Grovnaidel's page

"No one is swearing to the Mother of Filth," Grovnaidel growls. "Show them the bottle. Show them the bottle!"

It is clear the sword is talking to someone who actually has hands...

"Such a display will not be required," the young woman says to Poog, her nose wrinkling in an expression of distaste. "Rather, you will agree to do no harm within our home, and no harm will be done to you." She removes her mask, revealing a face too stern for her age; she can't be twenty years old yet! There is a noticeable family resemblance to Simon there, although her hair is a lustrous black with a coppery red sheen. "I am Sand, of House Greer. Follow me to the House. Please."

The 'please' sounds very much like an afterthought; you get the impression that the current Head of the House is feeling out of sorts. Nevertheless, she precedes you to the house, where the other people busy themselves getting your mounts into the stables while Sand leads you inside.

The Greer family home feels as if it is on the verge of becoming a mausoleum. No one seems to live there apart from the people you have already seen, and the corridor Sand leads you down is decorated with paintings -- all with black ribbons indicating a family member slain in battle or by some other calamity. As you enter, Sand casually pulls a covering cloth from a painting close to the door and lets it fall to the ground.
It is a painting of two young men, the resemblance between them so strong that they must be brothers, one older, one younger -- and the younger one is just barely recognizable as your own fallen comrade. The two of them were painted standing in front of this very house. The older brother is painted smiling -- or at least trying to smile -- and raising a glass of red wine. Young Simon looks grim and dour, and is leaning on the sheathed Grovnaidel even then.
As you pass the paintings, you see they are all of pairs of siblings; brothers, sisters... And in each piece of artwork, one is trying to smile and hold up some symbol of home and good cheer, while the other's eyes are filled with pain... or fear... or misery... or bleak despair... and leaning on the concealed family blade.

"I actually half-expected you to come," Sand says as she leads you down the cool, echoing corridor, her voice sarcastic. "You see, you are not our only guests today. It is quite the festive occasion for this house to see so many in one year."

You enter a cavernous dining room, great tables set out to accompany many people, one of them seating one single guest -- and two more Greer staff members, both with blades drawn and slanted diagonally across their chests, eyes staring steadily at the 'guest' from behind their masks. The man in brown cloth robes, the symbol of a three-eyed jackal on his chest, looks as though he would much prefer to be somewhere else, anywhere else, but he is trying to smile and be charming. And failing.

"Allow me to introduce Har'kan-Za, priest of the Mother of Monsters," Sand says, her voice still sarcastic, "who for some odd reason chose this time to come visit us and tell us of the mercy and forgiveness of his patron. He has assured us that the curse on our lands and family line can and will be lifted, if we but swear to her service and beg her forgiveness 'for crimes committed against her by our blood'." Her voice goes from sarcastic to cold steel. "I knew then that my uncle must have died doing his duty towards the family."

"Indeed he has, good lady," Har'kan-Za says in an unctuous tone, unconsciously dry-washing his hands. "And the Mother took note and wished to extend her hand of forgiveness to you, the last heir, so that your pain might be mitigated by salvati..."

One of the guards clears his throat, and the priest subsides, sweat beading his brow. Clearly, this visit has not gone the way Har'kan-Za had expected...

Three Months Later...

After the endless ride through the grassy hills, the only sounds the sighing of the wind in the tall, weaving grass, the buzzing of busy insects, the cry of the occasional kite overhead and the chime of your mounts' harness, the sword finally speaks up:

"It's over the next rise."

The first thing that you notice over the next rise is the silence. Even the wind seems to fall still on the lands of Greer, and the birds and the bugs appear to be keeping their distance.

The second thing you notice is a sensation of dread and pressure, as if something is leaning on the world near here.

The House of Greer, Simon's ancestral home, is only the third thing you notice. It looks to have begun its existence as a manor house, but it has been expanded over the years, and has apparently needed a lot of repairs. No two sections of the roof use the same colour tiles, there are pale scars on the façade where cracks have been filled in, and even those without training in architecture can recognize five different kinds of woodwork.

And then the pressure seems to grow tenfold as you notice the Abomination. The House of Greer stands on the edge of a cliff, overlooking what must have once been a beautiful, fertile valley. Now, the air above this blight on the land is stained black and purple even by day. You can dimly see things slither and crawl that ought to lie, and other things walk that ought to crawl. The very earth shudders and seems to moan soundlessly. A river runs through the land, but it is a river of blood and unspeakable foulness. When a mercifully brief gust of wind comes out of the valley, you find yourselves coughing and wiping tears from your eyes at the stench...!

"Home, sweet home," Grovnaidel says, its metallic voice glum, from where it rides at Zakarras' belt. When you all left Goka, the sword was quiet.
You were all invited to a ceremony in the back woods, where the priests of Qi Zhong worked together with a priest of Mirarae, wrapping your comrade's spice-rubbed body in a shroud and hung it in a tree to be mummified by the elements. Although the sword said nothing then, you could sense its sorrow.
Gradually, the blade loosened up a little during the voyage back to Avistan. It was never exactly garrulous, but it told you about the Lands of Greer that it had known when it was still young. "I was a longsword then, if you can believe that," it said, actually managing to laugh. It had also told you about the Lands of Greer as they are, and how you could get there. But as you drew nearer, the sword grew taciturn once more -- and now, you think you can see why.

Finally, there is the fifth thing you notice: a procession of people, all dressed in stark black and armed, marching out of the house to meet you. For a moment, you feel an odd sense of déjà vu as you see the slender figure striding at the head of the group. Clad in a greatcoat over black, a Ninja's mask hiding its face, this person looks to be dressed the same as your fallen fellow Warrior... But as the procession draws nearer, you can spot the differences; this is a young woman, not a man made old before his time.

"Strangers," the masked woman says as she looks you all over. "I see you come bearing my ancestral blade, so I need not warn you not to enter into the Shame of Greer. But because you carry the sword of my fathers... I assume you bring me bad news." You can hear the woman is still quite young, but her voice is turning bitter and resigned. "Such tidings may as well be given over supper; if you will swear to honour the laws that bind host and guest, I shall invite you into our ancestral home."

If you all like, there can be a brief epilogue at the lands of the Greer family. ;)

"There!" Grovnaidel suddenly shouts, the sword cane seeming to jump in Zakarras' grip. "Right there!" The cane vibrates and pulls at the archer, pulling him towards... a big, black bottle with decorations made of what looks like cold iron, beaten into rough, primitive shapes.

"Master Gregory, mistress Alice, master Barry, master Eric, mistress Victoria, master David, mistress Yelizé, master David," the sword cane rants, its metallic voice clanging with emotion, "master Simon...! We found it! We've finally found it! Curchanus' Flask of Purified Night! It's real! It's here! It's finally, finally here...!"

The living sword... sobs. "This... Open this, pour it over tainted land as the sun sets, and it will cleanse that land of all evil over the course of one night... It's one of the last remaining creations of Curchanus, lord of beasts... It's here...!"

"My master will not be joining us," Grovnaidel declares, the blade's voice ringing hollow. "As a lifelong servant of the Greer family, I shall serve as the executor of his estate and his representative."

"Beg pardon," the sword cane says, its voice returned to its normal iron. "I am... raw inside, between masters as I am. No offence to you, Zakarras, but you are... not a Greer. And I am of Greer. I shall endeavour to control myself better."

For a moment, Grovnaidel is silent. Then: "Do not PRESUME to speak to ME about curses, Goblin! I have seen the earth itself shiver in torment as a curse TWISTED its GUTS! Natural beasts turned to monsters fit to make demons PUKE, screaming their horror out with their LIVES! I AM GROVNAIDEL! I AM GREER! I WILL NOT LEAVE HERE WITHOUT MY MASTER'S DUE REWARD!"

The whole sword cane hums violently in Zakarras' hand, almost as if the blade were trying to draw itself and leap at Poog...

"It does not," Grovnaidel speaks, its voice like iron. "Simon's interests will be represented by me."

"I thank you," the sword cane says. "And I will let you carry me hence. When the treasury opens, I will stand in for Simon, and hopefully, we will find what we seek."

"So," Grovnaidel says, once Asha and Zakarras have read the letter. "So. May I have your answer, please? I do not wish to seem uncaring -- had I a heart, it would bleed -- but I have fought and suffered alongside the Greer Questors for so long. I want us to finally have the reward we strove for. So... please."

The sword cane's voice breaks on that last word. It does not sound as if the blade would cry, but rather as if it straining under extreme weariness.

The first thing you see is Grovnaidel, set against the bed, its metal parts gleaming and winking in the morning sun as if the magical sword cane were freshly polished.
"You took your time," the magical weapon says, its voice ... weary, somehow.

The second thing you see is Simon, lying on the bed, his expression oddly peaceful. But his body is so withered that it looks as though he were well on his way to becoming a mummy. His hands, so gnarled and bent that they look like old tree branches, are cupped protectively on his chest.
Lying on his chest is a crisp, white envelope.
Lying belly-up on top of that envelope is a tiny, red-backed spider, its legs curled in death.

"You don't need to worry about Rach," Grovnaidel says. "He went with Simon. Just ... don't knock him onto the floor. Slide the letter out from under him. It'll explain. It'll explain... everything."

Although, after a few minutes of knocking, a metallic voice rings out:
"It's not locked. Come in."