Ioun's Mindspire - said by some to be older than Wellspring itself - is far more impressive outside than in, though the low-benched amphitheatre that surrounds the lonely altar is warm, well-lit and dry.
The walls are studded seemingly at random with tall, thin windows boasting panes of brightly colored glass, none more than a handspan wide. The wooden benches have seen much use, though their splendid state of repair seems to indicate that some small magic lingers, despite the lack of a caretaker.
Deirdre claims a seat just inside the door, her distinct lack of formality a telling sign of her weariness. Reclining against the
seat of the bench behind her, she looks your motley assemblage over once more, collecting her thoughts.
Her eyes focus on the pale deva Setil as she answers his query. "My experience with these foes, sadly, is limited to that of the academic." Despite her obvious fatigue, her hands move unconsciously in accompaniment to her words. "I am but a teacher and a healer; a warrior who wields a tome instead of a sword and marshals libraries rather than armies."
She pauses, mustering an apologetic smile and shrug. "Much of what I can tell you, you already know... their speech is no mystery to me," She glances at Madda, then back to Setil, "but neither is it unknown to some of you."
She leans forward with an effort, her fingers worrying at the water-clenched knots that secure her well-traveled sandals. "Your pardons. The goddess doesn't mind, so I hope you won't either." A moment later she continues, now punctuating her speech with a sodden leather sole.
"'It is here, it is near! The tear, the tear!'" she quotes, looking now at Galad. "This tear, the prize they sought, can only be one of the Tears of Ioun. Not a surprise that they would search here, really, if one is familiar with legends... or church canon."
She gestures towards the doorway with her other newly freed sandal. "Estered fashioned the first of them you see, shown how by the goddess and gifted with a sliver of her divinity to hide inside it, a fragment only of her power and knowledge."
Her eyes stay on Galad as she continues, her gestures growing more animated. "The Kaorti were also his doing; an order of priests to uphold her faith in these parts and to safeguard such knowledge as was deemed beyond the ken of mortal minds. A fastness they built, west beyond the Harrowswode in the high peaks of the Jotunspar range."
She comes to an abrupt halt, her sudden zeal dissipating. "As I said earlier, I suspect this is but a taste of what is to come. Wellspring has its defenders but though their hearts are strong, their measure is insufficient. When and if the real enemy arrives, they do not stand a chance."
A troubled frown pursing her wide mouth she looks down at her toes, wiggling and still water-wrinkled. "One cannot appease evil - if these monsters are indeed searching for the Tear, their finding it can be good for neither these folk nor for us."
She looks up again, her tired gaze traveling from one face to the next, lingering longest on the serene countenances of the two Devas. "Friends. Someone must find the Tear of Ioun, and do so swiftly. Will you go?"
Her soft heart melts listening to Deirdre and Madda wants to believe her implicitly. Knowing her own weakness, she tries to trust her instincts about the place and the story instead. She thinks hard about anything she might know about the Kaorti as well, but this is new territory to her.
"Who are the Kaorti?"
Insight on Deirdre (1d20 10=11)
Perception (1d20 15=29)
History (1d20 6=14)
Karrns attention drifts in and out as she speaks. Obiviously it's elsewhere.
He turns to look at his "brother" than to the others, "Psst... What's she talking about brother? She talking to much and I can't keep up"
"Who are the Kaorti?"
"The Kaorti? A small sect of our clergy, their charge is as I mentioned earlier: '...to safeguard such knowledge as was deemed beyond the ken of mortal minds...' That, and to protect and study the Tear of Ioun. Estered was their founder and patron, and his pupil Volarn among the brightest of my faith's luminaries."
Deirdre's brow furrows, and her gaze returns to her toes. Her left hand clutches the crystalline symbol of Ioun she wears at her neck. "Their story does not end happily, I fear: the hubris of a scholar led them astray, seeking to explore mysteries beyond his mortal comprehension. With him perished all those Kaorti in the temple - a black day indeed for our faith." Exhaling deeply, she continues. "The temple of the Kaorti has been abandoned since then, and the wars that toppled three empires have since been fought over its bones."
Galad:
Madda, SH:
Madda:
"You say that Volarn and all those with him in the temple perished. Does that mean that other Kaorti survived? Is anything known of them."
The shock of the last hours suddenly hits Madda and she shivers involuntarily.
"Do you mind if I go dog? I can still listen and I'd be warmer."
"That is odd. I never heard that Esthered founded the Kaorti. Dierdre, is there any more you could possibly tell us about them?"
"Ioun will surely not mind, Madda," the priestess answers. "Seeing to your comfort in so small a way is the least I can do."
She looks worriedly at your small assembly, offering open hands. "I can offer you precious little else save gratitude, other than my knowledge of rituals able to remove afflictions of the body, mind, and soul. I am at your disposal for such, should you need them."
"Galad... I am not surprised by your admission, and you should not be shamed by it. Since their apostasy, the Kaorti order has been spoken of in whispers only, and many of their works have disappeared from temple archives. Burned, some say. Hidden away, say others. I know not which is the truth, but I suspect it to be some of both."
She sighs, meeting the Deva's eyes with her own. "I can tell you one more thing only, for my pursuit of these tales has borne little fruit: Volarn used the Tear, used it to open a gate to the Far Realm. None of the Kaorti who stood at his side that day were seen again."
"Thanks." Madda shakes herself into wolfhound form and sits quietly, watching and listening, letting her body take over and following her instincts.
Setil almost appears to not be paying attention, instead studying his surroundings.
"I speak for nobody but myself, but I will search for the Tear." says Setil abruptly. "It has been a long day. I plan to sleep and leave in the morning. If any of you would care to join me we can meet here. Perhaps Dierdre will remember more information once she rests. Where would one find lodging in Wellspring?"
For DM Grumpysauce
Setil's statement is answered with Deirdre's solemn nod. "If Ioun touches my dreams this night, I will gladly answer what else I may come morning."
"It was my intent to sleep here," the priestess says, patting the burnished bench she sits upon. "I daresay the goddess would not begrudge a bench for you as well. If you prefer more comfortable lodgings, several local folk recommended a hostel called The Splitting Crockery."
"I am familiar with the owner," Sundered Heart rumbles with some amusement, beckoning the pair of Devas. "Come! There is room for both of you."
"Priestess," he intones, "I will go. I will see where my forbears left their bones, and honor them with the blood of my enemies."
Disturbed enough by what she's hearing to shake herself back into human form, Madda looks incongruous enough, kneeling on the floor of the Mindspire, still using her arms as a pair of front paws.
"Do you know anything about who is looking for the Tear of Ioun? Apart from us - Setil's right of course, we're going on that hunt as well."
She stands up, suddenly not looking comical at all, "I'd like to hear anything you can tell us about the ruins as well. Where they are and what kind of beings are ... haunting it, for want of a better word."
"If you run out of space at the Cockeral, there'll be room at the farm. I need to say goodbye to my parents before we leave."
And maybe write myself a will as well. If there any more grells up there, I may not make it back this time.
"Good enough. I'll see you in the morning."
Setil:
Awaiting you at the bursar's counter the next morning is a square parcel, wrapped in a green travelling cloak and tied with twine. The stout woman ("Tye, Madigan Tye. Owner and proprietress. Currently unattached. Call me Maddie if ya likes.") informs you that it was left an hour or so ago, by a young woman. "Said it was what she an' her betrothed had put by, and was her wish ta give on, since you and that sword of yours saved their lives yestereve."
Karrn:
"I heard what you done," she whispers. "I reckon it makes you a hero..." A soft slither of fabric. Bare feet crossing the wood floor. The brief rustle of a straw-tick mattress. All these sounds leap to your ears before she speaks again softly. "Care to collect your reward?"
SH invites everyone to his new inn. "Come, my valiant comrades. Let us raise a toast."
DM
Karrn draws close to Ainyrah, kissing her passionately. With a flick of his finger he dispels the flame from the burning lantern, plunging the room into darkness...
SH invites everyone to his new inn. "Come, my valiant comrades. Let us raise a toast."
"I can not refuse such an invitation. Madda, say hello to your family for me."
Wellspring lies quiet at last, the spring rain now little more than a chilly kiss of mist as the serene devas and the buoyantly exuberant young sorcerer cross the Saintsbridge, following the orange-scaled Dragonborn to the Spitting Cockerel.
Galad:
The tallest of them stands as you emerge, stepping forward and into what passes in Wellspring for a courtly bow. "If it please you," he says, in a voice deeper than expected, "my name is Seldon Hart, of the westerly Harts. I should like to offer you gratitude for our lives, which surely would have been lost if not for your courage."
The young dandy looks back over his shoulder at his friends, then produces a silk-wrapped parcel from his jacket. "Please. I insist." He thrusts it into your hands (although you notice he is careful not to touch you) and bows once more, retreating to join his awkwardly smiling friends. The package is heavy for its small size and irregularly lumpy. It also smells faintly of dried apples and cinnamon.
Sundered Heart:
She pats you fondly on the shoulder with a meaty hand. "I don't figure that a few scolding words from old Maddie will keep ya from savin' folk - it's not in yer nature to be settle-down peaceable - but mebbe that little draught of snake-oil will keep you from takin' such a drubbling while ya do it." Your new partner throws back a generous slug of her gin, screws the cap back tight and shoos you off to your rest.
DM
DM:
Madda:
"You asked who else was searching for the Tear." She draws her knees up to her chest, resting her chin upon them. "I cannot honestly answer that question. Many inquiries have been made of late, concerning the Tear, once thought naught more than a fable by all but the highest members of Ioun's mysteries. Coins have been passed, blood has been spilt, and the hierarchs are troubled." Deirdre looks 'round at the Mindspire's many-colored windows. Her voice is very small in the emptiness of the amphitheatre. "Thus I am here, since I was closest. Ioun shall guide my dreams, as is her wont, and I shall find what I find."
She goes on to briefly describe the location of the temple, which towers high over the headwaters of the river Chill, in mountainous territory long ago a part of the Arkhosian empire. You estimate the journey will take three days, at most.
"As to what you may find there, I can offer this only: the Kaorti, under Volarn's lead, opened a breach to the Far Realms centuries ago... If aught came through the breach, it has had a long time to hunger."
The priestess gazes at you with eyes older than her years. "I am sorry for asking this task of you, truly. My goddess is not always generous with her gifts, and often cares not who pays the price for her paucity."
Sundered Heart: ** spoiler omitted **
For DM Grumpysauce
Setil:
Within the unwrapped cloak is a small rosewood coffer with silver fittings, inlaid with silver knotwork accents. The coffer is unlocked, but lockable (assuming you could find the missing key...), and contains a white silk brocade tunic trimmed with mink fur. The tunic looks to be an approximate fit, though whomever it was sized for was slightly wider through the shoulders.
Galad:
Sundered Heart:
Tye shuffles off to bed, calling out over her shoulder, "Keep it or pitch it, I ain't drinking it. You know where the key to the liquor cabinet is, just don't drink all of the '59 Falling Leaf, or it'll be your rump in the kettle come tomorrow!
For DM Grumpysauce
In the Mindspire with Deirdre
Madda lets the others leave and looks at Deirdre with some sympathy.
"Gods can be whimsical, but so is nature. I don't think individuals matter much to them. They're looking at a bigger picture."
She sits for a moment beside the priestess.
"I've always thought it was up to us to look after the thing nearest to our hand. Melora may not care if a particular lamb is taken by wolves, but I can care for her. Who knows? Maybe to the gods we're individually as insignificant as the ants in the honey jar or the rats in the feed bins. We drive away rats and ants, but maybe there are other rats and ants taking care of the ones left starving because of that. We can only do what we can about what we know."
"Deirdre, we will do all we can. If Wellspring is the feedbin and someone is driving us from it, we will save who we can in whatever way we can."
She smiles and stands up again.
"Well, I need to go back and see my folks. They'll have heard about today from Gotfrey by now and they'll be worried, even if they don't say so. I'll show the others the map in the morning. Harrowswode has it's own problems, but we might find out more on the journey. Sleep and dream and let us know if Ioun offers any more advice."
Then she goes home.
DM
Madda; at the Mindspire:
Madda; at the Clannen Farmstead:
The scent of fresh-baked cinnamon loaves has been with you for some miles now, and tells you your mother, at least, is still wakeful. The heavy-shouldered silhouette in the doorway confirms that your father is as well; the loaded crossbow leaning within easy reach of his long arms is no surprise, given the events of the night.
"Child," your father booms, "it is well you are home, and safe t'boot." His broad smile is a comfort, and his hug nearly bone-cracking. "Come. Sit. Your mother - witch that she is - purposely left the loaves in the oven until old Chalk left, but they are still fit for a king's table!"
Soon enough, there are fewer cinnamon loaves to boast of, and your father is gently shooing your mother off to bed. "Mairi, you know how you fuss when Madda tells us she's off t' meddle, so just leave the tellin' for me to handle - all the fussing in the world willna stop her anyhow," he adds, punctuating his statement of fact with a gentle kiss. "I give you my promise that it's naught but good an' wise an' perhaps even prudent advising I'll give her!"
The aforementioned advising takes the better part of an hour, your father offering hard-earned wisdom and devouring slabs of buttered cinnamon loaf in equal measure. "Harrowswode is safe enough, if you hold to the riverbanks. Vaymeer and his packs aren't interested in bedeviling the miners and prospectors that float their wares down
from the 'Spars on the river - it's the loggers, skinners and ruin-seekers they dislike. Don't for a moment think you'll pass without notice, just do your best to leave the forest to its own business... If I've taught you anything that's sunk in, Madda Clannen, it's that the natural order doesna need much of an interfering hand from us."
Wrapping the scant remains of the half-dozen loaves in a linen cloth and packing them neatly in a basket, your father looks over his shoulder into the darkness of the hallway beside the fireplace. [i]"And if your bed isna filled with an obedient, sleeping youngster by the time I get to it, Ewan Donnal Clannen, it'll be more than an interfering hand you'll be getting from me!" His voice, while stern, is tempered by amusement and affection - the wink he gives you is unneeded confirmation.
"You'll be off in the mornin' I imagine... these loaves'll keep you for a bit, and there'll be a fresh jug of cream on the table that I reckon you could make off with as well." He subjects you again to a bear hug - he smells of lanolin, rich earth and daisies - before following through on his visit to Ewan's small bedroom. A few moments later, his deep voice offers a last bit of advice: "If old Vaymeer takes it into his head to be nosy, you tell the old boar that your greatfather Donnal would roll his bones in his grave if you came to harm at his hands. That'll set him straight." He disappears into the master bedroom, the daisies that are today's gift to your mother clasped behind him in one enormous hand.
Ewan's amused whisper comes but a moment after the latch on your parent's door snicks shut, and is equal parts amusement and exhilaration. "Larking about with that Galad again, eh? I'll bet you kissed him!"
Setil:
Madda at home
The warm familiarity of her home wraps itself around her and is a better restorative to the events of the day than any ritual could devise. Matching her father bite for bite with the cinnamon bread, not even aware of how much she's eating, at the back of her mind, Madda is aware that this is what she's fighting for.
We may be ants and rats to the gods, but these are my ants and rats...
The thought passes lightly through her mind as she listens, inwardly absorbing all the advice about Harrowswode. Nodding, never interrupting, she lets her father's warm presence support her. In the background, she hears the creaking of the old house as the wood stretches with the night chill. She knows that her mother will be waiting for her gift and will have one of her own to give as well. Probably a specially baked cinnamon twist, kept aside.
"Stop stuffing dad." She pulls the bread away from him. "You'll get fat." It's an old and childish joke. Her father will never be fat, big man though he is, but she grins at him knowing the reaction before it comes when he tugs the plate back towards him and growls at her.
As he leaves, she stretches luxuriously and lolls, seemingly nearly asleep until Ewan sneaks up on her. "Hmmm ....?" she murmurs as he gets too close and reaches out to him with razor reflexes, yanking her little brother to the floor, pushing him over and sitting on him.
"Say that again about Galad. I dare you. Anyway, it's not him I fancied. That grell philosopher was quite attractive if you can ignore the tentacles. I like an aberration with brains."
Dawn is slow to come to Wellspring, the spring's chill fog is lying thick and treacle-heavy along the rivers that are the lifeblood of the town. If patterns hold true, the day will turn out splendidly once Pelor's sun chases the tendrils of fog back into hiding, but until then, the streets are shrouded in damp, sound-eating mist.
The echoes of your footsteps seem to linger too long, and from improper places as you make your way to Estered's Square. Townsfolk, anonymous in the mist, pass hurriedly by, enwrapped in their business. Here and there one nods in your direction; grateful, or tips a hat; polite. Most cling determinedly to their own puddle of space, leaving you alone with your thoughts as you gaze at the imposing brass double doors of Ioun's abandoned temple, the Mindspire.
DM
SH wakes from his slumber. He rubs his neck and looks at remains of the night's revels. "I'm getting old."
With a sigh of hinges, the vast doors swing open revealing the stocky priestess Dierdre. "I bid you welcome, in the name of Ioun, to her home. Again." She smiles, waving her expressive hands in an attempt to shoo off the tendrils of cold fog that drift towards her. "Come in, come in! All of you!"
She proceeds to her small traveling satchel, producing two thick, blown glass bottles filled with translucent ivory liquid . "I said last night that I could offer you precious little, save gratitude..." She smiles again, clearly feeling more herself. "That was not entirely true; while still not much, I can contribute these to your efforts. Considering the horrors you faced last night - and where you trek - the strength of mind they offer may save a life." She offers them to Galad, clasping his hands around them securely. "Use them as the goddess guides you."
"I shall remain here until your return," she affirms, standing in front of your group of companions. "Should you recover the Tear, it will need to be seen safely to another house of Ioun... I have my thoughts on the matter already, but that is a problem that we need not borrow yet."
Clasping her holy symbol, she retreats to the simple basalt altar that stands alone in the centre of the amphitheatre. "I would be remiss if I did not offer the goddess' blessing to those of you who wish it, before you depart."
For those who wish to be blessed:
She embraces each of you, with a murmured encouragement. "I again offer my own thanks, and wish you good fortune, a swift road and a clear mind."
Elixir of Will (x2) (Galad)
Your mind becomes more resilient after imbibing this bubbling white liquid.
Power (Consumable): Minor Action. Use this power after your drink the elixir. Once during this encounter, you can use an immediate interrupt action when you would be hit by an attack to gain a Will defense of 30 against a single attack. This replaces your normal Will defense value for that attack.
Special: Consuming this elixir counts as a use of a magic item daily power.
Potion of Vitality (Sundered Heart)
This potent curative heals wounds and can even fix other ailments.
Power (Consumable • Healing): Minor Action. Drink the potion and spend a healing surge. Instead of the hit points you would normally regain, you regain 25 hit points and make one saving throw against an effect on you that a save can end.
Madda greets Deirdre and is sincerely glad to accept Ioun's blessing. She gathers her belongings and pauses to ask the priestess something.
"This is a bit unlikely - but do you happen to know the ritual for dealing with extremes of temperature? We're heading into the mountains and that's not warm at any time of year."
"As for what happens to the Tear if we find it at all - that's a story for another time. Getting it back is going to be enough to occupy us for a while."
Waking from a long night, Karrn stretches and proceeds to dress himself.
"And here I thought I was going to have a boring night" he thinks to himself.
He quickly makes his wake downstairs, grabbing a half loaf of bread to eat as he goes, and joins the others.
Sundered Heart & Karrn:
Ainyrah, Madigan's newest mistress of stables, hails you as you depart the inn. She is chewing on her lip as she twists her waist-length hair into its traditional plait, and her voice rings with the hint of a smile. "I'll have four mounts ready for you within the hour. Madigan said she'll write them off as a business expense, ser Dragon. I've set the percheron aside for you, ser Dragon. I doubt the others would hold your weight well, but Titan will bear you uncomplaining."
She fixes Karrn with a steady gaze, the plait growing as she continues, her tone lightly casual."I've got a young stallion that'll suit you fine, Karrn. Nettles minds me of you - excitable and impulsive, but once he settles into his paces, he'll go forever." The twinkle in her eyes is hidden well, but there nonetheless. "He's a joy to ride."
"I am pleased to see you all."
Setil welcomes Ioun's blessing and hopes that Pelor will eventually show his favor on the endeavor.
"Thank you. I shall gladly accept Ioun's Blessing."
After the blessing, Galad walks up to Sundered and shoves one potion into his hand. "Take this. You need this more than me."
"I was always taught the shortest route is a straight line. So I say we go from here, to Harrowswode, to the temple" Karrn stufss a small piece of bread in his mouth