GM Rennai's page

Thanks, folks. I'm going to go ahead and place the game into inactive now; hopefully someday it awakens from its slumber. :)

Over the last few days, I've sat down to respond to play-by-posts half a dozen times, only to find myself lost for words every time; for a few weeks now, I've struggled to get anything out beyond a couple of perfunctory sentences. After some thought, I've finally admitted to myself that I've gotten a bit burnt out on play-by-post, and it's not fair to everyone I'm playing with for me to only put in minimal effort. My sincerest apologies to everyone, but I am going to take this opportunity to step aside from the hobby for a little while, in the hopes that time renews my vigor and enthusiasm.

Thank you everyone for making the road so far wonderful, and I hope that when I come back we can touch base again. I don't have a definite timeline for returning, but when I do, I'll reach out to everyone; if enough folks want to pick our party's adventures back up, I'll be happy to continue where we left off. In the meantime, happy gaming to all!

"Some people'd kill for that, y'know?"

I...I know. Garen's tail droops, and he looks down at his hooves. I'll be here. Nothing will happen to them again.

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Gathering themselves, the party sets off down the road once again, the column of smoke from the funeral pyre rising into the pale sky. With the midmorning start, there is plenty of time left in the day to travel - Ellsprin comes and goes by midday, and the town has disappeared over the horizon by the time eyes start to grow heavy. Soon after Ellsprin, the road falls into step alongside one of Irrisen's most prominent landmarks, Glacier Lake. This lake is the wellspring for all of Irrisen's major waterways...or at least it was, before the Winter Witches' freeze. Now, the lake is a sheet of glass as far as the eye can see, perfectly smooth and nearly undisturbed as far as the eye can see.

Nadya explains, though, that while it might look like a dream for travelers, looks could be deceiving. Beneath the surface of the lake were a few natural hot springs that could weaken the ice from underneath without warning, and vessels enchanted to break apart the ice fished the hidden waters for the seafood that provided much of Irrisen's sustenance. Groups of seals and walruses called the lake's beaches home, and wherever prey was, predators were likely to be as well. All in all, best to keep to the road.

The rest of the afternoon passes without incident, and you make and break camp undisturbed in the shadow of a small cliff. Around midmorning, a loud, shrieking cry momentarily breaks the silence of the march. Overhead and to the south, a handful of hawks sweep in wide circles over the edge of the lake - as you watch, one of them dives to the water and returns with something in its mouth, as if to prove Nadya's point about breaks in the ice and the opportunism of predators in this hard land.

The work is hard and heavy, but faster than digging a big enough grave would have been - perhaps one last kindness from the woodsman to his wife. When the pyre is finished, Maret accepts Madison's help in carrying Borvald's body from his resting place inside the cabin to rest atop the wood, still shrouded in a bloodstained sheet. Wordlessly, she carries a coal from the hearth inside and sets it among a bundle of dried pine twigs and needles; soon, the well-seasoned wood springs into flame. Jory and Katlina hug their mother close, watching as the fire burns with tears rolling down their cheeks. Garen stands several feet off, watching with shame in his eyes; as logs burn out, he takes it upon himself to feed more fuel to the flame and let his mother and stepsiblings grieve.

After half an hour or so, Maret turns to Nadya. You've your journey ahead of you - I won't keep any of you any longer, unless you wish to stay. I can't thank you good folk enough for your help. Fate was unkind to my Borvald... A half-sob catches in her throat. ...but you stopped those fey from getting to my children. All of my children. She turns to include Garen in her watery smile. Anything you need of me, just ask. My home is yours.

Up to you guys whether you stay through the pyre's burning (or longer), head into Ellsprin to resupply, or get underway in earnest again.

The barn's been empty a while - as long as I've been here, at least. I never kept animals beyond a handful of rabbits, so I had no need for it. Shelter to sleep in is most of what it's used for anymore, so you'll be far from the first. It's old, but sound, so it'll keep the wind out. As everyone eats, Maret puts a large kettle, bottom blackened with soot and inside filled with snow, over the fire; by the time dinner is finished, the freezing snow has turned to boiling water. Fill your waterskins with this and they'll keep you warmer while you sleep.

As you leave for the night, the satyr's song echoes through the night.

----------

Garen reported knowing of no other fey in the area, and his words prove accurate, at least for this night. You wake the next morning to thin light struggling inside through the windows and a distant scraping and knocking sound coming from the direction of the house. Investigation reveals Maret, dark circles beneath her eyes and tear stains running down her cheeks, arranging a heap of wood into a long, narrow platform on a section of ground with the snow cleared away down to dirt. Borvald always knew something could happen, she explains simply. He wanted to go to the Boneyard warm. Silently she goes back to assembling the pyre.

No, I...I'm fine, thanks to your magic, friend. Just unbind my wrists, and I'll manage. Once the faun's bonds are cut, he rises to his feet, still wincing slightly. Zzababa and Faernip were always...eccentric, compared to your kind, but they took me in. They took me in, and I betrayed them. But I couldn't just let - His voice catches and his tail twitches anxiously, and after a moment he continues. Mother has two more children, they said. And a husband. Whoever's to blame for me being turned out, it isn't them. They're kids. They didn't deserve it. Shame darkens his eyes still further. I told Faernip and Zzababa to stop...even if part of me relished the thought of someone fighting for my sake...

----------

As the group returns to Maret's cottage, Garenn rubs at his hands vigorously - both from worry and from an attempt to massage some feeling back into them. One shutter is opened a sliver, with one of Nadya's arrowheads just visible in the gap. A few moments after the cabin comes into sight, you hear a loud gasp; an instant later, the door clatters open, and Maret rushes through the snow, stopping short as a flurry of emotions swirl around one another in her eyes. It's true, then... she murmurs, taking in her strange son - and the welts still visible in places on his back and shoulders.

Garen, for his part, stands speechless.

You let - she stammers, her eyes inexorably drawn over her shoulder to where her husband's blood still stains the snow, but she holds the rest of this thought back. You...you're here. I never...I never thought I'd see you again.

I...never thought you'd want to, the faun confesses, hooves shuffling nervously in the snow.

And with that, the two apprehensively close the distance, setting the day's troubles aside for just a moment as they melt into a long-awaited embrace, Garen turning his head to the side to keep his horns from troubling Maret. Sobs soon echo off the trees as both mother and son openly weep. The reunion is only interrupted as Jory, taking his mother's place at the open window, calls out, his words full of trepidation. Is...is that my brother?

----------

While Maret's cabin isn't big enough to allow everyone to sleep inside, she invites everyone in for a meal as the darkness gathers, the air full of joy and mourning and anxiety and hope. Maret and Garen glance at each other constantly as they eat bread and cheese, and both overflow with thanks. Maret even offers up a pendant of carved horn, carefully crafted in the shape of pan-pipes; as she takes it up from the shelf it lays on, a lilting tune plays from it. A gift from Garen's father - that was the music I heard when I met him. The song plays at any hand's touch. It's a fine thing - I only wish I had more to offer than a trinket. But you're all welcome to make your camp here for as long as you like, and to come in to make your meals and such. My home is yours.

Respond as you like, rest here for the night if you like, and we'll move along in the morning.

At Cithembi's spell, the welts and cuts on the faun's back close and he begins to stir. Standing to relieve the tension on his bound wrists, he glances around wildly for a moment before his confused gaze falls on the party. Oh...oh, Many and Three, you stopped them! Wait - Mother! Did they - did you see - oh, gods, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...

Matthew sees only battered weapons in the hands of the dead fey, but beneath a heap of hay in the back corner of the barn, Freyja spots an aura that flickers and undulates of its own accord. Digging in, she finds a wood box whose lid is inlaid with a scrimshaw of a faerie bacchanal. Opening it, she finds a collection of jeweled brooches and pendants (favoring cameos carved from agate and onyx) as well as a few handfuls of coins. One of the stones, a blue quartz crystal with a five-pointed star etched into its face, is the source of the magic aura she'd sensed.

Completely my bad, folks - I have no idea what happened to the last few days. I'm catching up now.

Freyja and Evelina's attacks strike home, and the quickling crumbles with a last scream of pain and rage, her flickering outline finally going still. Combat over!

The fire started by Matthew's spell begins to lick across the floor, reaching for more hay and dried dung to consume. Marshaling his concentration, Matthew unleashes a torrent of water over the flames; the water alone douses most of the conflagration, and the force of its push scatters the potential fuel far enough that the cinders that remain have nothing left to set alight. Fire is out.

Martok goes over to the faun and asks after his welfare, but as he draws closer he realizes Garen is unconscious, sagging against bonds that tether his wrists to the nearby stall partition. Across his back are a series of welts oozing with blood, and next to him a small whip lies in the hay, discarded for more lethal weapons when the threat emerged. The faun is unconscious, but does not appear to be in mortal danger.

Freyja, on further examination I think you're correct; it would only light where it touches down when initially cast, although moving it further would light its path. I've adjusted the map.

Martok attempts to call a miasma of drowsiness over the quickling, but as the cloud envelops her she lets out a scream of frustration, and the force of it wafts the ethereal vapors away. Made save v. Slumber. Cithembi dashes across the snow to cut off the quickling's path, and Freyja goes the more direct route by using her magic to slam the shutters closed so hard that the wall rattles. Matthew waves his hand, and his fiery sphere disappears in a puff of sparks; quickly he racks his brain for a watery counterpart, hoping he's not too late to stop the fire. Meanwhile, Madison and Evelina charge forward, looking to take out the fey. But the quickling proves too difficult a target - Evelina's rapier twices stabs into empty air, and while Madison's initial attack strikes true, the burst of energy from Freyja's call is wasted on an overhead swing that digs into the wood a foot from where the fey stands. Evelina, both miss. Madison, I rolled your Decisive Strike attack; it misses, main attack hits.

Upon seeing herself surrounded, the quickling screeches once again in frustration, then jerks as if to make a dash past Madison to the left. Madison lunges for the fey's path - and the quickling pulls back from her feint, furiously cursing as she tries to take Madison by surprise. Zzababa-won't-let-dirty-humans-win! But in her furor, she exchanges skill for rage - her short sword glances off of Madison's coat and becomes tangled in one of the pockets, and she has to wrench it free with a hard tug. Quickling feints, but misses.

Everyone is up!

Freyja's song buoys everyone with courage, and Martok's conjured whip materializes next to the quickling, though the quickling ducks away far too quickly to be struck by it. Evelina and Madison together make quick work of the twigjack before it even has a chance to move toward the window; by the time they're finished, Tindlecrick is little more than a scattering of splinters. Matthew's sphere of fire hurtles across the floor, setting hay alight as it goes - as it comes to a stop atop the quickling, its path is already in flames, smoke beginning to rise!

Turning in time to see the fire hurtling forward, the quickling acts instantly, abandoning the target of her ire and running from the flames. With Evelina and Madison dangerously close to the south window, the quickling elects to dash for the north window, putting the fire between herself and the menacing women as she yanks at the shutters to open them. Move action to move, move action to open north window.

Everyone is up!

As Evelina rushes around, she sees one shuttered window, in the same place on the wall as the unshuttered window that seems to provide their primary means of accessing the barn's interior. Glancing inside as she passes the open window, she sees the faun at the barn's far end, bound to a horse stall with a rope around his neck. Next to him, the quickling stands holding a small whip; nearby, Tindlecrick watches nervously, shifting his weight from foot to tiny foot.

But in Evelina's haste, she makes no effort to conceal the sound of her footfalls in the snow, and as she passes the unshuttered window, the sounds inside suddenly stop. Someone-outside-someone-outside! the rapid-fire voice of Faernip's mate calls out. Tindlecrick-go-see-go-see! One final crack echoes off the walls of the barn, and Evelina hears footsteps from inside - but thankfully none so frantic as the quickling's would be!

We're in initiative, the map is updated, and everyone except Cithembi is up!

If you saw where the twigjack went, you know more than me. I think that direction is where they came from - it may be the best place to start. I only wish there was more I could do to help...but I've nothing that would be any aid, nor any skill in fighting anything but the cold. I'm sorry. I can keep watch on your sled and your dogs, though, and the boys of course can stay with me too. Rising to her feet, Maret goes to the kitchen table and withdraws a pair of cookies from a jar, offering them to Orm and Mjoli, who take them gratefully.

It sounds like the consensus is to go on to a fight, so onward!

The twigjack's path is not hard to follow - it seems Tindlecrick had little thought for stealth in his flight. The small footprints bound through the snow straight toward the abandoned barn that comes into view, unwavering in their course. As you draw close, a voice rises into hearing, shrill, rapid-fire shouting punctuated by short, sharp cracks and loud cries of pain.

We-did-this-for-you!

*crack*

Aahh! Please, stop -

For-you for-you for-you!

*crack*

Argh! I didn't want this!

*crack*

Aaah! I didn't mean to -

*crack*

The barn's big double doors are shut, with a rope tied through the handles on the outside. Tindlecrick's footprints lead toward a window whose shutters are hanging open, and it looks like this is what he and the quicklings have used as their primary access point. What do you want to do?

Freyja* wrote:

Wow. That is pretty dark for PF. :)

Irrisen & Reign of Winter really go for the dark fairy tale feel.

That's why I dig this AP. ;) [deep late-night thoughts]Seriously, though, this is what a lot of mythology (if not most mythology) was/is - modern cultures have lightened the stories up a lot from what they used to be. (Cinderella's stepsisters cut off their heels and toes to try and fit in the glass/fur slipper, after all.) Fey have always been very capricious creatures in mythology, too, capable of great generosity but also great cruelty. They're supposed to be nature spirits, after all, and nature gives you both the spring rains that nourish crops and the thunderstorms that ruin them. [/deep late-night thoughts] ;)

First that lady with the tail, and now this? For a land ruled over by wtiches, there sure is a lot of free love happening. But I guess there's little enough else to do on cold winter nights.

There's little enough opportunity for fun, and a lot of the stories about fey arose from a need to explain surprise pregnancies and marital unfaithfulness. And after all, even without faeries involved there's a rise in human births between July and October, 9-10 months after winter. ;)

He asked me t-to marry him - and you see what that's gotten him. Everyone told you Maret the faerie-fuc- the woman murmurs to her husband, cutting herself off with a glance at the children. The fa-faeries are here because of m-me. Because of my s-son - because he's one of them. The boy on the bed gasps and looks to her wide-eyed, but Maret quickly rises from the floor to hug him close. Oh, no, no, Jory, not you, not you. There's...something you need to know, my babies. Still uncertain, but trusting, the two children climb into their mother's lap, and she hugs them close as she begins her tale.

Jory and Katlina, they aren't my only children, she starts with a kiss to each forehead, and I didn't meet my Borvald until we were both well into our twenties. But there was another...just after my seventeenth birthday. Despite herself, her lips attempt to curve into the ghost of a smile, although sadness still hangs heavy in her eyes. My father was away on a hunting trip, and my mother was staying with a sick neighbor. I was gathering cedar bark in the woods when I heard music - and what music it was, the sweetest I'd ever heard. I followed the sound, and there was a man there, sitting on a stone playing a set of pipes. I should have run when I saw the tail and hooves...but by then I'd heard his voice. Satyrs always have voices like violins, it's said.

At this, she chuckles slightly. It's all the usual from there, really. I was beautiful as a dryad, the satyr said. He'd never seen my like among humankind, he could show me wonders beyond what I could imagine, we could have a night I'd never forget. The usual. And it didn't take the magic they're supposed to have to convince me. She starts to go on, but checks herself with a glance at the children. I'll spare the details - let's just say, he was truthful. We said our goodbyes, I went back home un-missed, time went on...and then the signs came.

It was hard, but truthfully I loved my little boy...though Garen didn't stay a little boy for long! It wasn't five years later that he looked of an age with me. We lived together, took care of each other - and then one day, he was gone. There was only a note, apologizing for being the reason Ellsprin would have nothing to do with me... At this, Maret's shoulders shake with another sob. I never told him to leave, but he thought that if he left, the villagers would take me back. It wasn't true, of course, but it just shows - he was a good boy! He never meant any harm! She sighs heavily, taking a moment to compose herself.

I met Borvald when he moved to make a claim in the woods near here, and we hit it off. He knew about Garen, but we agreed not to tell Jory and Katlina until they were older. I wasn't ashamed, but there wasn't any reason to get them involved, not until they would understand more about what happened. Besides, I thought Garen was never coming back...and then the quicklings came, with the twigjack and my Garen behind. The quickling said I'd p-pay for what I'd done to Garen...that we'd all pay, for being ashamed of fey relations when it's the fey who should be ashamed for mating with - with "verminous humans"... At this point, Jory and Katlina begin to cry again, and Maret shushes them with a comforting hand. I think Garen tried to stop them - they said something about making him watch what they'd d-do to me, if he wasn't fey enough to take his revenge himself...

They're crazed, these quicklings, so intent on their twisted revenge "for Garen's sake" that they won't stop. Not until everything I have is unmade, and then I'm afraid they'll move on to the village for turning on me and Garen. They've got to be stopped... Hugging her children close, she glances over Katlina's shoulder to her husband's still form. It's too much to ask, but you managed to beat one already. Please, stop them from hurting anyone else. Including my Garen, if he's still alive - I promise, this is not truly his doing. He's not doing this willingly, he can't be. He just can't...

As Evelina slumps against the house, the sound of movement inside continues; after several moments, the shutters clatter open, puncture marks in the wood and bent nails evident. The cabin's occupant turns out to be an Ulfen woman just rising into middle age, with a sturdy green dress worn thin in the elbows by work. Her hair is speckled slightly with red drops, and the effort of releasing the shutters isn't enough to explain her heavy breaths. Th- thank you, she huffs, consciously taking a few deep inhalations. I would never have been able to - oh! You're hurt! she exclaims as she takes in Evelina and Matthew. The door, I'll get the door - come in, rest, please.

A few steps pound on the floorboards inside, a heavy door bolt turns, and the interior of the cabin is revealed. The house is small, but neat and welcoming. A metal stove and a handful of chairs crouch on the south end of the house, while the north corner is taken up by a wood-framed bed. Ensconced in the blankets of the bed are two children, a boy and a girl who gasp in surprise and fear at the sight of Evelina covered in blood. Hastily, the woman ushers you inside, then looks out to the road. The others - they're your companions, too? Get them in here, quickly - that quickling has a mate! There's nothing I can do for the dogs, I'm sorry, but I have to get this door closed again...In here! Now, please! At her call, Nadya and Kashka look at each other for a moment as if sizing up the situation, then hurriedly drive the sled next to the house and walk inside with the twins in tow. Madison diverts to examine the dead quickling, but it takes only a cursory glance to see that the fey carried no possessions. One sword thrust ensures it will never rejoin its mate.

As Freyja trails the group with her burden, the woman gasps and sways on her feet for a moment before steadying herself against a large chest, and the children take one look and turn to clutch each other, whimpers beginning to emerge. Please, yes, bring him in, the woman says after a long moment, here, on the tr-trundle bed... She reaches beneath the bed and pulls out another small platform on rollers, topped with a blue ticking mattress stuffed with straw. He knew...Borvald knew he didn't have a chance...but he told us to go, wanted to give us a chance to hide... Those thrice-damned faeries! she suddenly shouts, kicking the bed's frame so hard that it shakes before she sinks to the floor next to the now-occupied trundle bed, sobbing. This is all my fault...all my fault, Borvald, my Borvald...I should have said no, it would have been kinder...

The quickling Faernip turns around to gloat again - only to see Evelina rushing madly for him, wreathed in a nimbus of light from the missiles of energy that follow from Matthew's hands in her wake. The two energy bursts diverge, one to each side of Evelina's waist, and crash together at her rapier's point, sparks crackling down the blade as she drives its tip deep into the fey. Blade and magic together overwhelm the quickling, and it falls to the ground between the cabin and the road, strange silvery blood echoing the red stain to the west. Quickling is down!

Tindlecrick cries angrily at seeing Faernip fall, but it has its own problems to deal with - Madison's sword once again crashes through the bush to sever several twigs in its torso, and Freyja's sword pulsates with a gold energy that causes the fey to cry out in pain as the wound begins to smoke slightly. Grabbing onto one of the bush's branches, the twigjack uses the crown as a catapult and launches into midair, landing in a distant bush loaded with red berries and running to the north. In the distance, you can just see the edge of a long-disused barn. Unless someone chooses to pursue, fight is over!

At the quickling's fall and the twigjack's disappearance, a loud sound, halfway between a cheer and a sob, erupts from inside the cabin. Wait - wait just one moment - The shutters begin to rattle, and chinks of light appear between the slats.

Follow the twigjack or speak to the cabin's inhabitant(s)?

Yes, Freyja is correct, including in stating that fast healing activates at the beginning of your turn.

Madison, you had to move to reach the twigjack, but that doesn't take away from your action. I moved you to an appropriate spot, which also had the very in-character effect of putting yourself between the twigjack and Evelina.

As Evelina stumbles back, Madison steps forward to take her place. Swinging mightily at the bush, she cuts through the leaves that obscure her vision and crunches through bush branches and twigjack branches alike, and the fey yelps in pain. When Martok's flame bellows forth, instantly turning snow to steam and singeing the bush it uses as cover, the twigjack leaps from its perch to avoid the worst of the fire, using the branch's tension to launch itself unnaturally quickly for the bush behind Matthew. Evelina tries to strike at it as it takes up its new position next to her, but she is not so lucky as Evelina, and the mess of branches obscures her vision. Madison hits, Evelina misses due to the concealment the bush provides. It saves for half against Martok's fire breath. Faernip - here! the twigjack cries out, turning to fling a spray of sharp splinters at the knot of women behind him. 12 piercing damage to Freyja, Evelina, and Madison, DC16 Reflex save for half.

The quickling turns at the twigjack's call - just in time to see Matthew's fists jut forward, a susurrus of energy between them. But Faernip doesn't flinch even for an instant as the spell's energy washes over him - he simply rushes forward as quickly as ever, a mocking expression just visible on his face. See-Tindlecrick? Big-folk-magic-not-good-enough! he crows triumphantly, closing the distance and lashing out with his claws to open a huge gash in Matthew's side. Matthew, 11 damage including 6 cold. If you're armed, you can take an attack of opportunity. Cithembi tries to disable the creature with a riot of starlight, but it travels through the flashes and bursts unfazed. Saved v. color spray.

Everyone is up!

Evelina, 13 damage on the first attack and 14 on the second, with 2 of each attack being cold damage - the little a&%+!@~ has a bite! Err, claw. (And for anyone who couldn't possibly be peeking behind the GM screen, I forgot when typing out that post that I'd intended to use the advanced template to make the fight more challenging. I'm not cheating and arbitrarily raising damage. :P)

Freyja, things have happened quickly, but the size of the bloodstain alone was enough to very strongly suggest that the man was no longer living, and it doesn't take a long look to confirm that he is in fact dead. Cause of death isn't hard to ascertain, either, with several frost-rimed claw marks and a couple of stab wounds visible.

With the current site issues and my own tiredness, I'll give Matthew and Madison another day to respond.

As your footsteps crunch through the snow to the body, one tiny crack of light peeks from beneath the shutters, as if occupants inside had pulled aside a thick curtain or moved some kind of blockage. Wait...look out! you hear from the house - and from behind a mound of snow, you hear a tiny scuff of movement. Suddenly, a blur streaks past, a gash opens in Evelina's trouser leg that begins to well with blood, and a harsh, mocking voice rings through the garden. Stupid-humans-always-wanna-ruin-games! From the other side of the group, Maggie suddenly lets out a cry of warning, just in time for Matthew to duck a spear that emerges from a nearby bush.

Before anyone even has a chance to think, the strange assailants are back again. This time, the spear emerges from a bush near Evelina, brandished by a small creature that seems to be made of twigs bundled together with vines. It times its attack perfectly, so that its spear point darts forward just as the blur of motion flashes past Evelina again. Can't-play-like-me-though! This time, it's Evelina's side that opens in a wide gash, but before she can bring her sword to bear, the...whatever it is has disappeared again.

Everyone is up! I've gotten ambitious this time and put up a map - the brown trapezoid is evil baby Groot, and the lightning bolt is the fast one. The house is in the upper right corner, and the road is in the lower right corner.

If...if you wouldn't mind, she answers Cithembi with a nod, falling quiet as the catfolk offers a prayer to speed Thora on her journey. With the ceremony complete, the shovel's impacts once again fill the air, and soon a fresh mound of dirt lies for the moment uncovered by snow. Let's go, then, Nadya finally says, scooping Orm up into her arms; Kashka gathers up Mjoli, and everyone takes a few moments to eat an early midday meal. The mood starts out somber, but when Nadya trips over a sled runner and lands face-first in the snow, the twins restrain themselves for only a moment before the giggles emerge, and the cloud of sadness lifts as the party sets underway.

----------

Just around the corner, Nadya chimes in, pointing over a small rise silhouetted against the pinks and purples of the sunset. See the chimney smoke? That means we're getting close to Ellsprin - we've made good time today. With the rest and comfort the chapel had afforded and the late start, there'd been less need for pauses than usual, and the hard freeze last night has left the road smooth and easy to travel. Indeed, you've hardly stopped moving since leaving the abandoned chapel behind.

The main part of the town's a mile or two off yet, but there's a few cottages outside of town a ways - trappers and the like, that prefer to live closer to where they're hunting. If it was just me I'd see about asking after one of their hearthstones to sleep on, but with this many we'll be better off pushing on to town, seeing if there's some space at the inn. Good little inn they have - we'll stretch them, I don't doubt, but - Suddenly, her words drop off as she looks ahead. What's that?

Ahead, one of the outlying cabins Nadya had mentioned stands against the snow, surrounded by a small grove of hardy shrubs and a pair of trees. The smoke she'd pointed out before rises from the chimney, but it's the only thing that moves - there are no signs of occupation within the small wooden house, and the window shutters are closed tight, with not even a crack of light visible around them. Several strides away from the house, a figure lies in the snow...a humanoid figure, clearly unmoving, possibly facedown. And surrounded by a dark stain, crimson even in the slowly fading light.

With the church re-consecrated, everyone lays down to rest in the not-quite-so-ruined church, the remaining walls and Cithembi's blessing giving the place an air of comfort and peace. A brazier from the altar is re-purposed to hold the evening's fire, a rotating watch is set, and the night passes in peace. Nadya offers to take the final watch; as dawn's first light creeps over the top of the trees, she begins her work, digging in the church's yard with a small shovel. With everyone working together, Nadya's prediction proves correct, and Thora's final resting place is ready by the third hour of the morning.

The little girl's still form is unburied from where the sled's contents had concealed it. A blue-and-white quilt serves as a shroud, and a large rug from the church proves the simplest way to lower Thora into the small grave. As she helps to lay her daughter to rest, Nadya weeps openly, not even caring to conceal her tears for the moment. Orm and Mjoli, however, are oddly silent, especially compared to their usual larger-than-life personalities. Just before Nadya prepares to throw the first shovelful of dirt back into the grave, Mjoli stops her; reaching into his pocket, he withdraws a small doll.

Far from the refined, bejeweled porcelain through which you first met what remained of Thora's spirit, this doll is cobbled together from sticks and twine. Its head is a small scrap of canvas, a remnant of one of the ruined paintings inside, tied into a small globe and stuffed with moss; the painting's subject, a young Tien girl, still smiles her painted smile on its surface. I made it for Thora...so she'd have something to play with, he explains almost bashfully, before carefully leaning over the grave's edge and releasing the improvised toy to drop softly on Thora's chest.

Whew! Apparently I've recently developed a knack for only being able to get online when the site's down. XD I'll be catching up on my games now.

One more thing... Nadya murmurs softly as Cithembi's ceremony draws to a close. I know we've been working long already...but there is one thing to accomplish yet. We have yet to bury Thora, and I think this is where I'd like her to stay. It's a place of peace now...of rest. And that's what my girl sorely needs, as she goes on her own journey. Her eyes begin to well with tears, and she looks hopefully to the party. If we all pitch in in the morning, it should only be a couple of hours' work, then we can get underway. Please.

Orm and Mjoli, perhaps unsurprisingly, are more than unnerved by the vision of the spirits; even after the phantasms fade, they hold tight to their mother for several minutes, and Nadya for her part seems more than content to keep her boys gathered in her arms as long as they want to stay. Finally, as they regain their composure, she rises from where she'd sat in the snow, venturing toward the church's door with the twins' hands held tight in her own. When she hears Cithembi's plan to re-sanctify the church and courtyard, she and Kashka join in the tidying-up effort. Hatch trots to the front of the sanctuary, assumes his more human-like form, and ducks beneath the upturned altar; soon, it rights itself, and the enamel flakes on the floor fly together to re-form a butterfly on its face.

Hours pass, and Matthew begins to conjure lights to aid in the chapel's restoration as the sun's light fades. By evening's end, the sanctuary has regained some of its former sense of comfort and peace; while many of the trappings are beyond repair, putting them back in their places at least creates the feel that this place of worship and rest is merely resting itself rather than ruined. The night grows dark, and Desna's home Cynosure twinkles over the church's peak; the time to re-consecrate the Song of the Spheres' holy ground is at hand.

As you move through the now-still courtyard, no further movement catches your eye save that of you and your entourage; the same is true inside the church. This small cathedral was once lavishly decorated with trinkets from over a dozen nations, souvenirs from those following Desna's footsteps - everything from carved Mwangi ebony to Tien silk to enameled wooden figurines of Jalmerayan heroes. Now, though, all this beauty and variety lies in shambles, long-since succumbing to the cruel years of Baba Yaga's reign. One wall has partially collapsed, leaving a gaping hole and a snowdrift on the once richly-colored rug of the church's side aisle, and everything inside is water-stained and ruined.

Evelina's rapier, Maddy's greatsword, and Freyja's longsword weave a complex pattern between the phantasms of chaos, and the flames that spring into life at Cithembi's touch echo the fire breath and flaming mass conjured by Martok and Matthew. Between all these efforts, the huecuvas find themselves outmatched; soon, the corpses are once again dead in truth, dark, withered flesh a stark contrast against the white of the snow. Combat over! Matthew, save the magic missile; they died before it was necessary. As the necromantic energy guiding the dead priests begins to fade, so too do the ghostly images that surround the party - it seems as if the huecuvas' destruction has helped to pacify the spirits that still haunt the area somewhat, although whether this is enough to permanently lay them to rest is anyone's guess...

What next? Search the church? Camp in the courtyard? Find another place in town to stay? Run away screaming?

Martok unleashes a gout of flame, which roils past Evelina in a churning wall to strike the pair as they emerge from the church door. The woman ducks to the side, missing the worst of the flame, but the man, caught inside the door frame, is not so lucky - he takes the full heat of the burst. She saves, he doesn't. Martok's burst is joined by a ball of conjured fire from Matthew; it lands atop where the woman stands, but once again a strange agility lets her dodge the burning mass. Matthew, I assume you're going for the one in the lead, since it only affects one square; she saves. Evelina, judging her allies' fiery onslaught to be finished, ducks back in and stabs at the woman leading the way, but she bats the narrow blade aside. Miss!

With a sound halfway between a growl and a moan of anguish, the two undead lurch forward. The woman, already standing next to Evelina, merely steps to Evelina's left hand; the man, coming from inside the doorway, moves forward to face his counterpart with Evelina between. Evelina, this allows one attack of opportunity against him. The two set to their work with grim efficiency as spectral children run from ghostly monsters on all sides; their hands dart toward Evelina, trying to tear at her clothes and flesh, but Evelina's quick thinking lets her avoid the filthy claws. All their attacks miss!

Everyone is up!

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Martok recognizes the haunt for what it is and desperately releases a wave of wholesome, cleansing fire...but it's too little, too late. Wave after wave of crushing despair washes over the group as each child meets their fate, the burden of it almost overwhelming. Anyone who hasn't rolled their save already, DC12 Will save or suffer the effects of crushing despair. Evelina, meanwhile, understanding little of the spectral images around her, goes for the more tangible targets - the man and woman standing in the church's doorway, their rotting visages twisting in a revolting mix of cruelty and despair. Heedlessly, she rushes for the woman and scores a hit directly beneath her ribs, trying to fight back the wave of panic and hopelessness assaulting her.

Evelina, Martok, and Matthew are up for Round 1! Don't worry - after this everyone acts together again.

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I didn't roll for the haunt because haunts always act on initiative 10 in the surprise round, so they don't need a roll. Martok, I'll allow an untrained Knowledge (religion) check for how to dispatch haunts, as it's the sort of thing I'd imagine hearing folktales about even if you aren't fully in the know. Matthew is correct, Madison - you didn't beat its initiative, so you don't act before it does. I'll allow another day for reactions before I move along. Sorry I couldn't get questions answered faster - the one chance I had to post and it was eaten by weird site issues.

Matthew and Maggie hurry to join the others in the courtyard, where the two figures retreat...and as he steps into the courtyard's center, the world suddenly changes around him. Spectral images of children appear huddled in the courtyard's heart, and whimpers and sobs fill the air. Gerasim! one girl cries out, reaching her arms toward the church and breaking into a run - but the next instant, she is stopped by another phantom that congeals into view. A thick, muscular phantom, with heavy arms, a long face, and a tusked jaw that juts forward in a long underbite, opening wide to reveal a huge maw of crooked teeth that rush for the little girl's arm...

Otherworldly screams begin to echo through the air as the children scatter - somehow, even Cithembi manages to faintly hear the shrieks. Mister Gerasim!? Mister Gerasim, Miss Anfisa, help! The courtyard devolves into pandemonium, with more monsters coalescing into view to fall upon the panicked crowd. Scenes of gruesome horror surround you, too many to count, and the weight of the wanton cruelty and violence begins to hang heavy on shoulders and spirits alike. But Martok and Evelina began to hear the screams just a few moments sooner than the rest...as the horror draws itself to a head, they have just a moment or two to react...

As the noise rises, one voice cuts through - the dead woman, now standing in the door of the church and staring with piercing eyes. The children never stood a chance in Baba Yaga's onslaught...but if we gave them to her, we did... As she speaks, her flesh withers and twists, as if years of rot and wasting occurred in an instant...

Martok and Evelina have both made the Perception check to notice the haunt's effects in the surprise round and beaten the haunt's initiative check, so they can attack before the haunt manifests! (If I remember correctly, holy water can damage haunts, as well as channeled energy/cure spells/etc.) If Martok and Evelina cannot deal 8hp of damage to the haunt before it acts, everyone will need to make a DC16 Will save or suffer the effects of crushing despair for four minutes.

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The pair seems confused at the questions; they certainly give no answer to them. Instead, they turn one by one to go back into the church, the woman giving a slightly disapproving (but still vacant) look. Naughty children should listen, she murmurs softly as she turns to go. If you don't want to play, you can sit by yourself, then... Sit in the courtyard, the fresh air is good... Good, courtyard, good...go and play...

Yes, Matthew, they're still walking the edge when this occurs.

Run along and play...play with the others... the odd pair continues to groan every so often; they do not acknowledge that Martok even speaks, except to shift their slack gazes toward him. It's clear that the two are not in their right minds.

The pair is standing about ten feet from the church's front, near the center of the courtyard. Will anyone approach them closely, or would folks prefer to keep their distance?

Sorry, folks, impromptu four-hour-each-way computer-less trip to visit my family! Good news - my little niece and nephew are as wonderful as ever. :)

As Evelina climbs up onto the courtyard wall and perches on the arch, she is suddenly surprised by movement - a man and woman appear inside the church's door, wandering through into the courtyard. Their eyes are distant and confused and their jaws slightly slack. We did not know other children had gone along... the woman intones in a hoarse voice, an eerie edge to it. Road is too dangerous, of course, for little children to play...Sent back, of course, to safety...Run along, play now, play with the others... What others they could mean, though, remains stubbornly unclear.

As I said in Discussion talking to Martok, cure light wounds would help some with the pain and inflammation, but it won't completely restore function. That just comes with time.

I wouldn't imagine that's its real name - but that's what I've always heard it called. It's been ruins as long as I know, and as long as anyone I've talked to knows of. Might be it's been gone ever since the Winter War, I don't rightly know. Never met anyone who knew much real truth about it. I think it got its name from Lady Luck's mark, and the uncanny feel about the air when you get near. Might just be the oldness of the ruin getting to people - superstition runs deep in the blood around here. Still...best keep eyes open.

As the day draws close to its rest, you come upon what used to be a small town or village. Now, though, most of the buildings are little more than heaps of snow-covered stones, corners and crumbling edges peeking from beneath or jutting upward to stand tall. You recognize the remains of a small shop or two, and perhaps some kind of stable, but only one building remains intact enough to offer possible shelter. A stone courtyard, still mostly surrounded by a low stone wall with a broken arch at its opening, surrounds an old temple of brick and mortar. The front door of the temple lies in rotted shards on the ground, but a smooth circle of black stone hangs above the gap, a butterfly outlined in purple and blue lacquer with quartz stars still visible.

Couldn'tbeaplotinjurywhatareyoutalkingabout. ;) But you are correct, this is one of those injuries that the cure spells don't handle quite right - it might eliminate some of the pain and inflammation, but it wouldn't guarantee the dog being able to walk without hindrance.

Let's see if I can skip the falling-asleep-while-posting part this time! :)

With Nadya nearing her wit's end, Martok and Cithembi shepherd the children to the forest's fringes, and the two immediately launch into a snowball fight, using the tree trunks as shields and giggling furiously. Cithembi may not be able to hear the laughter, but he can clearly see it in the boys' grins - and those only grow wider when one errant snowball smacks into Cithembi's shoulder, scattering into thousands of flakes that rest lightly on the fur of his face.

Cithembi stays close to the pair, and they soon tire themselves out - in fact, the catfolk has to remind them that they've been tasked to gather firewood. Gently, he guides them back to the camp with their arms full of dried twigs and stripped bark, and they flop down next to the circle Freyja's dug from the snow and watch in fascination as Martok easily sets the kindling ablaze. Everyone settles into routines that are quickly becoming familiar, and another night passes with the party taking turns to stare into the distance of the woods and the road that cuts through them.

The next day begins much as the last several have - with a flurry of activity, packing temporary homes onto the sled and banking the fire's embers with snow before getting underway. The morning passes uneventfully...but as Nadya pulls up the team to stop for the dogs' midmorning snack, there is a sudden yelp, and one of the dogs goes tumbling in her traces. The sled stops and the dog rises slowly to her feet, but it's clear something's wrong - she whines slightly with each step, and seems unwilling to put any weight at all on her right front foot.

Nadya assures everyone as she tends to the dog's leg that the bone doesn't seem to be broken, just a sprained shoulder. She still looks worried, though, as she carefully applies a liniment to the dog's swollen joint and wraps it in a bandage. We've got to take time to see to Eva's leg, she explains, while Hatch yips comfortingly to the rest of the team and the dogs' meal floats before them of its own accord. I won't have her lamed permanently. And she'll have to ride on the sled, at least for a couple of days - the others will be fine to pull, but it may be more time lost.

I'd hoped to make it as far as Weepingstone tonight, but we may have to stop at Luck-Run-Out instead. An old ruined town, she explains with a hint of nervousness, with Desna's butterfly on one of the bigger buildings, for all the good Lady Luck apparently did them. I'd usually skip it - there's an odd feel to it - but there's no other good place we'd reach before it gets too dark. At least there's a couple of walls there we can use as windblocks to make camp a little warmer. We'll rise before the sun and start on the road at first light, to make it to Ellsprin by tomorrow night.

Between chronic pain issues, poor sleep, and a work/personal life that's yanking me all over the place, I'm finally beginning to accept that like-clockwork daily GM posting may be a thing of the past for me. Don't misunderstand - I'm happy to keep the game going, and indeed that's my intention. I just can't commit to having a new post every single day any more. What I will commit to is posting three to four days a week, and more as I have time/energy with a goal of once a day. If those terms work for you guys, I'm happy to game on; if you need games with a better post frequency, I completely understand and wish you happy gaming. :)

Electing to stay within the pocket of warm weather, the party soon finds a suitable space, with the ground smooth and flat and the grass providing a slightly springy floor. Tents are unpacked and set up, and a fire is lit - much smaller than the rest of the journey's, as it's needed only for cooking and not for heat. Indeed, everyone begins sweating slightly as they move about inside the well-insulated tent, and as Madison and Martok keep watch, everyone else drifts off lying atop their blankets, comfortable in this tiny enclave of summer.

Still unnerved by the events of the previous night and the glade's previous occupants, everyone takes it in turns to watch with Martok, but the precaution proves unnecessary. The night is quiet, and the watchers see little more than rustling in the grass and leaves quaking in the soft breeze. In the morning, Nadya pokes her head out and looks for several long moments at the lush greenness, sighing as Orm and Mjoli shove past her to romp. I almost don't want to leave... she finally murmurs, taking a deep breath. But this won't last - nothing like this would, not in the Witches' domain. We have to keep moving on. Still, though, her voice betrays her disappointment.

The morning marches on, and the sled is once again loaded and ready to go. Moving it on the thawed road is hard going, though - where once was ice is now thick mud, and Nadya sets Orm and Mjoli to pulling up as many stones as they can to prevent damaging the runners. Hour after hour is consumed fighting through the thaw, and the sun is already beginning to redden by the time the snow comes back into sight. Exhausted, Nadya insists on camping one more night at summer's edge, to spare wearing out or injuring the hounds, and none of the Petskas seem too disappointed at the prospect of another warm night.

With one more night stolen from winter's embrace, though, the time comes to go back into the Witches' winter, and the cold bites all the more for the brief respite. The sled dogs are back in their element, though - where they'd spent much of the last two days panting and dragging their feet, they go back into the cold with gusto, pulling easily and making light work of tromping through the snow. The miles fly by with no one else coming into sight on the road, and Nadya calls for a halt at a small lean-to shelter just inside a small wood. We'll use this for the night; it's the driest place we can hope for. Let's get started making camp - Mjoli, stop playing with the dogs! You know to wait until they're out of their traces! Go with your brother and gather up some smaller branches, we'll need them to get the fire going. And stay close!

At Matthew's approach, the megaloceros lowers its head, tossing its horns slightly and seemingly ready to grow aggressive...but as Madison follows behind, coaching Matthew on his body language and speaking soothing words, it calms again, staying in place as she draws close. The king stag doesn't seem to show any understanding of Matthew and Evelina's words, but as tensions drop slightly Matthew notices the wolves starting to back away, as if they somehow understand the situation isn't going to turn to violence and leave one party or the other weakened. It seems oddly intelligent behavior for wolves...

For now, at least, it seems the danger to the king stag is past, and it lets the party withdraw without incident. It's getting late, Nadya murmurs, still staring at the huge creature as it begins to amble deeper into the forest. We should think about stopping for the night.

The next few days are madness for me. I'll try to post, but I may not be able to move along significantly until Sunday or Monday.

With the party keeping still and well back, the giant elk relaxes slightly, withdrawing a few feet into the forest and taking a mouthful of grass. Its eyes still gaze upward at the party, though, and it's clear the creature is far from calm; its stance still carries a hint of belligerence, and further movement could still startle it. The wolves in the brush, too, remain motionless, as if wary of exposing themselves to the gigantic elk...or to the party...

Keep wide and leave it be? Approach? Observe? What'll it be?

With equal parts excitement and wariness, the group continues ahead toward the strange patch of thaw. The space is nearly three miles wide and about twice as long. As you cross its edge, the temperature lifts considerably; while it's not nearly so warm as the Taldane summer you left behind, it's as warm as a spring afternoon, enough that soon everyone perspires beneath their heavy winter clothing. Kashka sighs contentedly, removing a glove and massaging at a gnarled hand. Isn't this a fine thing? she murmurs; it's a stark reminder that most Irriseni have never known a day above freezing.

It seems you aren't the only life drawn to the pocket of warmth; bird song sounds from the trees, and rabbits and mice rustle in the small grass. As you pass a copse of birch trees, budding pale green in the sunlight, you even see an elk of monstrous size - nearly six feet tall at the shoulder and sturdy enough for a human to ride, with horns that spread nearly as wide as the road you tread. When it sees you approach, it backs up slightly, clearly wary and skittish at the approach of newcomers.

With some trepidation, Martok casts his spell, worried that Matthew's words are true - but it seems the night-time nuisances either overlooked or purposely skipped the dwarf. Calling upon Baba Yaga's mantle to broaden his mind, he speaks an incantation that erupts in his mind, willing the Witch Queen to keep the party underway. A shower of icy white motes fall from his hand onto the ruined supplies; blue and white crystals freeze over the heap, and when they melt away into nothingness a moment later, the party's stockpile is restored. Mystery assailants aren't winning today!

With the supplies made wholesome again (and with Nadya visibly relieved), the camp is hastily packed up again, and another day of travel begins. Fortunately, for now no goblins or mysterious witch-creatures appear, and the party travels without confrontation. Except from within - it seems that, in the confusion of the morning, one of the twins managed to swipe a few squishy potatoes from the sled before Martok's restorative spell. A few miles into the day's walking, Mjoli suddenly lets out a sharp cry; Nadya, panicked, turns suddenly, only to see the unfortunate boy with the entire back of his jacket splattered with rot and Orm giggling from the other side of the sled dog team. A quick spell from Freyja cleans up the mucky jacket, but Orm's repayment isn't so quickly handled - he spends the rest of the morning bouncing among the parcels on the sled, sulking at not being allowed to run and play.

As midday draws near and Orm scampers among the packed supplies to withdraw food for a walking lunch, Nadya, peering ahead, suddenly lets out a small gasp and signals to Cithembi. You're a traveler, she murmurs once he faces her. What do you see ahead? Following her gesture, the catfolk looks ahead to the horizon...and what he sees is baffling. Ahead, straddling the ribbon of road, is a patch of forest - but instead of fighting to hold up heavy snow, the fir trees stand proud and bare of their white coats. There are even areas where a different green can be seen, not the deep color of fir needles but the light yellow-green of new birch leaves! The horizon in every other direction is covered in snow, but it seems that ahead is one tiny pocket of summer, breaking forth from the endless freeze.

Cithembi reaches for the heap of rotting food, waving a paw-like hand over it - but as he does, a wave of nausea washes over him and a cold, clammy feeling seeps into his skin, as if his fur were coated in a wet slime. And worse, the warm, wholesome energy of the spell he casts can't seem to get past that cold...instead, the bubbling energy goes lukewarm and dank at his fingertips, and the food remains putrid and unpleasant, made even more so by the dashing of hopes.

I'm sorry, but...help how? Nadya finally ventures timidly, clearly trying to be polite even through frustration and despair. Was something supposed to happen?

Post tomorrow. Surprise fifteen-hour day today.

I'd have let you claim it in your last post, Maggie, but you specifically said you'd skip it this time. Besides, story! :) I will have it as part of the SOP for the future, though, and with this instance in place there's good in-character reason now, too. ;)

Everyone sleeps soundly through the night, Martok comfortable in his place by the tent's door wrapped in a blanket. Until he begins to notice a strange smell...

As the sun's first light begins to stain the horizon, the reek grows stronger and stronger. Soon, it's enough to wake everyone, even Cithembi. And it doesn't take much looking to figure out where it's coming from - the air around the sled is so thick with scent that it's nearly unbearable, and the covering on it is rent asunder and scattered in pieces. Nadya approaches, scarf pulled over her nose, and peels back one of the wrappings...to find that the packets of dried meat inside are shriveled and swarming with maggots. A sack of potatoes is soft to the touch, and a wretched brown fluid seeps from it with a new wave of stink. Bread is hard and covered in splotches of mold, and the cheese too is speckled with it. Even the water in the waterskins is rank and filthy.

What...I don't understand... Nadya stammers, staring in horror at the heap of ruined supplies.

Forgot to include this in the last post! Everyone can attempt the Perception check, although everyone but Martok is sleeping and will add +10 to the DC.

I love the word "knackered". :)

The stories, songs, and sparring bring a satisfying end to the day's adventure, and with Martok keeping watch, the party soon drifts off into the quiet of the night. While the dwarf feels no need for rest beyond quiet contemplation, the quiet lulls him into a placid, comfortable calm.