Lazarus mulls over the mans words, trying to find any hint of lie amongst them .
Either way he decides to pursue this line of thought. "Tolorn you say? Can you describe this Tolorn fellow for me? Perhaps I know of him already. Is Tolorn his own agent, or does he work for someone lese I wonder."
"I hope you gentlemen now realise the folly of this action. My frind the dwarf over yonder is no baby staler, I can assure you. I myself am a good friend of the Marquis himself, and I'm sure you gents wouldn't be trying to insinuate the Marquis is in league with baby stealers and witches hmm?"
The little bard was lating on the friendly charm thick and fast, hoping to keep these men in the right frame of mind for giving information. If they thought there was a chance they would wlak away from this, then information may flow freely. As far as the bard could tell, these were but poor dupes filled with too much alcohol and stoked by racial prejudice. He hoped the younf lordling wouldn't do anything rash like order their execution when this was all done.
Talfen digs his heels into the horse’s flanks, and the animal canters forward. The half-elf jerks in the saddle and looks wildly about – only to realise that the fight seems to be over – all the riders are down (dead?) or surrendered.
The adrenalin that had fueled him, let him act almost on instinct throughout the battle suddenly drains away, replaced by an ill feeling in the pit of his stomach – and a realisation that he doesn’t really know how to ride – and certainly not how to stop the horse without tumbling arse over head.
Well, it’s not that bad as it turns out … the magically summoned horse is quite calm and co-operative, and once Talfen begins pulling timidly at the reins it soon slows and then stops, a little way along the trail, partially out of sight of the others beyond the copse of trees.
Talfen clumsily dismounts, then dismisses the remnants of the mystical power that summoned the horse, sending it back to where-ever it was called on (a detail that the young wizard is actually not entirely clear on). Then he begins walking back to join the others.
He reaches them as Lazerus is questioning the prisoner. He winces at the mention of witches and warlocks, his hand straying unconsciously to the amulet around his neck. He stands in the background, trying to look unassuming … and trying not to look too closely at any of the bodies lying here and there abouts, some of them clearly dead.
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"Him is Tolorn," says the man again, pointing up the slope back to the pile of horses bodies, hidden somewhere in that pile is a rider that Talfen greased.
The man starts slowly nodding in agreement with Lazarus, "Marquis is no baby knicker but them is different. Some have feet of birds and aint natural.Ask him. Bet they ate babies, betcha."
The wounded man nods too at this. "Tolorn reckon he came off a ship. Didn't know much of Illinburgh, did he? No. Must have been from the mainland, like that young Lord sounds. Begging your pardon."
Talfen glances at solid, dependable seeming Waynir. He can’t imagine the man stealing children at all.
Waynir looks accross at Talfen and the others and barks, "I no nothing of what he speaks, baby stealing, it is not in my nature to steal anything, let alone children".
“I wouldn’t think such a thing,” answers Talfen. “Such ideas are grown from ignorance and prejudice. I have faced those enough not to succumb to them myself.”
"Well, since he's only lying over there, guess I'll tae a look at this Tolorn myself. No need to get up gents. You just stay there nice and comfortable while I go check over your employer shall I".
Lazarus moves carefull over to the tangle of bodies and tries to search the dead man lying amongst them. He's looking for paperowrk in particular, but anything of interest or value takes his eye and is removed so teh group can check over them.
Armand stifles the laughter he feels rising from his stomach.
"I take no offense to people recognizing my origins. I am from the mainland, but ride in the service of the Marquis. All of my compatriots have been hand selected by the Marquis himself as righteous and good men, including yon Dwarf."
The image of Waynir stealing off with a child into some dark cave flashes before his eyes. The idea seems strange after having actually MET a dwarf. Before they were merely characters in stories his older brother used to tell him.
Suddenly Talfen's comment sinks in. I've never really faced adversity because of my heritage. Without thought his hand brushes the slightly pointed tip of his ear.
Armand shakes off his pensive look and smiles. "In the future, let us strive to ask questions before swordplay, all right lads?"
Vincent raises an eyebrow and considers the punishments dictated by law for attempted murder, it typically ends with hanging if he recalls as he looks down at the rope he's gathered from amongst the belongings in the cart.
"We're not that far out from town we can always just keep their weapons when we set them loose. A long walk back on foot should be enough to give them time to think about acting without evidence."
It may be best to guide the lad to a more merciful path than most nobility after all brutality and fierce enforcement of the laws never won a king back his throne in the stories. Having voiced his part Vincent sets the rope back in the cart and opts not to mention the punishment for attempted murder.
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Lazarus shouts out loud and points at the body between the two horses. Everyone hears him start.
One horse is indeed dead, its neck broken as it cannoned into the horse and rider, while the other horse stares up at Lazarus, its legs splayed and twisted unnatural. One eye is staring wildly and the horse blows heavily again and again.
Lying between the horses is a muscular humanoid of reddish brown skin. Its wings are crumpled and snapped much like one or two of the large white fangs forcing their way out of his mouth. The red slimy tongue is at least six inches beyond a normal length, it rests still on the chest of Tolorn. The black claws and talons dig into its horse in sudden rictus.
Evey time the horse catches sight of its rider, it wrestles ineffectually trying to escape, but those legs are too weak and their strength is fractured too.
“Lazerus? What is it?” Talfen hurries over to where his traveling companion stands, then recoils in horror as he sees what the bard does. “By all that is holy…” he breathes, staring in morbid fascination at the creature .
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Armand stifles the laughter he feels rising from his stomach.
"I take no offense to people recognizing my origins. I am from the mai....
..... my heritage.[/i] Without thought his hand brushes the slightly pointed tip of his ear.
Armand shakes off his pensive look and smiles. "In the future, let us strive to ask questions before swordplay, all right lads?"
They briefly look at each other then nod. "Of course, My Lord. If thou dinna want to take this further then we be more than happy."
Each quickly turns to head up the slope, back to Illinburgh.
As Lazarus recoils in horror from the beast attatched to the horse, his mind searches through his vast store of knowledge to try and identifiy the thing.
"I don't particularly care what the evil thing is, we needs must destroy it so this horse can stop suffereing." The gnome turns to the others and calls, even as he notes the surviving attackers loping away uphill. "VINCENT! WE MAY HAVE NEED OF YOUR BLADE HERE!"
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Lazarus
Although the horse is alive and terrified, Lazarus does not see the creature that was Tolorn move. Not once. His chest does not rise or fall at all. But then from a range of ten feet it is difficult to be sure.
"By the Dove's grace what are you two going on about?" Armand calls, pulling his sword up and running over to Talfen and Lazaraus.
The shock of seeing the monster sends the lad a bit off kilter. "By my Mother's ghost," he whispers in Elven, "what IS that thing?"
“I don’t know,” Talfen answers in the Common tongue, absently, his gaze still on the creature, his tone a curious mix of scholarly interest and horrified revulsion. “It’s form is fiend-like, but beyond that I cannot say. Nor can I tell with certainty that it is dead … or if it’s just putting on a fine act …”
"Be careful Lazarus, don't get too close",Waynir shouts. Waynir walks over to Lazarus, pulling a Hand Crossbow from a hook on his belt and loads it. "Let's see if it is faking it, shall we" taking careful aim at the things body Waynir fires.
Hand Crossbow
Waynir looks at Lazarus and the others and shrugs his shoulders,"Didn't say I was any good with it though, did I"
Vincent follows the rest of the group and unsheathes his sword upon sighting the blasphemous monstrosity grasping the fallen horse. He moves to the front of the group to be in position should it rise up and attack it'll have to go through him first. Looking at his compatriot he makes a decision.
"Well there's only one thing to do eh lads?"
And with that Vincent strides forward and jabs at the demonic form, unsure of it's status of alive or dead.
"Easy there horsey no need to be so spooked we'll get you outta there."
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The demonic winged creature jerks as Vincent's sword stabs into his chest. Sickly yellow fluid pours out, dripping down its torso and onto the horse in small gobbets.
The claws and talons are solid but can be removed from the horse. The animal is far gone, its legs broken and its grievously maddened by that near foulness.
A cold wind blows over the moorland and behind it the dark clouds are gathering. Patches of fog and mist are gradually springing up and gathering in the valleys ahead. Everyone can see the afternoon weather will be spoiled soon.
Lazarus looked in revulsion at the horror as Vincents sword plunged into its chest. He spoke alud his thoughts "I have heard tell of creatures such as this. They are known as Vampyre in some places. They can mimic those they choose to and leave behind them a trail of the living dead."
He turns to the others and a look of unease passes his face. "We would do well to make sure those who died here stay that way. I for one would not wish to woken by the cold press of dead flesh as it tried to squeeze the life from my body"
As the darkness and fog settles across the moors, the little gnome shivers involuntarily. "Let us be done with this business quickly, and get to Waynirs boat."
Waynir turns to Vincent and says,"It may be better to put the poor animal out of it's misery, we may be in more need of Lazarus's spells before this day is over"
Looking at the weather closing in makes Waynir feel uneasy, the moors are a desolate place in fine weather, people have been know to wander from the track in thick fog and never be seen again.
Talfen too looks around, shivers. Vampyres…
“Yes, let’s get moving.”
Vincent looks dismayed at the thought of having to put down the injured beast.
"I'll deal with the horse."
Vincent pulls the Vampyre's body away from the injured animal and attempts to calm it down so he can get close enough to actually do something to it.
Armand claps his mentor's shoulder. "Your affection for the helpless is showing through again Vincent."
"Before we go there is one last thing we should do." Sheathing his sword, he strides over to the Vampyre's body. "Help me gather the dead. We need to burn the bodies. I would rather not travel and feel the eyes of the unliving on my back."
Armand pulls the body free of the wreckage, then goes to grab the next one. "Talfen, if you have a spell that would hurry this process along, I would appreciate it." The lad smiles despite the chill and fog and death. Spirits need to be kept up, especially when the darkness of the world is beginning to creep in from all sides.
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As the bodies are burnt, Armand's prophetic words come true, the mists slowly creep up the valley slope and it starts to become colder and colder.
Brunt helps as best he can, as does the cart driver, they willingly fetch branches from the nearby copse. Soon there is a growing fire with its acrid smoke climbing up towards the sky. The monstrosity quickly burns up while the other riders seem to bubble and spit fat as they cook in the heat.
While the party are doing this, Vincent notices that the Tolorn creature had full saddlebags. Inside he finds the following items, a cats body, partially eaten, a bottle of dark liquid, probably port or rum and a small wooden salt box. The end of a piece of vellum shows out of the sliding wooden lid.
Anyone opening the box?
Lazarus helps as best he can with the carting of bodies. However, his diminutive stature and general lack of strength doesn't amke him all that useful. He struggles along with the feet end of the bodies, but mostly just drags things around.
When they find the full saddle bags, his mind quickly jumps to that task rather than continue to wathc the gruesome fire. He mutters a small incantation, bringing forth his natural ability to sense the magic in other things. Keeping his enhanced vision in place, he moves across to the box and carefully studies it before opening and revealing the vellum. He looks at it carefully but cannot make out the writing, it being a script that looks suspiciously like elven.
“I have no such magic I am afraid,” Talfen replies to Armand; but he rolls up his sleeves and pitches in to help drag the bodies into a pile to be burnt, avoiding looking into the faces of the dead men as much as possible. It is not pleasant work, but less pleasant to consider the possibility of some of these corpses rising again as that thing that was Tolorn. That corpse will also be burnt, of course.
He is drawn from this work by Lazerus, who passes him the vellum scroll. He takes it and reads it carefully (assuming he can).
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Lazarus helps as best he can with the carting of bodies. However, his diminutive stature and general lack of strength doesn't amke him all.......vision in place, he moves across to the box and carefully studies it before opening and revealing the vellum. He looks at it carefully but cannot make out the writing, it being a script that looks suspiciously like elven.
Lazarus
Soon the grisly work is done. The time to move on is nigh.
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“I have no such magic I am afraid,” Talfen replies to Armand; but he rolls up his sleeves and pitches in to help drag the bodies into a pile to be burnt, avoiding looking into the faces of the dead men as much as possible. It is not pleasant work, but less pleasant to consider the possibility of some of these corpses rising again as that thing that was Tolorn. That corpse will also be burnt, of course.
He is drawn from this work by Lazerus, who passes him the vellum scroll. He takes it and reads it carefully (assuming he can).
Talfen
It talks of the circles of magic that can be made, the fingers that can be splayed and the way of turning the golden sunlight an power of another into weakness and darkness forever. Its not a spell that you are familiar with.
As the others busy themselves with the last of the packing Armand stands before the pyre. Soot streaks his forehand as he wipes the sweat from his eyes. The cold mist raises goosebumps on his skin.
His first inclination is to sing the spirits of the dead on. The elves hold this tradition very dear to their hearts, and it was one Armand's mother had taught all of her children.
But there is no trusting his voice in this weather and after the effort of the day. So, he riflsd through his brain until he comes across a prayer. One he remembers from his squire days.
"May the fire light your path to the ever green fields. May it burn away the mists that try to confuse the soul and lift the body against its will. May it warm you as you walk, so you are not afraid. Find your peace."
And with that the group continues their journey towards Waynir's ship and hopeful rest.
“The scroll describes a spell,” says Talfen after a few moments, looking up from the vellum. “Written on goblin skin or somesuch,” he adds, wrinkling his nose slightly. “To determine exactly what spell is contained herein, I will need to use some magic of my own, but it is not something I am prepared for right at this moment. I will attempt it tomorrow.”
He rolls up the scroll and stows it safely away.
Waynir calls to everyone to stay close so as to not get lost in the thickening mist.
Calling Talfen over Waynir says;"If you need any help with the scroll, I have the ability to Read Magic as well as other skills"
Talfen looks in surprise at Waynir, the dveurge appearing somewhat mysterious, perhaps even a little sinister in the mist. He hesitates for a moment, then takes the scroll back over and passes it to the short man. “If you can read it now, that might be to our advantage. But beware, for I believe that the contents describe magic of a necromantic bent.”
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Talfen
Waynir
Lazarus
Waynir takes the scroll and studies it for a short while. He then looks at Talfen and gives a knowing nod.
Waynir then explains what is written to Talfen.
I hope this is of some help to you my friend and passes the scroll back to Talfen to put in a safe place.
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The Marquis' Ship
The cold mist and poor light slows the journey. This is good for the wounded horse which totters along reined to Waynir's trap. Florde manages to keep the cart just behind the horse.
The afternoon turns grey and muffled, as the track winds around the valley following the contours beside a little hillside river and gradually heading downhill into. Then over the brow of a rise, the ake can be seen. It is long and narrow, with the far side hidden in the fog. Tendrils of mist spiral off the water, around the reeds and into the sky. Not more than one hundred feet away the river has widened as it passes behind a water mill and out into the expanse of water.
The wheel is slowly turning and there isn't much sign of life, apart from a smoking chimney. It appears that the mill has not been used much and has a ramshackled look about it.
Sticking out from behind the two storey building is the tail end of the Marquis' ship. Its shape is a little unusual but then that could be the mist again.
The stern does indeed have a tail that looks carved with rough small circles or squares along its length.
Waynir
Lazarus sits in the pny trap with Waynir, quietly humming a tune to himself as the ride continues.
So caught up is the little gnme in constructng a new song to tell of tehir mighty fight against the fearsome undead monstrsity, that he barely registers their approach to the mill and ship.
Talfen nods in thanks, and returns the scroll to his pack, making sure that it is tucked securely into a scroll case, and that its position is marked.
FW:
He keeps to himself for the rest of the journey, brooding, barely noticing as the ship comes into view.
Vincent keeps an eye on his comrades for the remainder of the journey and rides close by the wounded horse in case it may need more attention.
Noticing th lack of sails and mast on the ship Vincent sidles up to Armand.
"What a strange ship no mast, no sails, how does the thing move about."
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Talfen nods in thanks, and returns the scroll to his pack, making sure that it is tucked securely into a scroll case, and that its position is marked.
FW:** spoiler omitted **
He keeps to himself for the rest of the journey, brooding, barely noticing as the ship comes into view.
Talfen
Lazarus was having trouble finding a word to rhyme with Vampyre. He turned to ask Waynir if he had any ideas then caught the look on the dwarfs face. Looking down towards the mill, he made a small exclamation, "Ah, we have arrived I see. Do you have any means of sending messages to the keep. We must inform the Marquis of our troubles upon the road. He may have some knowledge of tehse things"
The gnome seems unperturbed by the strange design of the vessel, mostly becasue he hadn't noticed it.
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The Dragon Ship
The cart and trap continue down the slope towards the mill. Gradually everyone gets a better view of the strange ship that lies behind.
Moored on the water next to the mill is a dragon ship. Its scaled tail rests on the surface of the river and points back towards Illinburgh. Either side of the graceful main body are two large white wings that almost seem to balance the craft.
The front has a large white dragon head pointing towards the lake, its scaly chest providing a natural protective prow. The head is easily the same size as Lazarus with its mouth closed at present.
Behind the mill, a scaffold ladder reaches up ten feet to a long gangplank that stretches out above the river to the nearside rail of the body. The ship looks to be at least deep enough to have a hold and a main deck with perhaps more upper chambers just behind the dragon's head.
As Waynir smiles in satisfaction at his ship, everyone else can see that the grey and white ship is made of stone, stone that floats on water.
Waynir
As they close on the mill, Waynir shouts out;" Sarel, Helda its me, Waynir, I'm back and I bring friends"
Helda emerges from the mill and runs as fast as she can to where Waynir is climbing down from the trap. She jumps up at him and hugs him tightly.
"Well little one, how are you, I'm sure you have grown since I've been away", kissing her on the forehead and putting her back down on the ground.
"Now go tell your mother, we have guests and we are all in need of food and drink", with that Helda skips off to tell her mother.
Waynir turns to Florde,"Can you take care of the horses, the stables are over there", pointing with an out stretched stubby finger."You shouldn't return to Illinburgh tonight, it's too dangerous, stay here and go in the morning"
“It seems a most unusual ship Waynir,” Talfen observes, noticing the dragon-boat at last. “Is it magical?”
Puzzled, Armand steps toward the ship and rests a hand on the bow.
"By the Gods it's made of stone! This ship truly is something Waynir."
Everyone else was looking at the ship. No one seemed to have noticed the child that ran up to Waynir and gave him a hug. While the ship was a wnderous device, this child had the gnome intrigued.
"And to think Captain Waynir, those fools earlier today thought you were a killer of children. You continue to surprise me sir". There is a broad smile on the bards face as he says this, and twinkle in his eye as the child ran back towards the mill. He liked children, they were innocent and full of the wonders that life could bring.