He falls silent in thought as he continues working until Jade asks him for the claws. "Certainly, I have no use for them. Though I would be curious about these talismans..."
If you lend me your sword tomorrow morning, I'll attach one for you and you can try it for yourself," Jade says, "Anyone else want to test one out?"
"Ah. Yes, it would be best for us to depart now, then," Okoteck says.
He looks over his work, judging what can be taken with them and what will have to be left behind.
Without uttering a word, Kork nods with understanding. He looks at the naiad after a few seconds. "Waterlady can get home alone? Need protection for trip?"
The water nymph smiles appreciatively and says, "Thank you for offering, but my home is only a few hundred feet away. I don't believe it will be necessary."
"Cool." Kork continues to warm up his hands. "Stay here or go? Need warmer fingers for needlework." the goblin looks at others.
After packing everything of interest save the iron cage (which would likely overload the boat in any event), you bid farewell to the maiden, who smiles and vanishes below the water.
The three-hour journey back is uneventful. As you approach the waters just off the village, the enchantment of the elves once again takes hold, warming the air and water by noticeable degrees. With your boats nearing Fiskurvellir, you behold the long-delayed arctic sunset just beginning its meandering course down the sky.
As you stride weary but triumphant into Nirri’s hutch, Irila glances up from her knitting and smiles. The house spirit, Jårstul, wages his tireless battle against dust and grime beneath the table.
”I knew you could do it,” the old crone says reassuringly. ”I never had a doubt.”
”Lies,” rasps Jårstul.
She glowers at the table under which he has crawled, then motions for the jar to be brought forward. Staring intently at it, she nods approvingly and instructs you to gather around her in a circle.
She then places her finished knitting upon the table and adjusts it, and you see that it is a five-pointed star with a runic stave embroidered in the central pentagon.
”You stand here, you there, you over there, and you right there,” she instructs you, arranging each member of the party at the various points of the star.
”I will let the spirits know you have brought them a gift, and they will reward you,” she says by way of explanation. ”Remain silent, and do not move unless I tell you.”
She then places the jar in the center of the pentagram, unscrews the lid, and begins chanting in a language you have never heard while waving her hands over the jar.
As she intones the words of the ritual, the heart begins to beat again. An unearthly grin splits her features, at once warm and frightening. The old crone withdraws some herbs from a leather pouch and sprinkles them onto the beating heart, at which point it bursts into flames.
The fire is a pure whitish-gray, and it releases thin tendrils of smoke that smell of wintergreen. As you breathe in the odor, a feeling of warmth pervades you. Your vision dims, and your mind’s eye opens, revealing a rune of pure white light blazing against a misty void. Without being told, you know this to be the rune engraved on your own soul.
Then, you spot it: a dark shadow in the shape of a man emerges from the wall behind the presbytery and floats toward the altar. It raises its hands and begins speaking silent blasphemy to a congregation of the damned.
As you watch, it falters in its oration, as if discerning something out of place. Then it points directly at you, and the corpses turn towards you and shriek silently, reaching out with their skeletal fingers. You flee toward the safety of the glowing rune, its light enveloping you and driving the howling horrors far away.
The vision ends abruptly, but the warmth of the light does not. You can discern its presence in your heart, keeping you warm in dark times.
Then, you spot it: a dark shadow in the shape of a man emerges from the wall behind the presbytery and floats toward the altar. It raises its hands and begins speaking silent blasphemy to a congregation of the damned.
As you watch, it falters in its oration, as if discerning something out of place. Then it points directly at you, and the corpses turn towards you and shriek silently, reaching out with their skeletal fingers. You flee toward the safety of the glowing rune, its light enveloping you and driving the howling horrors far away.
The vision ends abruptly, but the warmth of the light does not. You can discern its presence in your heart, keeping you warm in dark times.
Then, you spot it: a dark shadow in the shape of a man emerges from the wall behind the presbytery and floats toward the altar. It raises its hands and begins speaking silent blasphemy to a congregation of the damned.
As you watch, it falters in its oration, as if discerning something out of place. Then it points directly at you, and the corpses turn towards you and shriek silently, reaching out with their skeletal fingers. You flee toward the safety of the glowing rune, its light enveloping you and driving the howling horrors far away.
The vision ends abruptly, but the warmth of the light does not. You can discern its presence in your heart, keeping you warm in dark times.
Then, you spot it: a dark shadow in the shape of a man emerges from the wall behind the presbytery and floats toward the altar. It raises its hands and begins speaking silent blasphemy to a congregation of the damned.
As you watch, it falters in its oration, as if discerning something out of place. Then it points directly at you, and the corpses turn towards you and shriek silently, reaching out with their skeletal fingers. You flee toward the safety of the glowing rune, its light enveloping you and driving the howling horrors far away.
The vision ends abruptly, but the warmth of the light does not. You can discern its presence in your heart, keeping you warm in dark times.
Then, you spot it: a dark shadow in the shape of a man emerges from the wall behind the presbytery and floats toward the altar. It raises its hands and begins speaking silent blasphemy to a congregation of the damned.
As you watch, it falters in its oration, as if discerning something out of place. Then it points directly at you, and the corpses turn towards you and shriek silently, reaching out with their skeletal fingers. You flee toward the safety of the glowing rune, its light enveloping you and driving the howling horrors far away.
The vision ends abruptly, but the warmth of the light does not. You can discern its presence in your heart, keeping you warm in dark times.
”What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” the crone inquires worriedly.
Jaym'row inhales to say something, but then remembers she said to remain silent and not to move until instructed otherwise. Jaym'row holds her tongue but looks at the crone to see if she would give permission to speak and then glances at the others.
She starts to feel the need to remove her coat.
"You may speak," she says, noticing Jaym'row's bitten tongue. "And feel free to move about."
Syper shrugs. "What is a ghost, anyway? Do we all walk the Dark Places eventually? I suspect spirits merely take our faces, as they dare not look upon their own."
He continues, animated. "Judging from our looks and your concern, Nana, we've all seen things we wish not to have. But let's be honest, lately, we saw much the same in our waking moments, too. I, for one, am not going to let a vision force me to worry about a future or a past or another life or whatever it represents."
He sits back with a wry smirk and mutters, "Sometimes, you just need to be the center of attention, even if it's bad attention."
Okoteck nods slightly while staring off into space. "It seems too vague to be useful. A dark shape preaching in a fallen chapel to the dead. Perhaps the most worrisome part of the vision was that the shape seemed to see me."
He shrugs slightly. "We know of the dark spirit summoned to the south. Perhaps it is simply a vision of it recruiting in its twisted way."
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Syper shrugs. "What is a ghost, anyway? Do we all walk the Dark Places eventually? I suspect spirits merely take our faces, as they dare not look upon their own."
He continues, animated. "Judging from our looks and your concern, Nana, we've all seen things we wish not to have. But let's be honest, lately, we saw much the same in our waking moments, too. I, for one, am not going to let a vision force me to worry about a future or a past or another life or whatever it represents."
He sits back with a wry smirk and mutters, "Sometimes, you just need to be the center of attention, even if it's bad attention."
"You are a brave man indeed if you speak truly, spellsinger," the crone replies.
As the others describe their visions, and determine them to be identical, she grows quiet. After a moment of contemplation, she responds.
”It seems the spirits have decreed you a most difficult task.”
She casts her gaze to the northwest. ”The old abbey, the one the priests of Morghast abandoned some fifty years ago, is a sad tale. The abbot, distraught at the death of his wife, sought out dark powers whom Morghast had proscribed. He began to practice heresy, and eventually to preach it openly, until the huscarls were forced to slay him. Then his unclean spirit, tainted by the powers with which he had held such profane congress, returned to haunt the abbey. Now, on the fifth night of every week his shade emerges from the stones to preach blasphemy to an undying congregation that crawls from the sea to receive his unholy sermons.”
The crone seals the now-empty jar and rolls up the pentagram. She withdraws a small leaded glass vial with a cork from her apron.
”Your quest, if you choose to accept it, is to destroy the shadow and bring me some of its geistsäure in this bottle. With it, I can perform another ritual by which you may importune the spirits for a boon. But this shadow is too powerful for you to confront directly, especially if, as seems likely, he is aware that the spirit world is sending champions to destroy him. You must weaken this unclean spirit, and I might have just the thing, if you can gather the materials I’d need to make it.”
She sits down in her chair before resuming.
”I can fashion you a bottle of liquid light that you can unleash on the spirit and debilitate him so that you might destroy him. But I will need a lens to focus the light and some phosphor to store it. The glass for the lens requires special flux made from volcanic borax, not something sold in stores, and the only people who might be able to blow it once you’ve found some would ply their trades in Oxbane Keep. The phosphor is likely underground in a seam somewhere, but I am not a miner or blacksmith, so I don’t know where best to find it in these parts. Perhaps Fargas or Othek would have such knowledge.”
"We shall do it," Jaym'row exclaims, "and in a manner the bards will compose songs to describe!"
"Given you and Syper, bards can compose songs about any part of our travels they feel like," Okoteck replies to Jaym'row, humor clear in his eyes.
The humor quickly fades as he turns his head back to Irila. "I agree we should follow this vision, for it seems the spirits are preparing us for facing the tuunbaq. But I worry for what it is doing while we prepare... and what the angakkuk who summoned it might be doing. I know we are far from being able to face them, but I worry for what they might do with other would-be explorers from the south... I cannot think of a way to warn them off, though."
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I know we are far from being able to face them, but I worry for what they might do with other would-be explorers from the south... I cannot think of a way to warn them off, though."[/b]
Jade blanches as the dominoes in her brain fall into place. "Irila, please, my father's ship the Stormweaver was blown from the south towards Thalis in a storm ago. Was--you wouldn't know of any way to find them? I--my only family in the world is on that ship, and she is the only home I've ever known. If they ran into the angakkuk or any of the spirits we've faced--please, if you can help at all--" she asks plaintively, then starts taking deep breaths to calm herself.
Kork tilts his head in confusion. "Wise woman say spirit move in temple to Death god? How possible? Not hallowed ground? Cult of Death god not around? Can talk to cult?"
Irila casts a motherly gaze upon Jade Morrow, clearly moved by her distress.
"Sadly, I have no knowledge of those you seek, and my divinations are not so powerful that I can scry on anyone whom I choose."
She reaches a papery hand out to touch Jade's shoulder.
"If it is any consolation, ships that are completely lost have a strange habit of washing up on the coast to the north of Graenirvellir, not the frozen wastes to the south. Perhaps a quirk of the ocean currents, or perhaps a layer of the elves' magic which they have not disclosed; I cannot say."
"That strip of coast is quite close to the borders of the Deadlands, but that blighted realm's denizens cannot leave its boundaries, so if they do not venture too far inland they should be relatively safe."
Kork tilts his head in confusion. "Wise woman say spirit move in temple to Death god? How possible? Not hallowed ground? Cult of Death god not around? Can talk to cult?"
"The abbot's heresy weakened and ultimately destroyed the abbey's connection to the Lord of Fate. The priests of Morghast moved to the monastery at Wunirö, three days ride to the south from here. Othek's brother, Wurl, is an acolyte there."
Kork looks at the party after Irila mentions the monastery to the south. "Should stop by. Talk to cult."
As you gather in the dining hall after the evening meal and spread your wares upon the table to sell to the huscarls that have gathered around, Othek steps forward.
”So you killed Old Whitefang? Color me impressed, outlanders. That thing was one mean bastard.”
He points at the pelt and smiles. ”I’ll pay ten gold for that fine specimen. It’ll fit right next to the one my father caught me when I was a lad. And four gold, two silver for the crossbow and bolts. And…”
He stops at the dagger. ”Where did you get this?”
Syper perks up. "We found it among some of Whitefang's victims. Why, do you recognize the craftwork?"
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Okoteck nods thoughtfully. He searches in his pack for a moment and pulls out a sheet of parchment and his quill and ink. Sitting down cross-legged on the ground, he starts writing.
"Let's be organized about this. Our ultimate goal is, most likely, to get to the bottom of the actions of the angakkuk, which may well be related to the disappearance of the virloga. To do that," he nods towards Irila, "We must strengthen our connection with the spirits enough to be able to face the tuunbaq, yes? And the spirits have asked us to banish this shadow, likely both because it needs to be done and because its geistsäure can be used to further strengthen our connection."
"To accomplish this, we need this liquid light, which requires acquiring both volcanic borax for the lens--and the lens itself, once we have that component--and phosphor for the contents. We shall need to ask any miners, blacksmiths, or glassblowers in the Keep about how to acquire these components, as well as needing at least the help of a glassblower for the lens. We may additionally wish to speak with the priests of Morghast about the situation."
"In addition, Jade would like to investigate the coast to the north for the wreck of the Stormweaver and any survivors thereof. I would like to find more information on the fate of the virloga, though I'm not quite certain how. Perhaps there are those who knew of their habits we could speak with? I also feel it would be best to think of ways to interfere with whatever the Tuluruq are doing, but I will admit to not having any ideas as to what we could do."
He pauses a moment, writing furiously to catch up with his thoughts, then continues, "There is also the matter of the naiad Naïssala and her captors." He looks up at Irila again. "When we arrived to hunt Whitefang, she was trapped in an iron cage in the remains of a hunters' camp. Apparently the hunters had come prepared and captured her, only to be slain by the bear. Given Naïssala seemed to have some possible connection to the grimstalker Athanas they may have simply seen her as a threat, but I cannot help but feel there is more to it."
He looks around at his companions, Hyggiandi, and Irila. "Did I miss anything?"
***************************
Okoteck nods at the dagger when Othek asks about it. "We were, apparently, not the only hunters to pursue Whitefang recently. There were remains of a camp and the bones of three humanoids there when we arrived. This dagger was in their camp, and we thought perhaps someone here would recognize the device on it."
He pauses, then adds, "They seemed better prepared to capture the naiad of the spring there than to face Whitefang, as she was caged when we arrived."
Jaym'row chats with the buyers to learn some things about them and watches with interest as they ask about the knife.
Regarding all the speculation of the evil mojo floating about, she has no knowledge and chooses to put out of her mind what she cannot fathom and focus on what she could do for the goals laid out by the crone. She considers things she might purchase to better prepare for the next mission.
"Let's be organized about this. Our ultimate goal is, most likely, to get to the bottom of the actions of the angakkuk, which may well be related to the disappearance of the virloga. To do that," he nods towards Irila, "We must strengthen our connection with the spirits enough to be able to face the tuunbaq, yes? And the spirits have asked us to banish this shadow, likely both because it needs to be done and because its geistsäure can be used to further strengthen our connection."
"To accomplish this, we need this liquid light, which requires acquiring both volcanic borax for the lens--and the lens itself, once we have that component--and phosphor for the contents. We shall need to ask any miners, blacksmiths, or glassblowers in the Keep about how to acquire these components, as well as needing at least the help of a glassblower for the lens. We may additionally wish to speak with the priests of Morghast about the situation."
"In addition, Jade would like to investigate the coast to the north for the wreck of the Stormweaver and any survivors thereof. I would like to find more information on the fate of the virloga, though I'm not quite certain how. Perhaps there are those who knew of their habits we could speak with? I also feel it would be best to think of ways to interfere with whatever the Tuluruq are doing, but I will admit to not having any ideas as to what we could do."
He pauses a moment, writing furiously to catch up with his thoughts, then continues, "There is also the matter of the naiad Naïssala and her captors." He looks up at Irila again. "When we arrived to hunt Whitefang, she was trapped in an iron cage in the remains of a hunters' camp. Apparently the hunters had come prepared and captured her, only to be slain by the bear. Given Naïssala seemed to have some possible connection to the grimstalker Athanas they may have simply seen her as a threat, but I cannot help but feel there is more to it."
He looks around at his companions, Hyggiandi, and Irila. "Did I miss anything?"
There is a brief pause, then the white raven speaks.
"Smart bugger, that one."
The witch-in-training pipes up. "Kork raised a good point; perhaps the monastery in Wunirö will have some information about the mad abbot. They don't normally accept visitors, but since the chief's younger son is resident there, perhaps Bronwen or Othek will provide you with some excuse or other to be on the property."
Okoteck pauses, then adds, "They seemed better prepared to capture the naiad of the spring there than to face Whitefang, as she was caged when we arrived."
"Oh, you mean the one with the big teats?"
Othek glares at the man for a moment before replying to Syper. "I do indeed recognize the craftwork," he says. ”This is the Redbeard family crest. Their lands lie to the west of ours, and they own the finest vineyard in all of Graenirvellir. Either this was stolen, or its bearer was a family member or high-ranking retainer.”
He reaches for it, a concerned look on his face.
”Either way, it’s best if I take it. You will have a harder time than I would explaining why you have this, and might be mistaken for thieves. Since the bird-man says the bearer is dead, that could be dangerous. I’ll give you two gold for finding it.”
He leans back against the wall as his men count out the coins and exchange the goods. ”Was there anything else you needed me for? One of the crone's eerie schemes, perhaps?”
The witch-in-training pipes up. "Kork raised a good point; perhaps the monastery in Wunirö will have some information about the mad abbot. They don't normally accept visitors, but since the chief's younger son is resident there, perhaps Bronwen or Othek will provide you with some excuse or other to be on the property."
Kork smiles, points to Nirri and nods when she speaks about the monastery, confirming his intentions.
He leans back against the wall as his men count out the coins and exchange the goods. ”Was there anything else you needed me for? One of the crone's eerie schemes, perhaps?”
"Yes." the goblin strutts up to the man. "Wish to speak with cult at God of Death's monastery to south. Can help?"
There is a brief pause, then the white raven speaks.
"Smart bugger, that one."
"I do try," Okoteck says, bobbing his head slightly towards his familiar. Then he taps the page he's writing on. "Writing things down helps."
He wonders, not for the first time, just how much Hyggiandi was told about his newly bonded partner before arriving. He jots down a little note to ask the raven about his history...
The witch-in-training pipes up. "Kork raised a good point; perhaps the monastery in Wunirö will have some information about the mad abbot. They don't normally accept visitors, but since the chief's younger son is resident there, perhaps Bronwen or Othek will provide you with some excuse or other to be on the property."
"Thank you, that is good to know," Okoteck says. "I'm certain we'll be speaking with them shortly, so we'll ask then."
**************************
Okoteck nods in agreement with Kork. "To expand upon Kork's request, we have been called to cleanse the desecrated monastery of its haunting spirits, and had thought it best to ask the clergy of Morghast about the spirit before making our attempt."
He pauses, then decides to add, "We shall also need some volcanic borax and phosphor for our attempt. Who might know where we could acquire such substances?"
”Phosphor and volcanic borax, you say?” He rubs his chin in thought, then snaps his fingers. ”You're in luck. When I was a lad Uncle Fargas had me working as a procurer for his little smithing hobbyhorse. Kept my mind busy as well as my body, something every Röskarí should strive for. And I just so happen to be able to help you..."
He waves his hand toward the wall behind him, indicating a direction.
"There’s a volcanic hot spring two day’s walk northeast of here. The borax should be visible as deposits on the side of the rock wall. You can’t miss them; the impregnated brimstone gives them a faint yellow hue. As to the phosphor, the caverns under the springs should have some, though there’s no telling what else is down there.”
He smiles and nods slowly, the look of a man admiring a sudden glut of serendipity.
”So, you’re out to cleanse the old abbey. If you succeed, the real estate would be quite fine. The perfect place for a small base, and you won’t have to sleep on the floor of the dining hall. No one else would want it, after the last half-century of decrepitude and hauntings, so you would have no trouble securing the deed from my father. Of course, you’d have to fix it up first. Perhaps we can help each other out? I have a task for you…”
He leans against the table and continues, ”My father owns a quarry five miles outside town. It is a big part of our family fortune, as the stone there is marvelous and sells for a high price. But the last few weeks, it’s been acting strangely. And by that, I mean some of the stones have come to life and now attack any who come near. My huscarls will fight trolls or ogres without complaint, but they are too superstitious to approach the quarry or I’d handle this myself. You lot seem accustomed by now to strange creatures; If you get the quarry usable again, I will give you the masonry and labor to rebuild the abbey into something at least functional, if not comfortable.”
He eyes Kork.
”And if you’re heading to Wunirö, perhaps you could do me a favor and deliver this letter to Wurl."
He hands the goblin a sealed letter, marked with the Aurali clan's heraldic crest.
"Our father would like him to appear for the Midsomar Games, the week of the solstice. If you are on official business, the priests will have no choice but to permit you entry. Though I suggest you insist you have no knowledge of the contents and have been instructed to deliver it personally, just to ensure there are no... shenanigans.”
After a moment of realization, he chuckles. "And it wouldn't even technically be a lie!"
Okoteck goes still as a thought occurs to him. "It would be nice to have a place to store my books and perform research..." he murmurs thoughtfully, before refocusing on Othek. "Writing materials... would they be for sale anywhere nearby?"
He pauses a moment, realizing he's gotten somewhat... off-topic, from the perspective of everyone else. "That sounds like elementals of some sort have gotten into the quarry. Do you know how large they are? While not a perfect rule, size tends to indicate the power of an elemental unless it is particularly unusual in some other way. Some idea of the layout of the quarry would be useful for planning, as well."
Another pause for thought. "Would there be any way we could acquire a map? If we are traveling to this many different locations, it would be useful to have one."
"They're no taller than a man, I'd say," replies Bronwenssen, "but it's hard to get a good look at them, on account of them constantly ducking in and out of the ground."
"As for a map, I believe one can be found for you to copy. And if you need parchment, I'm sure Nirri can oblige."
After a two-day trek through green fields, passing the occasional thatched hut or wooden barn and its accompanying sheep pasture, you reach the hot spring. The night before, a sudden snowfall blanketed the area in white frost too thick to melt away by the morning light, but the ground around the hot springs is free of ice, as the earth itself seems ever-so-slightly warm.
The main body of the spring appears to be a large basin with an enormous boulder at its center. It is filled by small rivulets cascading down from fissures in the rock wall above, and the contents of the basin must drain into unseen caverns somewhere below the surface, as there is no obvious egress for the warm water.
As you approach the edge of the basin, a small crack opens up by your feet and a tiny current of steam bursts forth, coalescing into a small cloud that then emits a piercing falsetto shriek, ”Mortals! Stop! Zook'itt must warn you! Zook'itt must save you! Aieeee!!!!”
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Kork looks at the entity, his eyes go wide. He rushes to the creature, shouting "Kork release genie! Kork demand wish!"
Jade rubs her ears at the shriek. "What's happening?"
Okoteck gladly copies from the map onto his largest sheet of parchment, muttering to himself about not bringing a compass and square as he does. In spite of the lack of appropriate tools his copy looks close enough to be usable.
As the group travels, he takes notes on the animals and plants they encounter, describing their similarities to and differences from those he is more familiar with.
Upon reaching the spring and being greeted by a... shrieking cloud of steam, Okoteck considers what it may be. Likely an elemental being of some kind... he thinks to himself.
"Please, give us your warning, Zook'itt," he says aloud as he considers.
"What?" says the creature, which resolves into the form of a winged blue-gray humanoid the size of a toddler. "I am not a genie! I am a scamp! And I must warn you to beware the beast!"
As he calms slightly, certain that you have halted your progress and given him your full attention, he continues. "The basin is the domain of a foul creature that stalks the mist. A being of air and water and a single piercing eye, it will try to choke the life out of you!" He clenches two fists for emphasis. "It already killed my master, and since he bungled the summoning charm so badly I wasn't even released by his death."
"Every time I try to take a swim in the basin, the creature chases me away," he adds dejectedly. "I cannot renew my essence with it squatting there, and the nature of this plane wears away at me over time if I do not."
After a moment of thought, a calculating expression comes over his face. "I may not be a genie, but I might be able to help you if you can solve this predicament I'm in."
Okoteck tries to think of how Zook'itt might be released to his home plane.
"We have been known to slay the occasional beast," Okoteck states, giving the scamp his own appraising look. "What sort of aid do you think you can render us if we do so?"
"Well, what brings you to the hot springs?" he inquires pleasantly.
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Kork decides to invade the thing's personal space, puts his face as close as he can get to the creature, and pokes it with his finger. "Genie stay on topic! Where Kork's wish?"
"Aieee!" shrieks the creature. He dissolves into mist again and vanishes into a crack in the rocks.
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Kork blinks a few times when the creature disappears, as if expecting something to happen. He looks around, back at you, and back at where the genies was. He reaches with his hands to touch it. "Arraioa!" he grumbles when there's nothing to grab there.
The goblin looks back at you, and shrugs. "Must be young genie. Not know rules."
"A being of air and water, eh? I've heard they're dangerous," Jade grins, then activates her kinetic aura and adjusts her grip on her shield. "We'll be ready for it. We're looking for faint yellow brimstone and an entrance to some caverns, right?"