated but grateful smile. "No choice then."
Dramm spends the next two days preparing. He explains the incantation that must be held, and drills the cadence with the group. ( "Longer, with more emphasis on 'Ios-vi'. Forceful here, or the magic will rebuke you." ) In his off time, he visits stalls and picks up orders left with strange vendors in dark shops.
Invited to his small home, an apartment not far from the inn at which he used to work, the group finds it to be very sparse. A simple bed, a small shelf with books he has borrowed from Ezekia and others on magical theory. In a corner leans the green blade from the Moore house. It rests on a small foot locker that Dramm rummages through for materials. A single desk and stool have been pushed against the wall to clear space.
Scrawled on the open floor is a large circle with points, diagrams, and arcane markings throughout it. The chalk he uses glimmers slightly, even in the dark. Dramm draws attention to the protective runes that have been placed in the cardinal directions, noting where the participants should stand.
"Do not cross the outer line of the circle, or you will be pulled into the energy. It could breach the barrier."
Finally, Dramm seats himself on the stool and removes his shirt, leaving only his brown breeches. While he still has a very slight paunch in his stomach, Dramm's body has been molded by his experiences, revealing new muscle and scarring. Spiral patterns have been traced up his arms and across his stomach, each spiral finally drawing to a central point on his chest. He produces a set of needles and blue ink, which he gives to Ezekia.
"The dyes are magical, made from... I don't want to think about it. Follow the lines. Try to be exact. The markings will provide the framework for the magic to cling to." He seats himself and adds, "I trust you in this, Ezekia."
Ezekia nods and sets to work. Her mouth is a thin line as she concentrates on tracing the patterns along Dramm's body, and the ink shimmers faintly as the magic settles in.
"There. Not too bad, if I do say so myself. I might have been a tattoo artist in another life." She smiles, trying to break the tension in the room.
Dramm nods appreciatively as he inspects the new markings. "Lines are straight. Clean. The magic is still present. This will work well."
He does one last check, talking as he goes and touching points in the diagram. There is a clinical detachment in his voice.
"Don't stop the incantation or the magic will run loose. I will scream. Ignore it. If this goes wrong, do not release the magic or it will explode. Drive it... drive it inwards. It will kill me, but the arcane lattice should hold inside my body." Dramm directs Imedren to the North, Anophth to the South, Ezekia to the East, and Joy to the West. He produces a single iron nail for each of them. "When I begin the spell, drive the nails into the ground. They will help to disrupt the magic."
Dramm comes to a stop next to Ezekia. He rubs his fingers for a moment, and the detachment slides away from his face. He looks older now. Much older and tired. "Do not stop. Whatever you see, do not stop."
He seems to struggle for words as he looks around the room. His eyes finally fall on Ezekia, and the look intensifies greatly. "Ezekia... I...." He pauses, stuck. "I hope you do not think less of me in the end."
He moves to stand in the center, gripping the cold iron hammer. A small stone pedestal here holds Dramm's amber rock.
"Is everyone ready?"
Ezekia gently touches Dramm's cheek. "This magic is beyond my understanding, but I know this is something you have to do. Just try..."
The witch trails off, but the unspoken implication is clear. Try not to die.
She takes her position and nods solemnly.
Dramm looks around one last time, then begins to chant. The air thickens with magic the rest of the group joins. Dramm raises the hammer and brings it down with a loud KLUNK that reverberates through the room. Nothing happens. He brings the hammer down again, and still nothing. Dramm raises the hammer a third time and crushes downward again. A loud CRACK sounds.
There is suddenly a wave of stinging heat from the pedestal. Blazes of magic pour out of the stone. The energies thrash against the barrier, but the nails and incantations turn it away. It begins to swirl and twist, spiraling inward again towards Dramm. He continues to chant and pound the hammer into the amber. Anophth watches as Dramm's fingers begin to burn.
Dramm grunts, but does not stop his spell. The hammer continues to smash into the Amber. It should have shattered by now under the iron strikes, but only chips of it are coming away. Joy watches as one small piece flies off and lands not far from her feet. It writhes with magic, the colorful flames of blues, greens, reds, and purples are pulled from the stone. As the magic leaves, she sees the stone turn to meat. The flesh rots and shrivels away to ash in seconds.
Dramm continues to swing, and the rising flames around him are drawn into the tattoos. They begin to glow and sear, sparks jumping out of them now and then where the magic threatens to tear away. Imedren's magical sight and understanding begin to reveal the effects of the markings. He watches as the magic is poured into points of power within Dramm's body and unmakes these magical connections. The old ones are burned away, and Dramm's incantations craft new ones while within himself that are capable of holding the new power flooding into him. A small scream escapes his mouth as he rewrites his own magical conduits.
Pure arcane energy surges from Dramm's body, the air seeming to ripple and warp from its might. The magician's four volunteers continue the rhythmic pounding of the nails, the energy ebbing and flowing with each strike. It laps at the edges of the barrier, reaching out hungrily.
Anopth, Imedren, and Joy steel their minds keeping the power at bay. But when Ezekia sees Dramm in the throes of agony, her concern causes her concentration to falter for just the slightest of moments. And that's all the opening the power needs.
Tendrils of coruscating colors rear up like snakes and strike at the witch. She screams, dropping her hammer as her body lifts off of the ground. Her back arches and she convulses as crackling lightning connects her to her apprentice, raw power coursing unchecked between the two of them...
Dramm screams as the energy connects them, feeling more than seeing his surroundings. The new bridge of thrumming power threatens to tear both of them in half as the magic separates. There's a cracking sound as two of Dramm's fingers break. With all of his will, Dramm's consciousness reaches out to the energies bounding between them and pulls to bring them back into himself.
The return of the group from the task that head sent them to Farmer Ham's was relatively simple for Imedren. He had come close to dying himself, as had Uruuna, not to mention the others. He was happy they had been able to help some people and rid the area of a dangerous place but he was unhappy that another person being added to the Asylums walls.
He had noticed a change in himself since the shrine. Using the chaos shard from earlier had filled him with power, unleashing something he had not expected.
His magic expanded, the chaotic power he had temporarily wielded could now be harnessed but it was destructive and became more dangerous when he did. He had to be careful, he had to be smarter when he did. He dedicated himself to learning what he had unleashed within himself.
He broke away from being a minister of the New God. It was time for a change and he knew now that the people who worshiped that aspect of religion would never fully accept him. More than that, he couldn't let it slide that the priest at Hamlet had not even tried to help beyond some basic everyday advice.
Imedren decided to seek out answers to Anophth's demon problem himself. He became a freelancer in regards to studying occultic magic, he began spending copious amounts of time researching the tomes within. Someone took notice and offered him a job as a side researcher, finally Imedren had found some steady side employment at Wizard's Peak. In addition to pay, he would be offered better access to otherwise restricted tomes.
Eventually in his studies, he came across a set of old books which had been mislabeled. One of which appeared to be an unfinished bestiary detailing a personal notes of a war between demons and a specific sect of Fey called devils. Within were notes recording a list of words written in a language he did not understand which had been mostly scratched out but one had not been.
Unsure of what to make of this at the time he took the book home with him in order to study it another time.
Imedren nodded to Dramm "I made a promise to help already, Dramm"
Imedren eyed Joy and came over to the nervous girl. "It's alright Joy, I think I know what he plans to do with that but Dramm is a very driven sort of man. He knows what he's going to do."
As Dramm started the ritual Imedren watched in confusion for a short time until it dawned on him what he was doing. He was worried that Dramm was taking in too much with this magic but it was too late.
"Dramm!"
With a supreme effort, Dramm manages to draw the arcane energies back into his body. Ezekia lies still, wisps of smoke rising from her body, but then she draws a ragged breath. She drags herself to her knees, grabs the hammer and resumes the pounding rhythm. Her green eyes blaze with determination, though there seems to be a faint corona of purple around the edges now...
The crackling power twists and writhes back into Dramm's body, and the restored barrier begins to seal. As he pulls and twists, the lightning coils back into a strand of tattoo that had ripped free of Dramm's skin. The spiral glows with power, but one line is permanently warped, tracing upward and over his shoulder.
With a scream Dramm smashes the Amber again. Pieces fall away rapidly, turning from stone to meat to ash. The smell of burning and rotting flesh hangs heavy. The room is filled with the sound of buzzing flies, though none of the insects can be seen in the fierce rushing of air. Sections of the tattoo burn away as Dramm completes the reconstruction of each area. Not all of them burn cleanly, leaving behind discolored marks or lines. A final blow shatters the stone fully, and a blackness rushes out of the center like ink in water. Unaffected by the wind, the foul mist hangs in place in front of him.
Two large red eyes blink into existence, one atop the other. They stare at Dramm from the darkness. A rasping voice like paper dragged over bones echoes from within:
"Everyone had a purpose, Dramm. Did you fulfill yours? Do you still have the knife?"
Dramm's body tenses as his concentration slips and the tattoos writhe. He corrects quickly, staring back into the void in terror. He speaks the last word, the eyes close, and the mist dissipates. The remains of the tattoos glow gently. Dramm collapses to the floor. Several large veins in both arms have changed, now appearing like living amber. Dramm's skin is seared and raw. He merely lays on the ground. He stares at the black smears on the floor, all that is left of his amber stone. Almost disbelievingly, Dramm runs his fingers through the greasy remains. Tears run down his face.
"Goodbye, Ez."
Ezekia stumbles across the room and throws her arms around Dramm. She holds him close, her own tears falling on the floor.
Dramm barely registers Ezekia's presence, but one hand grips her tightly. Slowly, he slips into unconsciousness in her arms.
As his consciousness fades, Ezekia hears a small whisper in her mind, "I'm sorry, Ezra... It's my fault..." Then a flash of red, followed by comfort. Then nothing as Dramm slips away.
Imedren looked back around the room to make sure everyone was okay.
"Is it over? Was the ritual successful? Ezekia, what happened to Dramm? I'm vaguely aware of what was going on but I haven't learned enough of the specifics."
Ezekia cradles Dramm's head in her lap as he loses consciousness. She looks up at Imedren. "I think it was successful--more or less... That piece of amber of his was a repository of magical power, but twisted to a fell purpose. He converted the mana into raw energy and drew it into himself to power his own magic, altering its properties to something less corrupt. At least, that was his hope..."
The witch coughs. "I am glad that all of you proved strong enough to withstand the ritual. If more than one of us had faltered... I shudder to think of what might have happened."
A few hours pass before Dramm stirs. A pained groan escapes his lips before his eyes even open. Slowly, they part and he finds himself lying in his bed, staring up at the concerned face of Ezekia.
"Am I dead?" He rasps. As usual, the question sounds quite sincere.
Ezekia squeezes Dramm's hand. "Not yet. How do you feel?"
"Everything hurts." He lifts a hand. A sharp intake of breath comes with the realization that two of his fingers are broken. "What happened? I remember the light. Reaching out. Pulling it back."
There is a barrage of emotions from Dramm. Swirling confusion, a warmth and comfort at her touch, and a small cold sliver of dread and doubt. It all quickly gives way to overwhelming exhaustion.
Ezekia seems to recoil a bit, putting her free hand to her forehead. She takes a few deep breaths. "The ritual worked, but not without some backlash. I faltered for a few moments and the energy reached out to me. I think... The two of us seem to have been connected somehow."
Dramm's face goes from confused, to surprised, to suddenly very flushed.
"You're not hurt, right? The others?" He sits up, letting out a pained cough and looking about the room.
Confusion, then comprehension, followed by embarrassment and shyness at the small sparks from Ezekia's touch gently find their way to the Witch's mind.
"N-no, I'm okay. We're all okay," Ezekia says, flushing slightly herself.
Anophth watches in amazement and horror at the ritual being cast. He is surprised that he didn't experience any pain like he was expecting - other than the average to the iron nails - but still, it was emotionally draining to watch his friend go through it.
Anophth rushed to Dramm's side when he collapsed, Dramm! What happened?! What's going on?!
As the hours passed, Anophth paced around, anxiety building up in him over Dramm's state until he finally woke up.
The next day, Anophth decided he needed to go away for a while. It was all too much for him to handle. Between the demonic possession, the loss of his strength, the loss of his ratness despite retaining the fur, and all the magically induced pain - it was all too much.
That day,he bought his tickets. He took a caravan to Sixton and then the rail down south to the Confederacies, where he spent a few days in each of the nine cities before returning. The entire trip was spent carousing and partying and re-learning how to love life.
Along the way, he talked to anyone and everyone he could, slowly building his confidence back up. Picking up his old habits and skills, he traded everything he could: secrets, goods, promises, knowledge, lies, half truths, money, loans, anything. He picked up the dark tongue from an orc woman he befriended (maybe a little more than just friends), staying with her for several weeks of his trip. And he discovered how to protect himself and his friends from the pain of magic, stealing spells right out of the air and throwing them back at their source.
By the time he got back to Crossings, he felt like his old self. He had a smile on his face, which could be seen because he was shaved. Despite the rest of the fur on his body, Anophth now shaves his face and head almost daily.
Ezekia stays with Dramm until his other companions have left the house. Once they are alone, she looks at him with pursed lips. "So... We should probably talk about this..."
Dramm is sitting up in the bed, fidgeting with his knife. At this point the act is nothing more than nervous tick. Ezekia watched him cast his last healing spell hours ago to reset his fingers. "....Yes. We should. I am sorry Ezekia..." The link suddenly feels deep like a well. Ezekia recognizes the feeling as very heavy guilt. At its core is a hot anger at himself. "I did not know this could happen. I have altered your mind. It is against everything I believe. I have..." He is pressing the knife tip into a finger in his anger, not noticing the pain over the other aches in his body.
"I have invaded your sanctity. I... I have raped you." Dramm drops the knife and grips his face in shame.
Dramm feels a surge of pain through the connection, but it's not Ezekia's own. Rather, it's a sympathetic pain for him. "No, it's... It's not your fault, Dramm. Neither one of us expected this to happen. All things considered, the backlash from the ritual could have been a lot worse." The witch quickly picks up the knife before he can hurt himself further.
Dramm is silent and does not contest her retrieving the knife. At first there is a flash of fearing the worst, then that feeling of depth intensifies. It becomes clear it is not just guilt, but a withdrawing from an overwhelming and confusing world. There is a level of lifelong and sad familiar comfort in that crushing solitude. When he speaks, his voice is a little more flat.
"Yes, it could have been." Dramm fidgets, uncertain what to say. "I am glad it wasn't. Very glad, Ezekia."
Ezekia sits beside him and reaches for his hand. "Don't worry. We'll figure this out, together."
Confusion, surprise, vulnerability, panic, uncertainty, but a touch of warmth. Ezekia would have expected the novelty of the emotions from someone younger than Dramm.
"Yes. I guess we can't hide it from each other." He looks to Ezekia. "I... I did not realize that I... for you..." He falls silent.
Nervousness, warmth, a trace of amusment all laced through with pangs of guilt. "There will be no secrets between us any more, will there?" Ezekia lowers her eyes.
Sadness, lost innocence and... the slightest sense of awe. Flashes in the mind: Meeting, learning, respect, promises, Joy... and suddenly a hot flash of embarrassment at a memory.
"No, there won't be." Dramm's eyes follow the curves of her face, uncertain where to look. "It changes things. They can't go back. Is... is that all bad?" There's sincerity in his question and that touch of uncertain longing in his voice.
"No. It isn't all bad," the witch says. She looks up to meet Dramm's gaze and takes a deep breath. "There's no sense in denying things any more. I... I have feelings for you, Dramm. I don't know if those feelings are appropriate or not. Rena and I... We're still in a relationship. But things between us have been strained the last few months. I think... I think she's found somebody else." Heartache, shaken confidence, a feeling of being adrift.
At the mention of Rena, that flash of embarrassment intensifies. It's followed by an overwhelming curiosity and longing. Before he even realizes it, Dramm has leaned inward to kiss her. It is abrupt in Dramm's way, as he always is.
A sharp flare of surprise that quickly melts away into a warm desire. Ezekia gives herself in to the kiss, holding his cheeks in her hands.
Dramm's own feelings follow, his surprise at himself as great as hers. Though it is rough, there is a tenderness and innocence in Dramm's kiss. Delight and melting warmth spreads at her hands on his face. He does not hold the kiss for long, pulling away and slow to open his eyes. Suddenly he flushes deeply.
"I-I had to know w-what it was like." he stammers.
"And...? What was it like?" she asks softly.
Dramm flushes shyly. "It was... like you." He says slowly. Dramm's face moves through a hazy confusion, and his eyes travel along Ezekia. For as little reaction as he shows, his emotions echo very intensely. He leans back in to kiss her again, his own hands reaching up to touch her face.
The hand stops when he sees the amber veins again. Shame, impurity, revulsion, brokenness. He stares at the mutation uncertainly.
Sensing his feelings, Ezekia places her hand over Dramm's, covering the veins. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. You're not broken, Dramm. You are human. Flawed and imperfect like everybody else. Like me. We're all just figuring things out as we go along. But you don't have to do it alone. You have me."
The deep cold well of Dramm's withdrawal has been warming, unnoticed by Dramm himself. The warmth wavers at his fear, but her touch sends fresh waves through him. Before long, she has drawn him to her. Dramm squeezes her hand, taking in the delicate touch of her fingers. The warmth grows and he leans in to kiss her again, his right hand wrapping around her hips to draw her close.
The brim of Ezekia's pointed hat brushes against the top of his head as he pulls her close. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and presses her body against his eagerly...
***
Dramm is inexperienced, but surprisingly passionate for his odd demeanor. Eagerness, excitement, melting warmth, wonder, awe... Dramm is swept up in the emotions, echoed back and forth. There is a connection unlike anything he had experienced before, and the echoing emotions cause him to seek Ezekia's own and intensify them. He holds her close at the end. An alien emotion passes over Dramm. Ezekia recognizes it as contentedness and peacefulness being with her, if only temporary.
The lovemaking is intense indeed, and Ezekia's cries of passion echo through the house as things build towards a shuddering conclusion. The redhead lies atop Dramm's chest in the aftermath, idly tracing the lines of power across his body. He can sense her satisfaction, though the traces of guilt still linger on the edges.
"I have to end things with Rena," she says. "I might be done with the Council altogether as well. The only reason I suffered through those worthless meetings was to spend time with her... My time is much better spent helping the people of Crossings directly."
Dramm is gently tracing her back with his fingertips and twisting locks of red hair. His mind is still bubbling with experience. He nods, and there are tinges of guilt within him as well.
"Do you want me there with you?" The voice is flat, but Ezekia can feel his sympathy for her position, and his desire to see her through it. "I can be."
"Thank you, but I think it's probably better if I do it on my own," she says. She's sad, but determined.
He squeezes her tightly, feeling her warmth and softness against him. "I will be here." A long quiet passes before a shy whisper reaches her ears.
"Can we just... stay here tonight?" There is a delicateness to his touch. Looking into his eyes reveals that hint of innocent awe of someone taking in everything about her... it doesn't quite hide the mischievous glimmer of emotion that flickers under the warmth.
Ezekia smiles warmly. "Yes, of course. Right now, there's nowhere else I'd rather be..."
Over the next few weeks, Uruuna's throws herself into her martial training with increased gusto. Having fallen several times during the exploration of the shrine, the plucky halfling is determined to get as tough as she possibly can. Already on the slender side for a halfling, Uruuna grows even leaner and more muscular as she trains with her new weapon of choice, the scimitar. She gets quite good with it, able to slip the blade into weak points in her opponent's armor to deliver precise, biting strikes.
The commander of the Brown Cloaks, Jon Crawley, is impressed by Uruuna's determination and promotes her to a mounted patrol unit. Granted a swift steed appropriate for her size, Uruuna is often seen riding through the streets of Crossings, looking for troublemakers. She busts up several dens of iniquity, claiming a strange trophy from the house of one sadistic alchemist: a glass jar with a beetle inside whose glands glow with bright light. Naming the beetle "Clicky" for the odd noises it makes, she makes sure to keep it fed and uses it as a nightlight at the home she shares with Imedren.
Throughout the weeks, she keeps an ear out for any rumblings about the Brotherhood of Shadow. The cult has been quiet for the past few months, a lull that seems mighty suspicious...
Early this morning, the wealthy district of Purse was rocked by a terrific explosion. The blast destroyed much of a large manor atop the highest hill in the city. In the wake of the explosion, a vile plague swiftly swept through the district, driving its victims mad even as it destroys their bodies. Those who succumb to this scourge rise from the dead, attacking the living to spread the contagion. The Brown Cloaks and the militia have attempted to seal off Purse to contain the plague, though people are slipping through (often with the help of well-placed bribes) and new cases are breaking out all over the city.
Uruuna has rode all across Crossings to gather you from whatever disparate activities you have been up to. "This is bad, guys. Real bad. We've got to do something about it!"
Woah. That was unexpected. Any leads? Whose house exploded?
"The house belonged to Pentachus Katandramus, a wealthy aristocrat. Inquisitor Randolfus and his henchmen went in there earlier, but they haven't come back out yet."
Dramm is already dressed in the hard leather armor and cloaked in arcane magic when Uruuna arrives. He is currently trying to convince Hobb to leave him alone at the shop.
"The plague is loose. More undead. They must have found something inside. We should go after the inquisitor." He has his weapons quickly.
"Go home, Hobb." He snaps at the ram. It bleats at him. It does not go home.
Uruuna leads you to the edge of Purse, where the militia has established a blockade. Commander Rena steps forward as you approach, glowering at you (and especially at Dramm). "It's about time you lot got here. Much as I hate to admit it, you're likely our best shot at containing this madness. The streets are thick with the sick and the dead. They've started calling the disease gibbering fever. First you go mad, then you die, then you rise up as undead. It spreads through physical contact, so don't touch anybody."
The dead? Walking? Well f!*# me.
Ok, before we go in, let's be properly prepared. What can we wear to avoid to use to keep the disease at bay? What types of weapons are best against these the dead? Should we stock up on torches or other sources of fire? Ranged weapons? I'd like to have something to use at range. All I have is my walking cane. Do we have any potions that can help with the disease?
What's the best route to the origin. I'm guessing there's something there causing all this. Do we have any flares to signal for help? What else am I missing?
"Any weapon works fine. Aim for the head and they'll go down quickly," Rena says. "It's a straight shot to the house on top of the hill. Should take about half an hour to get there. Witnesses reported seeing several strange dwarves going into the house just before it exploded--they might have something to do with all of this."
"What about return?" Dramm asks as he checks the heft of his axe. "What is the plan for blockading the sick? How will we get back out through that blockade?"
He looks at the soldiers moving about. "And how many are going with us? Are any going with us?"
"We're mobilizing all the priests we can find in the city, those of the Old Gods and the New," Rena says. "They'll check you for signs of infection and if you're clean, we'll let you pass."
The commander narrows her eyes when Dramm asks about reinforcements. "By my count, there's six of you...and a ram?" Hobb bleats beside Dramm. "You'll likely be fighting in close quarters. If I send any of my men with you, there'd be little room to maneuver. Besides, I hear that two of you have been engaging in dangerous sorcery. I've seen what happens when sorcerers lose control of their power. I'm not going to risk my people dying because you can't keep your own magic in check."
Anophth puts on his new leather armor, that he got with help from Dramm. Knocking am arrow in his new bow, he says, Come on. Let's see what's going on. The city needs us. With that, Anophth heads in.
Anophth and Uruuna lead the way into the besieged district. Purse overlooks the Dark Waters from the top of the cliffs that rise above the lake’s western shore, and is home to Crossings’ wealthiest citizens. Gardens and walls surround palatial homes, most of which have been locked down tight. The streets are wide, bordered by spreading oak trees and lit by new gas lamps. You can hear distant groans and the occasional scream as you navigate towards the Katandramus house.
After about ten minutes or so, the sounds of groans and shuffling feet grows louder. Ahead, two separate packs of the walking dead begin to converge on your location. Their eyes are milky white, and all bear gruesome wounds leaving no question as to their unliving state. Hanging entrails and broken limbs do nothing to slow their inexorable advance...
Anophth draws back the string and lets loose an arrow, aiming for the head.
I am in control, Anophth whispers to himself in the dark tongue, as he draws on the demonic power within.
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