"Not my problem right now." Vincent replies, sketching arcane signs with his small fingers as he examines the blade.
Donovan takes a defensive stance, waiting for Vincent to unearth what he can of the blade.
"What was promised?" a very air asks the confused barbarian in a clear strong voice, reminding one of silk over steel. "We heard tales of the great warlord Armag, respected and honored, but you were little more than a beast wanting blood. Why is that, Armag? What did they do to you?"
The invisible Mum flies closer to the man, waiting and distracting.
The large man turns toward the sound, drawing his spare battleaxe. "What? Who is this? I tire of your trickery" He swings aimlessly with his hand, trying to grab Mum, but not with much effort. He looks at the floating child and bat with the sword stuck to it. "This is..."
He turns back to Zorek,
Zorek stares down Armag, "you said you were the reincarnation of Armag. If that is true, then you would take his form. You will have to slay these interlopers if you wish to please Gorum, and claim what you say is your birthright."
Armag grimaces, He puts his hand on Zorek's chest and shoves the still-large man backward, who accepts the pushing, and steps back.
Grumbling, and in a low voice, he turns to the voice, "you, you all. I want ANSWERS." His eyes go wide, staring at the carnage in the room beyond, "my men... they were..." He shakes his head, and a grim look sets upon his face, "whatever is happening, I did not kill my honor guard, I would not - Zorek, or Gorum or... the black sisters - they said that if I were to retrieve Armag's things, I would take his place as his reincarnation. A warlord without peer." He sneers, "those miserable witches. They did NOT TELL ME THE COST." He points his axe at Zorek,
Zorek is calm, and unruffled, and takes a moment before responding, "I am the guardian of this tomb. Gorum has charged me with presenting challenges for those who would claim his mantle. Gorum cares only for a worthy successor to Armag. You proved your worth. As did these people. Now, finish your fight - Gorum wishes to know who will claim it." He gestures vaguely to the party and 'Armag'.
The ghost sees more than should be seen.
"Gorum desires battle worth of his attention. It does not matter against who as long as it is good." the voice says, seemingly agreeing with the priest. But the warlords eyes stare at the carnage "But you... you do care. You cared for them. Your men, your people."
Donovan's shield drops and he lowers his sword to his side, held out at an angle.
"You're fighting a different battle now. A battle for control of your own destiny."
"A battle where your enemies and your targets may be unclear, but that can be discerned by asking: Who was responsible for what you have lost?"
Tikroch begins slowly drifting towards Armag, sneering the first words toward the invisible ruler, "Mum you would suffer this... pretender to live? This one who would threaten your lands without a second thought? I thought you were fiercer than that..."
Chrysa sees a problem with being invisible, as she shoots a glare at the druid so cold it would shatter the world.
"I care not for this man's ultimate end, but every life has a use until it does not." her words are plain, without an attempt to cover them. This day will not end without someone's blood, just the specifics of who is in question.
Especially for those that cannot see her conversation for what it was.
"The why of things is important." the whisper of the wind as the invisible ghost moves to protect her nephew for the violence ready to explode "This priest and his sisters did something. They corrupted and controlled, for... turning him into an uncaring bloodthirsty champion of his god? Is that all, purely religious, or was there more to their plan?" her questions might be directed to her companion, but they are meant for Armag "What did they intend to do with him, once he was a nicely bound murder machine?"
Zorek raises his eyebrow, and then chuckles, shaking his head, ”I did not intend to do anything - I am merely a guardian of Armag’s tomb. As for the two priestesses, I never met them.” He looks up at Armag, ”you may believe me or not. But we both follow the Lord of Battle - these strangers do not. But there is often a price to pay for power in these lands.”
Doesn’t seem like he’s lying.
Doesn’t seem like he’s lying.
Ah ha! It doesn’t seem like he’s lying.
He turns to the air where Mum is, ”is that not right? What price have you paid?”
Armag looks confused at the whole situation, but he doesn’t give up, he turns back to Zorek, ”eh? What price have you paid? What was your plan for me? She speaks true.”
Zorek tilts his head slightly, ”I am an eternal guardian of this tomb. I have not left in hundreds of years. I know no friendship, companionship, food, nor drink. I am sustained by my devotion to Gorum. The outside world does not matter to me.”
Armag juts his chin out, asking in his Hallit-accented voice ”what of the witches?”
Zorek shakes his head ”I could not say for certain, but they followed the goddess of hags and seemed to be doing all of this as part of some larger plan. In private… they did not speak well of you.” This throws Armag into a rage, who furiously hacks at the ground with his battleaxe, breaking the flag in two. Zorek says, ”I would not do that - I am not the only guardian of this place.”
Barely restrained Armag grits his teeth and turns back to the voice, ”I came all this way - my men, my honor guard. And in service of a TRICK.” He’s seething with rage.
Be careful with what you say, he’s not thinking clearly.
Vincent frowns and then pulls out his spellbook and starts leafing through it so fast that his fingers and the pages blur.
Tikroch opens his mouth to say something but holds his comments like he realized he let something unintentional slip. Though he does give some serious side-eye to the vampire mage as he begins flipping pages faster than the bat-eye can see. Speaking quietly to Vincent, "I suggest you finish your investigation quickly. There's something... odd going on."
"If you're feeling a desire to kill everyone it's probably the sword." Vincent says without stopping. "It'll try and take control of you if it gets a chance."
"Not kill everyone..." Tikroch raises his voice, "But if she isn't going to eliminate an obvious threat!" He leaves the idea unfinished a he shakes his head to clear out ideas that are not his own. In a quieter voice, "Sorry, I think I have it under control for now. It may be helping that I'm not actually holding it but my spell keeping it in place won't last forever."
Chrysa settles in the air, content to let the fuming giant focus his rage on the priest. About the sword she is unsure, but trusts Vincent to handle it.
Armag grinds his teeth again and stomps over to the other side of the room, his heavy footfalls echoing, then stomps back.
Zorek looks at him, calmly.
Armag looks towards the others he can see, "sorcery and trickery. I grow weary of this. I have never surrendered in a fight. I am not about to."
He watches as Vincent and the bat talk to each other, "you. Small one. Tell me what's going on, or we will fight. You know something" He hefts his battleaxe towards Vincent, hovering dangerously within his reach, and no skills are required to know he's being honest. "Just - no fancy words. No more TRICKS. I swear I will kill you where you stand if you lie to me." He gestures towards the sword stuck on Tikroch. [ooc]It looks like he's enraged.[/b]
Zorek shakes his head, and sighs.
"The sword is a powerful artifact in its own right." Vincent says coolly. At his current height the man could probably squash him like a bug but raging idiots with axes have to be shown their place sometimes. At least this one is listening.
"It truly is Ovinrbaane but it wants to be wielded by Armaug. So it was turning you into him. The physical changes were minor transmutation abilities which can be reversed but the most dangerous ability was rewriting your mind. The blade has a powerful will of its own and I believe it was wiping your memories - to make you into a replica of the original Armaug."
He gives the angry man a moment to digest that.
"The sword is merely a sword. It's divine purpose is to kill. Anything and everything. If you stood in front of your army with it then I doubt your army would survive the experience. Neither would your enemies but you'd be the only living thing on the battlefield. That is the simple issue. What exactly the hags wanted in unclear, but I surmise that since they follow Gyronna they wanted to unleash you as Armaug upon the Stolen Lands and cause as much slaughter and death as they could. You are a strong chieftain of a powerful tribe. Don't let some hags steal your honor from you now."
Talk of honor usually goes down well with those whose brains don't actually fill their skulls.
'Armag' glares at Vincent for a few excruciatingly long moments.
"This is not... acceptable." He stops raging.
"I am tired of this land; everything here is cursed." He says something insulting in Hallit, and puts his battleaxe away. He tries to shoves past the others into the northern room, taking stock of the scene. He retrieves a bag from his belt, and opening it wide, picks up the corpses of his guards and stuffs them in, one by one "I am taking my men and women with me, and we are leaving." With another glare, he muscles past the others and heads towards the exit.
Zorek watches him, but says nothing to the erstwhile barbarian king.
He turns to Vincent, "you have bested he who would become Armag -" He gestures towards the northern room. "He was not the Twice-Born, he was not of the prophecy." He puts one hand to his chin, running his hands through his beard, as if thinking carefully, for a few moments, before noting, "this does not pleases Gorum. Leave Ovinrbaane. I will return it to the tomb." He draws his own sword and maneuvers to stand near the southern hall, blocking the exit. He gestures, "you may take what treasure you find - but do not despoil Armag's body." This sounds like a command.
Chrysa narrows her eyes at the priest, then says to Vincent "Do not return the sword until I get back, please." to him she includes the please, few others.
Then the Baroness of the Fall moves to the barbarian, becoming visible to front of the warrior.
The small woman discards her playful stance, and holds herself like she is. A ruler made of iron and will. Staring up at the warrior, without cowing or flinching "Armag, I request an audience between yourself and Sophiel Medvyed, ruler of the lands to the east, and the one that sent us here today."
Chrysa has studied these people. A potential enemy, a potential ally. Honorable and fierce.
"I ask nothing for aiding you in freeing yourself for those who attempted enslaved to that sword and the past. My request is separate for anything that happened today. Sophiel is a warrior of many strengths who claimed her lands with her own two hands, but she would be willing to come to you, to discuss the enemies of all our peoples, to see if our strength can be paired with yours, together seeking honor and purpose for those we care about."
She paused, standing in bloodied armor and well used (but shealthed) swords, "There is war coming. War from the north, where there are lands of people who think they own by right of birth what others have won by deed and might. We WILL not let them." her conviction is cold fury, pure Chrysa Surtova, instead of mirthful Mum.
"Tikroch, release your spell and let the blade fall." Vincent commands. "No-one should touch it for the moment."
Assuming the druid does as he requests the vampire makes no move towards the blade - as long as Zorek doesn't either.
"I... don't think that's the best move here. First, this isn't the kind of magic that I can simply wave away. I can bypass that problem though. And second... second, we should leave the sword with Zorek. It's too dangerous to let it out into the world."
The bat grabs a bit of the sword he can reach without cutting himself and heaves the blade free. He hesitates for a long moment with the sword in his mouth before dropping it to the floor with a loud !
As Tikroch grabs it and pulls it off, it does indeed clang onto the stone, and the bat seems to shake its head as if clearing it.
'Armag' stops and listens to Mum. "This woman - I heard of her. But she is of Brevoy. Iorvetti said she was one of their pawns; he promised me revenge." The man frowns deeply, his brow furrowed. "I have been told many things. The sisters helped raise me, you know. They named me Armag because I had his spirit. But all was a lie."
He raises his broad, scarred hand, as if to explain some of what had transpired recently "this - 'Baron' Drelev. I came to punish him for damaging our tombs, and he... proved resilient." The large man looks the closest to embarrassed that Mum has seen him. "Iorvetti - of Pitax - he contacted me and said we could take Drelev together - and that's what we did. Then Iorvetti made us all play nice..." he grumbles, "and he said once his forces were ready, we were going to fight against the Brevian ursurper, this Gliocas country. And then Shadowfall, and then Brevoy."
He pauses, "I think now he was lying. So many have lied to me." He looks tired, "This woman is small, how is she strong? Will she lie to me? Will she let the Tiger Lords be? Can she give us some measure of revenge against Brevoy?"
******************************************
Zorek barely watches the conversation, but nods towards Tikroch, Donovan, and Vincent, making sure Mum can hear "this pleases Gorum. You may retrieve what you like, other than what is in his sarcophagus."
Chrysa files away these facts, in slow burning pits of revenge against Iorvetti deep inside her.
"Strength is not simply defined by..." she looks up and up and up at the barbarian "... size. Strength is defined by victory, which she has gained time and time again. Yes, she would leave the Tiger Lords be, she respects people's freedom, and yes, Brevoy is her enemy. As they are mine, but she will not give you 'some' measure of revenge. She will give you rivers full of it." the small warrior woman smiles, but like a wolf when thinking of a wolf.
"But that is what I say, you would desire to hear Her say it, I believe. Do you consent to a meeting?"
Vincent glances at the war priest once more and turns his back. Twisting threads together he speaks odd words and then suddenly the rest of the group can hear him. Inside their heads.
His guard is down at least. What are we doing Auntie?
Recruiting
His auntie sighs through the mental bonds, as if talking to the mass of muscle is wearing on her significantly
Soph needs a force that would act as a spear head against Brevoy, these...
her eyes drift to the arms that are thicker than her head
... warriors, if they can be controlled enough to point in a direction and released, will prove to be just what she need.
He doesn't seem to care about this place, or the priest, so claim everything
her eyes dart quickly to their own priest, a tiny frown on her lips
within reason
Tikroch pointedly ignores the politics aspect of the current situation figuring it's well in hand by someone that knows what to do. Instead, he focuses on the dangerous artifact that he's recently removed from himself. Despite my previous statements, the sword can't stay here. The influence it exerted just from being close to me was difficult to repress. Even when I thought I had it under control, it clouded my judgment enough to suggest it stays here to find a new host...
The druid stops for a moment to consider options, Unless Sophie plans to build a fortress here to stop the next would-be barbarian king from trying to claim the sword, it's just too dangerous to be left in the care of some ancient priest that only wants to resurrect Armag. Not saying we need to take it right this instant but we shouldn't leave it indefinitely.
Chrysa files away these facts, in slow burning pits of revenge against Iorvetti deep inside her.
"Strength is not simply defined by..." she looks up and up and up at the barbarian "... size. Strength is defined by victory, which she has gained time and time again. Yes, she would leave the Tiger Lords be, she respects people's freedom, and yes, Brevoy is her enemy. As they are mine, but she will not give you 'some' measure of revenge. She will give you rivers full of it." the small warrior woman smiles, but like a wolf when thinking of a wolf.
"But that is what I say, you would desire to hear Her say it, I believe. Do you consent to a meeting?"
The burly man grumbles disagreeably, "that is all I would agree to. But I tire of me and my people being used. If this is a trick, I will make her and you pay. Do you understand?" He inhales, and exhales deeply, his calculating eyes looking down on Mum. As he turns to leave the tomb, he notes, "I'll wait outside with my men. But not long."
With 'Armag' gone, all that remains is Zorek, guarding the southernmost exit from the room. Watching carefully, he seems very mindful of where everyone is, though he is almost serene as he waits for everyone to finish deciding their course of action.
Take what we can and leave. Vincent opinions silently. I can come back in a few months and bury this place so far under the earth that no-one will ever find it again. That sword should never leave.
He has first hand experience of mind control and it is not something he intends to leave running around!
That's a sound plan. Close enough to a fortress without it having to be occupied. I doubt anyone looking to be the reincarnation of a legendary barbarian would have the means to dig so far down. They tend to the more... physical skills. Hopefully someone would notice such a large excavation effort if someone tries it.
Figuring hostilities are over, Tikrock glides to the ground and transforms back to his human form. Making sure to keep well clear of the sword, he calls Luca to his side and walks toward the tomb proper.
The party leaves Ovinrbaane where it sits and enter the tomb itself. A massive raised dais supports a coffin of black stone to the west in this large austere chamber, while the walls to the east are decorated with a bas-relief of a stern barbarian dressed for war and wielding a greatsword.
Armag’s body measures just over 6-1/2 feet tall and is dressed in obviously magical hide armor with dragon bone armor spikes. A beautiful heavy steel shield decorated with chasings of dire tigers lies over his chest.
To the east, the promised secret door is found easily. Within this octagonal chamber, a five-foot-square alabaster pedestal sits inside a ring of brilliant light shining from the ceiling.
Piled around the pedestal lies a treasure hoard of immense value. Altogether, it contains 599 pp, 11,378 gp, 23,617 sp, and 48,832 cp. The gems and jewelry include a 5,000 gp diamond, a 1,000 gp fire opal, three 500 gp violet garnets, an electrum crown with a blue star sapphire worth 2,500 gp, a ruby-encrusted silver armband worth 1,250 gp, and a malachite-adorned gold necklace worth 900 gp. Also included among these items are a bag of holding (type I), a belt of giant strength +2, horseshoes of speed, a necklace of fireballs (type II), a pearl of power (2nd level), a dose of restorative ointment, a ring of counterspells (contains 'enervation'), and a wand of heroism (50 charges).
On the pedestal are a few items that are obviously magical, but aren't immediately identifiable,
Much of this fits within the bag of holding, but some does not, and it is not easy to move the gear out. As the party loots everything, Zorek has seemingly returned Ovinrbaane to the corpse of Armag, and returned to the entrance of his room. He looks the party over, and inclines his head, letting everyone pass but saying nothing.
In addition, from the skeletons, the party grabs 16: +1 greatswords, +1 (+5 Str) composite longbows, and banded mails.
There are about 5300 GP worth of ancient art in dead-end alcoves scattered off to the sides of the main halls that the party briefly checked earlier. The weight is significant, and at this point - the magical bags the party has are becoming overstuffed. One of the trapped rooms, with a tilting floor, has a few magical items scattered at the bottom, which are retrievable with a little care, lying among a number of ancient bones in the north pit is a +3 handaxe, while the south pit contains a scroll case within which is a scroll of blade barrier, a scroll of magic vestment (CL 16th), and a scroll of lesser planar ally.
The party also scouts carefully and spots a dangerous-looking derghodaemon in a long hall,
Otherwise, the trip outside is uneventful, and the guards and wards seem to have been dismissed, though there is a sense of... reset as the party moves out of the tomb. It feels as if the tomb itself is letting them leave, but does not want them to return.
*********************************
The barbarians and the captives are outside, and Armag has shrunken down to a smaller size. When he sees the party emerge from the entrance, he crosses his arms. Even without the benefit of his spells, he's still very tall, and his barbarian guards that are still alive are arrayed behind him. He gestures towards Mum, "I am here - though you took longer than I expected to leave - I was about to leave," somewhat grumpily
"I'll be back." Vincent says simply, before vanishing with a silent flash of light (and the bag of holding with most of the loot).
Vincent uses his spell - and disappears, but somehow, the magic is wobbly. About 30 minutes later, Vincent reappears with Sophiel.
Sophiel looks similar to how she always looks, though on second thought - her form is a little heightened, her features sharper, and her white-feathered cloak ripples behind her as she walks. She smooths out her uniform, a smart green jacket with a triangular pin on the front, and the party spies a few plain-looking, but well-made items now worn, - notably her simple preserved darkleaf headband has even more complex runes scribe into it than the last time they saw her.
She inhales deeply, and blinks, shading her violet eyes as she takes in the scene next to the muddy river. She smiles at Vincent, nodding to him in thanks, and squeezes his shoulder, then turns back to the others. She sees the others in the party, and nods in a professional manner, Spying Armag, his barbarians, and the prisoners, she frowns slightly, and approaches the still-large barbarian chief. "So, you're Armag." She looks up at him, and then at the others in the party, then back at him, "they said you wanted to talk to me. Here I am."
Donovan lets out a sigh as the diplomacy finally runs its course. He's not blind to what Mum is manipulating, turning these Tiger Lords into unwitting allies.
He spends some time standing over the corpse of Armag. How much did this man influence the sword? Did it start with the sword, or did the sword bend to the actions of the man? No way for him to know now. A fascinating study in "great man" ideology, the notion that Armag was so effective and influential that there is an attempt to literally re-create him in order to bring about a resurgence of his wars of conquest.
Finally he turns to Zorek and says, "How did Armag—the original one—finally die?"
Zorek considers the priest, "in battle - as Gorum demands." He pauses, adding "all who follow the lord of battles wish to die in such an honorable way."
"I'll go get her." she tells the barbarian lord, then nods to Vincent "If you would be so kind." she gives the young wizard a smile.
Then they are gone. In enough time to spare the warrior woman, the young man, and the leader of the country emerges. 'Mum' introduces the two leaders and then lounges against a tree and waits as they hash out an alliance.
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Speaking the only shared language he know he and Sophie share that no one else would, Tikroch advices the leader. "Know this, he has been tricked and manipulated by witches as well as your neighbor to the west. He is a simple man with whom I can almost identify. Treat him fairly and give him a path to honorable battle. Allies might be a strong term but his tribe can at least be aimed in another direction."
One might think the large druid has a bit of sympathy for 'Armag' having been subject to the sword's influence even if only for a short time.
The body is drawn and thin, but not quite skeletal. It seems some of his muscles and soft tissues were preserved either magically or alchemically, but most of it is gone - so it’s hard or tell. It’s especially difficult to tell because his armor covers up much of his body, but he must have died at a pretty advanced age given the color of his hair. There are obvious cuts and cracks on the bone of his leg and his neck.
Zorek watches Donovan, ”why do you ask, young man?”
Sophie listens carefully to Tikroch, and turns to Armag. ”He was just explaining the circumstances of the tomb.” She pauses.
Armag replies, in heavily accented Taldan ”yeah? What of it?”
The woman takes a step forward, ”this area has been the territory of the tiger lords for … how long?” She asks those assembled, and smiles slightly, turning back to Armag, ”at least a thousand years. Since the… other Armag lived. Brevoy is, what, 300?” She opens her hands, ”but that’s just history,” and waves them dismissively. She steps another half-step closer to the man, ”history is just… words. Stories we tell each other. To learn from. They don’t define us, but they can shape us.”
Armag is frowning, ”what’s the point lady?” he points at Mum, ”that lady said you could offer me something - spit it out. This is boring.”
Sophiel smiles slightly, ”of course - my apologies. My name is Sophiel, originally of the Brevian house Medvyed, and I speak for Gliocas and its people. As for the offer - our negotiation - well, what I want from you is - nothing.”
Armag’s nostrils flare, and he grabs his battleaxe, ”yeah? Why am I talking to you instead of fighting, why didn’t I die in battle? More tricks, woman?” He points at Mum.
Sophiel’s eyes narrow, and she flicks her wrist, and dozens of thick, thorny vines sprout from the ground, and wrap around Armag and his barbarian’s feet, crawling up their bodies. The vines are covered in sharp thorns that draw blood, but they restrain the Tiger Lords. Enraged, Armag struggles, and he starts to bleed. Sophiel sighs, ”blood is a wonderful fertilizer, but it doesn’t need to be wasted today. You and your men will listen.” There is an air of authority, of strength that Sophiel - often a diplomat, rarely expresses.
She takes a step forward until she is within the warlord’s reach. ”Nothing. I want nothing from you. In return, all of the ancestral lands are yours to rule.” She steps back.
Armag looks confused.
He winces, and opens his mouth, then closes it. ”What game is this now? The witches - they … fed me lies my entire life. Zorek said I was to be the next Armag. And, you, small, odd - with feathers - what power have you to give this? Why?”
Sophiel shrugs, relaxing slightly ”you listened to reason before, with my friends, and it’s your people’s lands. It always has been. As to my power, well…” She thinks carefully, ”it does not just come from magic. I know people. I know my enemies, and I know my friends. If you accept, I will protect your ancestral lands as much as is in my power.”
Armag looks on suspiciously, ”yeah but you get something out of it.”
Sophiel nods, and replies brightly, ”of course! Maybe a new friend. Maybe an ally. We would gladly make you a… “ she tries to think of the word, ”part? Like a state, of the country, if you wanted to. The Sootscale joined us. The Nomen joined us, and we have cities of dwarves and elves, and orcs - and fey, and… people. There’s benefits - but some rules. That would be a trade. But Tiressa, the dryad, has a sanctuary for Fey in the center of the Narlmarches - we protect her, and she runs her own affairs, though could join us if she wished.” Watching the barbarians carefully, she snaps her fingers and the vines descend into the ground.
Armag looks like he’s going to attack for a second, but he tightens his grip briefly before he puts away his axe, and his barbarians do the same, ”so that’s it? You leave?”
Sophiel inhales deeply, ”if you want us to. Though, we do need to seal up the tomb soon - so people don’t wander in.”
Armag’s brow furrows, ”this would not be the will of Gorum.”
Sophiel replies, ”that sword you found? It was Armag. His soul lives within to prevent Pharasma from claiming it - a concession she made to Gorum. If it gets out, she could. That pact should not be broken in this age - I think.”
Armag puts his hand on his face, ”okay. So, then you’ll just go?” She looks over at the prisoners, and smiles at them, ”many of these Brevians deserve to live here - they proved themselves, no matter what that scumbag Drelev said or did. That will not change. Gliocas will surround your lands - but what we set aside, they are yours and you may do as you wish.”
Armag nods, ”fine. Fine. I… uh… thank you.”
Sophiel turns around to go, and then turns back, ”though… you know. I am going to have to deal with Pitax in short order. Iorvetti is not as reasonable as you are. And, there’s the matter of Southwest Brevoy? That… was tiger lords land as well?”
Armag smiles slightly, ”ahh! So you do want something.”
Sophiel shakes her head, ”no - there are no strings, but if you and your people find they wish to aid us, we would gladly accept the help. It certainly would even the odds.” She turns around fully, ”Brevoy is… well, it would be impossible to take much of it with the forces I have, and knowing what I know. Maybe I could win - probably not - but the odds would be better with the Tiger Lords.”
The beefy man sighs, ”fine fine. Are we done? At the least, if you leave us alone we will extend the same courtesy. The rest is, this is… I will need to think carefully about what you say. For now, I need to bury my guard.”
Sophie nods and takes a moment, hesitating, but decides with a pained look to make Armag an offer, ”well, you know, you weren’t yourself. I can bring them back, in some regard, and nothing unnatural. Their souls in new bodies. Give them another chance to serve you. I just need a few days. What do you say to that?”
Armag replies after thinking, and hands over the bag ”aye - yes. I know that magic. I will wait here.” He considers her, ”Miss. You are strange. A witch who is queen.”
Sophiel waves her hand dismissively, and the edge returns, with an angry color, ”no. I am not a Queen, I am not a baron, I am not a chief. I’m just me, and I work for my people as long as they will have me. Understand?” Her back is straight and her eyes are clear.
Armag steps back slightly, and he shakes his head, ”yeah, yes. I understand.” And the barbarian and his men start to gather a few of their things.
Sophiel gestures for the party to join her separately, and when they do she asks, ”unexpected - but opportune. I think he helps us. Did anything else of importance happen?”
Mum pushes off from her resting tree, gracefully moving toward the not-queen queen "Not much. Witches, gods, hostages, and such. Just another Moonday, M'lady" the small woman stretches and looks to her friend. "Are we done? I would really like to... change." one might think she is talking about clothes not skin, but OH she is tired of not being herself.
The body is drawn and thin, but not quite skeletal. It seems some of his muscles and soft tissues were preserved either magically or alchemically, but most of it is gone - so it’s hard or tell. It’s especially difficult to tell because his armor covers up much of his body, but he must have died at a pretty advanced age given the color of his hair. There are obvious cuts and cracks on the bone of his leg and his neck.
Zorek watches Donovan, ”why do you ask, young man?”
"He left a legacy large enough that entire tribes remember his name and a cursed sword tried to bend someone else into his image. I want to know the circumstances not only of his life, but of his end."
Donovan knows that he almost assuredly died in battle. Some of the withered flesh looks like it was burned, and then healed, but there were fatal wounds that seemed to have come not from swords but from claws and teeth. Someone tried to heal him, but it looks like it wasn’t enough.
Zorek doesn’t answer for a moment, then finally responds. ”Fighting a dragon. A powerful one.” He retrieves what looks like a shard of tooth from a pouch on his belt, ”the dragon’s name is lost to time - the goddess Pharasma and my Lord in Iron - they both wished to claim his soul. He fought all who stood against him: other tribes, fey, psychopomps, fey, eventually aeons, and lastly the dragon. He was the greatest warrior of his age - and it was only a god’s effort that slew him. Gorum kept his soul beyond her reach, there- “ He gestures towards Ovinrbaane.
It was a cool morning, like so many others at the peak of the Orlovsky holdings. Mila was leaning on a stone railing overlooking a steep drop at her parent’s small but elegant masonry home that is festooned with climbing ivy and a riot of trumpeting flowers.
Mila’s parents, Drulv and Vindya were in talking quietly to themselves as they packed some things away into an overstuffed luggage.
Mila was staring south towards the Gronzi forest. Her mother called to her, ”staring at it won’t make it easier.” She looked around briefly before finding a wooden sculpture of an elk, and put it carefully into the elegant luggage, padded on a few sides by her clothes. Her father came over and nodded, ”you don’t have to go. You can change your mind. We could ask a priest to come here instead.” He leaned on the rail and looks out himself, ”but you want to be a Paladin - that’s - that’s going to require more.” He looked over at the teen and smiled slightly.
Sophiel nods, "that's all that needs to be said, I think. If I have need for your services again, miss Mum, I will contact you. You'll find your payment waiting for you at home."
She inclines her head towards Vincent, "you're becoming a person of interest in Brevoy, young Vincent. Can I recruit you to my service? They are my foes - as loath as I am to say such a thing about my countrymen and women."
Sophiel is indicating that somehow, Brevoy knows Vincent is in cahoots with Sophie at least indirectly. Mum would have to decide what she wants to do with that info.
If Vincent gets the SM, he can infer through deduction that Imeckus Stroon, the wizard who fled Drelevs tower, ID'd him.
To the others, she waves her hands, "when you're finished, I can bring you back to the capitol, where you can rest. After, there are urgent matters to discuss. This fight is not over."
Satisfied that everyone is done here, Tikroch turns back to the entrance of the resting place of Armag. Calling upon some of his most powerful magics, he summons a solid wall of stone across the entrance, sealing it from easy entry.
He turns to Vincent, "That should at least deter the less determined from exploring the tomb. He admires the results of his spell for a moment before addressing the group as a whole. "Shall we return these prisoners to Tatzlford?"
To her mother, she frowns a bit. For some reason, they had always poked each other as if they were siblings. "And I know it will not be easy." Truth being told, she was telling the truth. No delusion there and she wasn't afraid of getting her hands dirty.
Their home wasn't really close to Eagle's Watch so she had a pretty rural upbringing. It never bothered her in the least. When visiting the "big city", her cousins would sometimes mock her a bit, but screw them, for in addition to learning how to sew, she'd also learned how to shot. And she loved it. Among many things, she got this from her father.
"But I'll miss you." She adds to her father, hugging him, before walking towards her mother to hug her as well.
Vincent looks oddly at Sophie for a second and then glances at Chrysa.
"I might be persuaded." He says noncommittally, leaving the conversation there for now.
Once they return to Gliocas Vincent retrieves the large bag of loot from Sophiel's vault where it had been stashed for safe keeping and turns to the rest of the group.
"I'll take this back to my workspace now and examine them all tonight. We can divide everything suitably in the morning, arrange for the bounties on the basic weapons, all those sorts of things."
"I'm an enchanter of some small skill if anyone has requests. I won't charge for my time since we're friends, just the raw materials. Can't say fairer than that can you? Mum, do you need to report in? I'm going that way."
Satisfied that everyone is done here, Tikroch turns back to the entrance of the resting place of Armag. Calling upon some of his most powerful magics, he summons a solid wall of stone across the entrance, sealing it from easy entry.
He turns to Vincent, "That should at least deter the less determined from exploring the tomb. He admires the results of his spell for a moment before addressing the group as a whole. "Shall we return these prisoners to Tatzlford?"
Sophiel nods, thankfully towards Tikroch, "well done, thank you" she says, as he seals up the tomb. "This Zorek seems like an interesting person..." She holds up her hand, "perhaps... let us make it a little messier." She summons a similar wall, over the outside and the columns that attempts to match the shape of the mountain, "there. I think having the wall a little hard to get through may be even better."
When he mentions Tatzlford, she looks up, "of course - let me take them there first, hopefully it won't take long." She moves over to the prisoners and shepards them to a nearby tree, taking as many as she can at a time, until all are through. After a short time, she returns, "they're settled and appreciative back at Fort Drelev. Lord Numesti has asked that you return when you can - they're quite appreciative."
She looks a little frazzled after having ferried so many people, and she cracks her knuckles, "and I think I have to go and help them build all of their walls up. It sounds like Drelev was siphoning off a lot of money to his own pocket - why the outer defenses never were finished."
She finally shepherds the party to a nearby larch, and has everyone step through. After short order, the party finds themselves in a large greenhouse, stepping out of a similar larch, within the castle of the Capitol, Tri Firinnean. She looks around carefully, and gestures towards a gate. At the gate she retrieves a small, nearly translucent key, and inserts it into the iron lock embedded within the door. With an audible *click*, the door opens, and she returns the key to a hidden place.
She ushers everyone but Mum out, and holds her arm before she leaves, "a moment alone, please."
"Of course... m'lady" the dark haired mercenary with a good heart and a wicked blade says, with a tired smirk. Then as the others leave, she simply watches her best friend in that same way that she always does, without judgement but with a fierce warmth that says she would kill without thought to protect her (whether Soph would want her to or not, of course)