Wow. Wow. Wow!!!
Now THAT is how to run Misgivings!!!
Beautifully done, Running Bull. Want to post on your GM thread about your changes? I noticed a few things Tomi didn't mention, and I'm wondering whether you went with the "recommended running" from the GM thread, with the "classic running" in the AP, or if you did something home brew.
It's an awesome read, and I don't think I'm spoilering for your players -- EVERY GM runs Misgivings differently, and we all get together and compare notes and cackle diabolically about the whole thing...
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Thanks! I guess? :)
..big part of this scenario was the players staying quite true to their characters and from that came plenty of content. I don't think I altered too much from AE, so I'm not certain which part you are referring to? If you mean certain areas that aren't mentioned, then those are something the players chose to ignore.
I however did use these handouts (CONTAINS SPOILER MATERIAL) from the GM thread, including also related rolls I needed the player to make. I sent them as whispers on roll20.net so that only the player in question was aware of what was going around his character and was expecting them to explain them.. I figured big part of the Misgivings was the mysteries going on around them and had I told everyone out loud what one of them is going thru, I was afraid they might have hand waved them by "I tell others what you just told." as has happened at times. That is understandable for time saving, but might have taken part of the mystery away.
I also left perception checks out of all the haunts and tried to adjust the events accordingly.
If you are referring to something specific, spoiler worthy, could you maybe point it out on my thread? I'd like to know if I unintentionally left something out? :)
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The 17th chapter presents the funeral of the late druid Vidarok, and a new member to the group. The simple initiation tests become very bloody as the DM pits boars with dire boar stat blocks against our heroes (LOL).. An honest mistake from Riding Bull (yeah right), which I spun into a plausible story in the journal. Enjoy!
And oh yeah, I updated the blog with the 19th Chapter.
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17. CULL THE HERD
8th of Lamashtan – Moonday – 17th day at Sandpoint
Sandpoint Cathedral, the Boneyard Cemetery
I’d never been to a funeral. In Canorate, the well-died gladiators and other house warriors earned a pyre, while the poorly died were fed to the lions. Would-be assassins of members of House Horryn were thrown to the dogs, dead or alive. Dead slaves were burned in some back-alley or thrown into the river. Servants’ families took care of their own, and I never was allowed to any noble funerals. And during my years on the run I’d never stopped anywhere long enough, never grown attached enough to be invited to one. So this really was my first funeral ceremony.
Vidarok’s funeral was a short, private, low-profile event, held during Moonday – a religious day, but also a working day. Harsk, Ilori and I were accompanied by High Priest Zantus and few of his priests, who were blessing the body of the druid. Ameiko was there, as a friend. Sheriff Hemlock had come, with four of his men as honour guard, out of respect for what Vidarok had done for the security of the town. Mayor Deverin was nowhere to be seen, of course. She was too busy to be there to pay respect for a man without whom the aasimar Nualia might’ve been right then burning her and her villagers alive as a sacrifice to goddess Lamashtu. Some people just were so up their own arses not to see the details.
I was still angry with Vidarok. I had no reason really. I hadn’t really known him, but from what I had come to know, he had died exactly as he had lived – fighting to remove unnatural taint from his pure, natural world. I had to respect his perseverance to his ideal. I.. I had no such worthy goals. The image of my brother struck my mind like an avalanche out of nowhere and I squeezed my eyes closed, to hold my emotions in check.
I’m coming for you, Alpharius. So he had said in my death-vision in Thistletop. No, I am coming for you, brother, I replied to him in my mind.
I clenched my fists and drew my hood more over my head, not wanting the others to see my turmoil. I had turned over the black side of my cloak, as the colour better suited the occasion. Harsk was in full battle plate and in colours of his goddess, honoring Vidarok as a brother-in-arms in the struggle against evil powers. Ilori was in black as well – she had borrowed a long, modest dress from Shayliss. Apparently they were of the same size. Ilori and Shayliss had spent quite a lot of time together in the past days, as I had roamed the forest, just with my thoughts and Faroth as my company. Shayliss was angry with me, for not being there for her, to offer solace when she grieved for Katrine. Such intimacy did not come naturally for me. I guess I had fled the situation. Maybe I knew I’d be leaving Sandpoint very soon and didn’t want to drag the affair any further. And maybe Ilori was the better company for her. They were worlds apart, but of roughly the same age. Both had gone through a lot and could relate, and the other was a talker, the other a listener – a good basis for friendship as any I guess.
We didn’t know much about Vidarok – about how he would’ve wanted his funeral to be held, so we had left his body to Zantus and agreed to have him buried here at the Cathedral grounds. Harsk was speaking, and I wasn’t paying attention again. I wasn’t so big on speeches.
“..thus, we honor our short time together, and we honor your sacrifices for us and for your mission.” Harsk ended, and placed Vidarok’s wooden quarterstaff on top of his chest. He had no casket and was lying on a pure white blanket – the priests would just lower his body to the ground, roll the blanket over him and shovel earth on top to fill the pit. It was a nice idea from Zantus: this way, without a casket, Vidarok’s remains would function as soil for flowers to grow from. I think the flower-gathering half-orc would have liked that.
The priests started a monotonous chant, and following Harsk, Ilori placed a red rose, the same colour as her fires, to Vidarok’s lap and remained still for a while. She felt the rose signified the fiery passion Vidarok had had for his cause. After the carmine lady, I left the beautiful, glowing lava stone I had taken from Thistletop next to the flower and the staff. Vidarok had saved my life during the fight with Nualia, and I would not forget him. Finally, Ameiko kneeled down, and set a beautifully made glass figurine depicting Vidarok, fresh from the Glassworks, to the body’s feet.
After the priests had lowered the half-orc to his final resting place and had started to shovel earth on his body, Harsk opened one of the fine wine bottles we had taken from the Foxglove Manor before we had left and poured it down on the soil above Vidarok. “Enjoy it, friend. I pray you’ll find your sister in the afterlife. And I pray you will forgive yourself then what happened with her.”
Behind us, far away over the Varisian Gulf, a stormfront approached. There, thunder boomed as if in reply to the goodbyes of the cleric.
**
Four days later – early evening, the Rusty Dragon
I continued to range the nearby forests and hills with Faroth, teaching him to fight the undead. We found some straggler ghouls, leftovers from our and Hemlock’s purges, that provided ample opportunities for Faroth to overcome his reservations about sinking his teeth and claws into something unnatural. By the end of the week, my firepelt had become fearless when it came to unnatural enemies.
We returned to the Rusty Dragon every evening of course. Each evening I spotted Ilori talking and laughing at the tavern with Shayliss, and my 21st day at Sandpoint, a Fireday, was no different. I greeted them appropriately and exchanged some words about the day. Ilori at least offered me a genuine smile as I approached, Shayliss not so much. We’d developed quite a rift between us, and I was to blame for it. I didn’t feel that bad about it. I did feel a bit jealous however. Of Ilori, or Shayliss, I didn’t know really. During those evenings I missed my brother.
A new person to us had started to visit Ameiko’s inn regularly then – coming for beers and games of card before or after a visit to Pixie’s, the local bordello. He was a bit older, obnoxious man, easily in his thirties, even late-thirties. A loudmouth and big on the beer, he nevertheless carried the weaponry and had the physique and moves of a veteran soldier to back his boasts. I hadn’t really made an effort to get to know him (did I ever), but rather, every night, had my supper with wine and talked with Harsk and Ameiko briefly before retreating to my room.
That evening, Ameiko chose to pull him aside and introduce him to us.
“Harsk, Alpharius, Ilori”, she opened, nodding to us, “this is Alfred.” I was expecting a family name but that never came. “Alfred”, Ameiko went on, “these are the friends of mine I’ve been talking about.” Alfred, clonking in his heavy armor of steel and leather, approached us, offering his hand. I just nodded to him, and he moved over to Harsk, who shook his hand, and then to Ilori, who also offered her hand. Alfred took it and kissed her on the back of her hand. “Ah my lady, you and Shayliss here make such a beautiful sight. You are almost too much for a man.” I groaned inwardly. Ilori just smiled her smile, and Shayliss laughed at the flirt.
Ameiko explained why she had made the introduction. “Friends, Alfred here is my old friend, and a trusty companion”, she began and got a wink from Alfred, “he is quite good with the axe and shield, and is looking for a competent party he could join.” Then Alfred took over, five heartbeats apparently being way too long a time for him to keep his mouth shut. “I’m an old mercenary, and caravan hand and guard, looking for a good adventure to earn some gold. And I heard from Ameiko here that you’re the sort of people who do adventures.” Were he not so irritating, his directness would have been heartwarming. I snorted. “We don’t do adventures“, I said, stressing the last word. We just run into trouble, all the time, and get things done, I thought to myself but didn’t say it aloud. Had Vidarok just died in a f*cking adventure?
Alfred didn’t get offended by my tone – either by the virtue of being oblivious to it or not wanting to cause a stir – and went on. “I’ve travelled Varisia extensively, and I’d be a good addition to your group thanks to my skills and local knowledge”, he explained, seriously. Ilori nodded and shot him a question. “Why now? What did you do before?” Alfred cracked up, guffawing irritably. “Aah, I tried farming with my wife. Didn’t go so well. She left me.” Another guffaw. Ho-ho-ho. “Life of the mercenary, on the road, is more to my liking.” At least there we were the same, I sighed. “How good are you with that axe of yours”, Ilori continued the interview, pointing at the formidable looking battleaxe hanging at his belt. It had a magical glow.”Ah this little thing?” He asked, petting its edge, “she’s my best friend and we can dance quite the dance together”. Ho-ho-ho. “Why won’t we dance, hoodman? So you can see how good I am?” He asked, laughing, and poked me on the shoulder. I turned to him and just gave him a deadly stare from under my hood. He wasn’t intimidated. Ilori went on with him. “Yes, Alpharius, you should try him out, to test his mettle”, she said, encouraging him. Oh gods no, I groaned again in my head. I looked at Ilori, and then at Harsk, who was nodding approvingly. Crap.
“All right, let’s have a duel”, I sighed, pushing aside my wine cup and plate of cheese and fruits, my evening meal. “Right now?” Alfred asked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Right now”, I responded flatly.
**
We left the Rusty Dragon with a score of people at our tow. The word of our duel got around the city fast. When we got to the town centre near the cathedral, there were already dozens of locals gathering. And more people were arriving by the minute. Ameiko had left Bethana to manage the tavern, and she took the best places on the wooden podium with Harsk, Ilori, Shayliss and High Priest Zantus, who had come out of his cathedral as well, to offer healing ministrations. They would be needed.
The crowd, massing around, allowed us a circular arena forty feet wide. I told Faroth to sit down and remain at the side, and the beast slouched to the edge of our improvised arena. People around him were dismayed and afraid, and gave ample space for the wild animal as he approached. All but one little boy, who I recognized as the one named Macharius – just like my twin brother – who I had met twice a couple of weeks ago. The boy boldly stood his ground, his mother hissing at him to move away like all the others. Faroth didn’t seem to mind and sat down on his hindlegs next to the boy. Macharius smiled at the firepelt and scratched it from behind its ear like it simply was a big cat. I couldn’t force back my smile and waved at the boy. He waved back, rooting for me. I think his mother had a heart attack. Brave little man.
“Ready to get your ass beaten, boy?” Alfred’s taunt brought me back to the now and here. People were hooting and cheering, mostly for the local champion. I could hear Ilori and Harsk call my name in encouragement, and recognized Das Korvut’s throaty, deep bass calling Alfred to kick my ass. Or someone called Alfonse. He never got my name right. Not really giving it too much thought I turned to face the fighter. “You talk too much”, I replied. Ho-ho-ho, came the guffaw. I had heard enough and attacked.
We were both roughly as quick and strong. The fighter had the years of experience, heavy armor and that glowing magical battleaxe to his favor, whereas I had my gladii and my acrobatic skills. Also, I had been trained to kill humans since I had been nine. I crossed the thirty or so feet between us in a blink and launched my first blow with my adamantine gladius. The lightning-quick slash would have taken the head off a normal man, but Alfred managed, albeit just barely, to parry with the side of his spiked shield. I overextended, and he countered successfully with a stab. First blood for the loudmouth. People cheered. Ho-ho-ho. The bastard followed with a shield bash that pushed me back ten feet. The heels of my boots cleaved sand as I was forced back but I stayed on my feet. The fighter eagerly followed in pursuit.
“You should know”, I said to him under my hood, “that when you fight me, you fight my companion as well.” And with a bark of an order, I called forth Faroth who stood up and with a gnarl launched himself at Alfred’s side. The sellsword had the time to react, and lifted his shield just enough to block the fangs of my beast. Using the distraction to my advantage, I executed my second attack. Another lucky parry, this time with his pauldron, stopped my adamantine blade and I couldn’t reach the weak spot between his frontal and rear plates. Alfred remained focused on me solely, and successfully struck me twice in rapid motion. His skill, I had to admit, was considerable. I had three bleeding wounds to his none. But I wasn’t giving up so easily. Amassing all my strength and expertise, I launched myself into a full attack, and finally managed to wound him twice, to his side and thigh, through his armored bulk. He grunted in pain, his guffaw silenced to my relief. He was taking me seriously now. Criss-crossing with his battleaxe, he pushed my parries aside. The edge of his axe connected with my face and his shield slammed into my chest, emptying the air out of me. Faroth roared now, sensing my plight, his claws tearing deep cuts into the fighter’s back and feet. I was reeling, my vision swimming. My response with the adamantine blade was a weak effort, but my off-hand gladii stabbed deep into his side. Blood flowed freely through cracks in his armor. But I was in a sorrier state. Panting with effort, Alfred tried to finish me off with a wild sideways blow of his axe, but he fumbled it and lost the grip of his weapon. Cursing, the old veteran just resorted to slamming me again with the front of his shield. Badly injured, I had lost my dexterity and had no chance of evading the incoming shield. Metal struck my face, my once-broken nose broke again and I fell to the sand straight on my back. I was unconscious already on the way down. I was out probably a second or two before Zantus’ healing magic woke me up and stemmed the flow of blood from my and Alfred’s many wounds. I ordered Faroth to stand down and he retreated a few steps, head bowed, silent, not letting his hunter’s eyes off Alfred.
Standing above me, sweating and breathing laboriously, he offered me his hand with a wide, cocky smile. I took it and he pulled me up. People around us, now numbering in the several of dozens, were hooting and cheering for him. Ungrateful bastards the lot.
**
With the help of Harsk’s and Zantus’ ministrations, and a good night’s sleep, we both returned to full strength in no time. We were impressed by Alfred’s skills, but I personally was still doubtful. The next morning, I suggested another trial. A boar hunt.
Alfred told us he wasn’t particularly good at hunting wild animals, but couldn’t of course say no to the offer. I thought a hunt would prove to be a good occasion to test his skills in actual fight with multiple combatants, and see how he used his senses and moved in the field. Harsk excused himself from the hunting trip, citing reasons related to his beer business, but we decided to head out without our healer cleric anyway. We had easily disposed of several boars weeks ago, and we felt much more experienced – what could go wrong?
We took our mounts and rode to Tickwood, the same forest where we had hunted boars with Aldern previously. On the way there, Alfred eagerly shared his past with us, telling how he had lived most of his life in Sandpoint, travelling the coast of Varisian gulf back and forth. Ilori asked about how he had got the magical battle-axe, and he just smiled and told it was loot from his years as a mercenary. The old veteran also told about her wife again, and her departure to somewhere – he didn’t know where – but he didn’t really seem to give two s$$&s about their break-up. He preferred the girls at the Pixie Kitten. I put to memory his weaknesses – booze, card games and whores. All of us had our weak points, things that our enemies could use as leverage against us, but his were right there in plain sight, like cards on a table.
We left the road east and went into the forest proper. In no time, I spotted boar tracks in the ground, along with dung. Ahead, Faroth was sniffing the tracks and growling ominously. I jumped off my horse and went to have a closer look, to see how many animals there had been. I heard Alfred make a joke about me examining boar s*$~, but I disregarded him. I was seeing boar tracks all right, but they were much larger than those of normal boars. We were on a trail of a pack of nothing less than dire boars.
Smiling with my back towards the others, I held the information to myself. This hunt gets even better, I mused.
I signaled the others to leave their mounts and continue on foot. I took the point, moving silently and unseen in my one of my favored terrains – the environment where I had spent the first years of my life. Following the tracks of the pack, I led the group south-east towards a hill spotted with bushes and thick undergrowth. They offered a lot of cover to hide behind, so we needed to get up the hill. But I was already spotting the massive creatures among the vegetation.
Boars were powerful creatures to be sure, and unpredictable when challenged, sometimes choosing flight over fight, sometimes not. Sure, sows rigorously protected their piglets and young hogs got aggressive during mating seasons, but I had always felt a typical boar hunt to be straightforward and relatively safe for a skilled hunter. Dire boars on the other hand were just mean and vicious, and full of bad temper from snout to tail. And adults were big as a horse, weighing easily two thousand pounds, and would not run for their lives but rather devour their hunters. Only the bravest would challenge a herd of these bastards. And I was leading us straight to them.
At that moment, I realized to my amusement that the hunt just turned into a cull. Vidarok would not have approved.
From the point at the foot of the hill, I gestured the sellsword to join me at the line. Faroth was next to me, crouched as well, and Ilori was staying well behind, gazing at the hillside. I signaled Alfred to approach silently, not to alarm the pack, but in his heavy armor, he turned out to be as bad in staying unnoticed as our dwarf. Good to know, I thought, and turned around to face the closest boar before all element of surprise was lost. In fluent motion, I drew an arrow, nocked it, aimed carefully from my hiding place and shot. Before the massive dire boar could start its charge, it already had three arrows sticking out of it. But it still came, with a furious snort. No less than five other dire boars lifted their snouts off the ground where they had been eating and responded to the call of their pack-member. I’d seen them all but the look on Alfred’s face was priceless.
“These are not boars, half-elf!” Alfred stated the obvious as he spotted them and pulled out his battle-axe and spiked shield and readied for a fight. “Ho-ho-ho”, I replied, imitating his trademark guffaw and discarded my bow in favour of my twin gladii as the first dire boar barreled its way towards me down the hill.
Ilori apparently spotted the wild beasts as well as a massive fireball flew over our heads and exploded in the hillside. Her aim was true and her efforts were rewarded when we heard shrill screams through the bushes and smelled crisp boar meat. None fell to the fireball of course – they were too tough for that – but it was a good appetizer for the coming slaughter as any.
The dire boar I had tried to finish off with three arrows came with a vengeance. Like a typical boar, it tried to pummel me with its thick head and split me in half with its huge tusks. As it thundered towards me, I was reminded how Harsk had taken the charge of a normal, albeit young, boar full-on with his shield. I could still hear the boom of the collision. But I wasn’t going to let a horse sized murderous boar going to hit me. I pivoted at the last second, but it still managed to hit me in the elbow with its forehead as it passed me. I almost dislocated my shoulder.
The three burning boars came straight at Alfred. Bumping to each other in their eagerness to kill the sellsword, they lost the momentum to grind him to dust right away, and he managed to evade their tusks. Like me, he didn’t survive without taking hits of course. Beside me, Faroth leaped on the side of the arrow-filled boar, and bared his teeth. The huge creature tried to shake my companion loose, but the firepelt held on tight with its claws deep in its skin, sunk his jaws into its throat and neck and bit down hard. The mad animal groaned and died, finally. But its remaining pack members were already coming down the hill.
While Ilori was grilling boar meat and Alfred was fighting for his life, I turned to face the two other dire boars. I commanded Faroth to kill the first while selected the second as my prey. It too came hard, and it too missed me, if only barely. I stabbed it as it thundered past me. For a moment I was afraid it would continue on at Ilori, who was still at the back, but the beast stopped in its tracks, lifted its snout and barreled back at me. I evaded again, but this time, its left tusk brushed my thigh and suddenly I was flying. I slammed hard to the vegetation two meters farther and rolled – the boar’s jaws clasping shut only inches away from my throat. It tried to gore me again, but it stabbed with my gladius, hitting it square in the neck. Blood spurted to my face and the thing howled, retreating just enough to let me back up. Then it came once more. Just as it was about to hit me, I cartwheeled left and speared its side with both of my gladii, the adamantium and steel both cutting through thick skin, ribs and into its heart. It perished immediately.
While I was fighting my boar, Faroth had taken care of his chosen foe. Alfred was finishing the last remaining dire boar (he was hanging from its neck as it stampeded around and bled to death). Faroth, covered in boar blood, was growling at something. I looked over to see what caused it when out of nowhere, a will-o-wisp made an appearance. Glowing blue, it hovered to sight from behind nearby oak trees. It sounded like it was laughing.
“What the hell is that”, Alfred asked, pained, bleeding from multiple deep wounds. I too was badly injured – every bone in my body ached and some had been bruised and broken. Without our healer, the boars had almost been too much for us. Almost. “That is”, I started, between my teeth, “a will-o-wisp, a magical creature of the forest.” I had seen them many times before, during my childhood in Molthune, and later in the forests of Nirmanthas, only half-a-year or so ago. “They are generally peaceful, just let them be, and they won’t harm you. They feed on wounded and dying creatures’ lifeforce.” I heard Ilori take a step back. She too was wounded I realized. “I’m f#!+ing wounded too”, Alfred noted, keeping his eyes on the hovering being that danced in the air around the corpses of the dire boars, shining its life-force drawing light onto them. I nodded, understanding the threat it still posed us. “Let’s just leave the corpses to it.” To that, Alfred laughed and spit blood to the ground. “Yeah sure. It’s not like were dragging a thousand pounds of dire boar meat with us to Sandpoint, right?”
He was quite right about that.
GM after session: "OOPS! I realized why they were so tough.. I was looking at Dire Boars." ..while claiming them to be regulars and had them at medium size.
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A sort of a relationship begins to bud between the loner bounty hunter and the withdrawn carmine sorceress.
In pursuit of the mysterious Brotherhood of Seven and its Mistress Xanesha, the group travels to Magnimar via ship against the wishes of Alpharius. Of course, there is trouble.
As usual, I updated my blog as well with the 20th Chapter.
**
18. THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE WATER
13th of Lamashtan – Starday – 22nd day at Sandpoint
The Rusty Dragon
Our party arriving to Rusty Dragon all bloodied and looking thoroughly f*cked up had become quite a typical sight so Ameiko didn’t really mind when we got back from the boar-hunt-turned-dire-boar-slaughter. Alfred was guffawing and made his way to the bar and ordered a beer. Ilori slumped to an empty chair next to our table (our group had a designated table, that for some reason was kept free for us) while I picked up a carafe of red wine from Bethana and sat before our carmine lady. Without a word, I poured two glasses full and pushed the other to Ilori. She thanked with a weary nod and took a long sip, savouring the taste. I swirled the wine in my glass patiently, and then had a taste. We just sat there for a while, as Alfred was already sharing his heroics with his local buddies.
She looked at her glass, then at me. “You knew right away that they were dire boars, didn’t you?” She asked, sounding serious, even accusatory, but I saw the smile in her brown eyes. I took another sip, lowering mine. “I might have”, I replied innocently. She laughed lightly. “For a moment there I was sure you and Alfred would end up dead.” She didn’t add ‘like Vidarok’, the fact still too painful for us both, but I replied with some humor. “Why, and leave you to fend for yourself alone against the beasts?” She smiled at me mischievously. “Bah, I’m the strongest in the party, and you’re always in the way of my powers anyway.” I nodded and drank more. The wine was getting to my head unusually quickly. “That is true”, I commented with a straight face. Ilori was only half-joking of course – she was the most powerful individual in the party. But for us to survive, for her to survive, she’d have to stay behind with us in the front. There, looking at her, I wondered what would happen the day we would not be there.
“You’re staring, Alpharius”, she said and brought me back from my thoughts. I blinked and apologized, but couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “You get that a lot anyway”, I added. She frowned. “What do I get?” I smiled shortly. “Looks. Stares.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t start with that again..” I raised my hands defensively. “Hey, I’m just stating what I see. A woman like you-” I said but she cut in. “Stop”, she said sternly. And I did. Bethana brought us supper in the form of potato and pork soup, and we thanked her, and started eating. We were both the not-so-talkative type, but after a moment of silence, I had to say something.
“We’ve never told each other where we come from.” A half-question, half-statement. She took it as a question. “I’m from around. I’ve been travelling alone for years, since I was a very young girl." Hearing that, I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “What, you’ve walked through Varisia alone? With all the thieves, murderers, rapists, slavers and monsters about?” She just smiled confidently and her eyes flickered ruby red. Out of nowhere, three candles on our table caught fire. Of course, I thought to myself, scolding. I was still struggling to see past her stunningly beautiful exterior, to appreciate the raw power and survival skills she had. “To be serious”, she went on, “I know the world can be harsh and unforgiving, but it is not as harsh and unforgiving as you see it, Alpharius”, she explained, referring to my bleak, gritty worldview I rarely failed to share. “I’ve always kept a low profile, like I imagine you have. But if you are nice to people, they generally are nice to you. That way, you don’t have to fight for everything. Life becomes easier, less of a struggle.” I leaned back and folded my arms. “If you trust people, that is”, I replied. I trusted very few people. She seemed to read my thoughts. “You need to trust some people, Alpharius.”
**
The next day
I had applied some bandages and healing potions on my wounds and bruises in the forest the earlier night, but the next morning was spent in the care of our cleric. He was grumpy, a bit hungover, and condemned us for our recklessness, and but nonetheless summoned his powers to our needs. After he had channeled considerable amounts of positive energy, he emptied a pint of beer in one go, to help with the hangover. We sat down for breakfast to plan our next moves. We had just got to the table when Alfred marched in and joined us without really asking anyone’s permission. I opened my mouth to say something, then noted Harsk nor Ilori were not protesting, and closed it. I didn’t really know what to say about the sellsword – he was quite talented and well-equipped, but I had my doubts and my normal ever-present and subconscious suspicion lurked. Then again I couldn’t really tell him to piss off if Ilori and Harsk were fine with him. And it wasn’t like we had a code, or an organisation, or a treaty between us. We remained together because none of us had decided to get up and leave. Except Frank, that is. We were truly an ad-hoc ensemble.
We had been talking about going to Magnimar, to find this mistress of the Seven called Xanesha who had instructed Aldern about the killings in Sandpoint, and over breakfast, we decided that we would travel there as soon as possible. Between bites of bacon, Harsk mentioned that since we were leaving, he was looking for someone to work for him, to maintain and clean his budding chapel house for Iomedae. Alfred suggested to find a helping hand in the orphanage – he surmised there Harsk could find a boy or girl old enough for such work. After eating, the others headed there, while I went to see the bowsmith Savah.
Savah was happy to see me, no surprise given the amount of business we had had. I sold her my old composite longbow, and asked her for any special types of arrows, showing the bowsmith the elven bane arrows as reference. She shook her head and told me to go to Magnimar for such items – she didn’t have the materials and expertise to produce them. Another reason to travel to Magnimar then, I mused.
My business with Savah didn’t last long, so I walked through the town to the orphanage, where the others were still waiting. Harsk had found a suitable young boy, fourteen or fifteen, called Zack, whom he had hired. They had heard rumours about ghosts and whatnot in the orphanage, but we didn’t pursue them as Alfred dismissed them as children’s stories. I met with the orphanage master called Chask Halladan, a kind, bald and grey-bearded man. He divided his time between running the orphanage and a bookstore nextdoor. The store was a peculiar one though, as old Halladan wasn’t really keen on selling anything. With us planning to travel to Magnimar, I was however interested in browsing his books, which he happily let me do. I spent a couple of hours going through literally thousands of old and new books, searching for information about the city. I tried to find maps, but didn’t see any – old Halladan recommended me to visit a mapmaker and cartographer near Northport.
The Way North was run by a pipe-smoking gnome called Veznutt Parooh. Another old traveller, he had personally drawn a majority of the maps he sold. I got one showing the towns and cities from Sandpoint to Magnimar, and one pretty detailed city map of Magnimar. Both should come in handy, I thought to myself. After getting a case for the maps from Vorvashali Voon, I headed back to the Rusty Dragon.
Over early dinner, we talked about Magnimar with Ameiko. Ameiko told us about her family’s mansion in the city , and Harsk talked her into letting us use it while we were there. Apparently the house was vacant, which suited us perfectly. I showed the others the maps and suggested a ride along the coast road. I’d learned not to like sailing – I knew how to swim and like it so wasn’t like I was afraid of drowning – but being confined to a ship did not suit me. Also, with the map of South-western Varisia, I would’ve liked to explore the small towns – and do some scouting for any, any signs of my brother. My suggestion was dismissed though, as everybody else wanted a smooth, quick boat trip.
The trip, as it turned out, wasn’t really that smooth.
**
We departed at sundown the next day. Our ship and its captain were familiar to me. The Tall and Handsome, commanded by the rowdy Captain Jack, was taking me once more to Magnimar. When his merchant ship slid from berth, he promised us that we’d be in the city by morning. The skies were clear and so I remained on the deck, sitting down at the bow, watching the stars and the sea with Faroth as my company, while the others went below decks, to have supper, play cards and sleep. The ship was going at brisk pace, fair wind filling its sails. The ship became silent as one by one all but Captain Jack and few of his deckhands had gone to sleep. Eventually I retreated below decks as well. On my way down I nodded to Captain Jack who was at the helm, but he was talking with his crew and didn’t notice me leave. I found the others sound asleep, rolled open my bedroll and sat down on it. Faroth set down close to me and I patted him. Harsk and Alfred were both snoring and moving around, but the carmine lady was sleeping peacefully. I watched her sleep for a moment, lost in my thoughts about our previous conversation at the Rusty Dragon. You need to trust some people, Alpharius, she had said. But trust did not come easily with me – I had lived so long in a world where no-one cared about you, not really. No-one except my brother. I let myself rest, closed my eyes and let the sleep come.
I’m coming for you, Alpharius.
I opened my eyes, startled and shaking. A bead of sweat fell down my forehead.
Something had woken me up. It was night and we were still at sea, in the move. I must have slept for less than an hour or two. In the darkness I strained to hear anything, but there was nothing else than the groan of the ship’s wooden superstructure, the sea and sounds of sleeping people. Allowing myself to relax, I realized my bladder was screaming for a release. I got up, put on my cloak and ascended the stairs to the deck. The night was still clear. I paced to the edge of the deck, loosened my belt and after lowering my breeches, heeded the call of nature.
At the periphery of my vision I noticed Captain Jack frantically giving orders to two of his deckhands astern. I turned my head to see better and frowned immediately. Astern, at port and starboard sides the deckhands had manned two massive weapon platforms that looked like ballistas. The port side ballista launched a massive spear and I could hear Jack curse the deckhand’s aim. They were shooting at something or someone. I lifted my breeches, tightened my belt and started towards Jack who was still at the helm. “What’s going on”, I shouted to him. He turned his head towards me, noting my presence only then, and I could see the tension in his features. “Go to sleep lad, there’s nothing wrong here”, he replied, trying to sound his relaxed and jovial self but I could see through him. “What are you shooting at, Captain“, I pressed on and continued to pace towards them. The deckhands were hurriedly reloading the ballista. They were half-panicked. I tried to see what they were aiming at but the structure of the ship blocked my view. Jack was trying to stay firm, looking back and forth at me and behind the ship. “Really, lad, go back below decks-” but then it came to view behind the ship. It was massive.
“What the hell is that..” I gaped, watching a form of a giant man made of water wade through the waves towards the portside of the Tall and Handsome. I sensed the ship shudder only so slightly as the ballista fired once more (I realized that had woken me up) and the spear lanced straight through the giant made of water, barely slowing down, pushing a fountain of water from the exit ‘wound’ on its back. It opened something resembling a mouth but no scream erupted. “Get back to sleep, half-elf, this is nothing to worry about!” Jack was yelling at me, furiously turning the helm to evade the incoming elemental. No way, I thought, but turned in my heels still, and ran below decks. Already in the stairs down I was yelling for the others to wake up. Faroth snatched his head up and loped to me. Harsk woke up with a bellow, and Alfred his drowsy head towards me, wondering what the commotion was about. I ran to my backpack and started to fix my gladii scabbards into my belt. “Wake up! A water elemental is attacking the ship!” I roared as I fumbled my equipment in a hurry, swinging the bow and quiver around my head to my back. Harsk was groping for his sword and crossbow, cursing in gusto. Alfred took cue from us and started to grab his weapons and armor as well. Ilori was still asleep – I think she had turned her back to me when I had come running down. I took a step and kicked her, albeit relatively gently, on her bottom. That stirred her into wakefulness. “Wwhat the devils-” she mumbled and turned around to see us equipping us frantically. “We’re under attack. Get up and gear up”, I told her simply and having gotten all my weapons and arrows with me, paced back up to the deck, leaving the others.
When I got back up, the giant was already reaching the ship. Up close, I realized it stood easily almost thirty feet above the sea. Its moves were slow and lumbering but that didn’t make it any less threatening. The star and moonlight reflected off its watery surface – it had been borne of the water. I heard one of the deckhands scream as the giant swept with its other “hand” across the astern. Jack ducked at the helm, but the deckhand was not as quick. The huge hand struck like a wave and the deckhand flew like a ragdoll. I lost sight of him but heard the splash he made. He was lost, Jack had no intention to turn around to pick him up from the sea. Good to know, I thought.
Focusing, drawing deep breath to overcome my awe and shock, I pulled two arrows in one motion, aimed, and fired. They both hit the monster straight at what I could say was its head, but went cleanly through it. The elemental shook its head, large droplets falling off its form. I could see I had gained its attention thus harmed it, but to really combat it, we needed magic. Fire magic, to be more precise. A third arrow sprung from my bow, and I hit its bulk again. “An easy target”, I commented to Faroth, who was angrily hissing at my feet, not looking away from the monstrosity.
By then, Alfred and Harsk both had made their way to the deck. Both were as astonished as I had been – Harsk was calling for the blessings of Iomedae and Alfred was murmuring profanities, probably cussing his ex-wife. “Shoot it!” I ordered as I was reloading, to which Alfred sneered. “Unless you want to challenge it in close-combat!” “Not this time”, I replied and let loose another duo of arrows, merely irritating the elemental. Harsk joined the fight with his crossbow and Alfred with his composite longbow – a crude piece of work compared to mine. “We need Ilori..” I told between my teeth the others as the water elemental finally reached the portside of the ship. It tried to grab the ship, but failed, as Jack expertly turned the helm and steered the ship starboard just at the final second. In response, the elemental pushed forward with its other hand and grabbed the other remaining deckhand, who had ran to replace the first and was trying to reload the ballista. His scream was drowned literally as dozens of barrels of water fell onto him in the form of the elemental’s grasp. The ship lurched and the bow rose noticeably at the sudden increase of weight at the stern. I could hear Jack cursing. Harsk, true to himself, changed from offense into defense and launched into a run towards the stern. The air around his head and eyes was already blazing with pure white light – his powers of positive energy. The elemental lifted its watery hand, and in its rush to attack us, the ship managed to gain some lead.
The hairs on my neck rose and I knew without looking that the carmine lady had arrived to the deck. Overhead, a powerful stream of magical fire arced at the elemental, hitting square in the chest first and then its arms. Part of it superheated violently, creating an explosion of steam. We had truly gained its attention now. Through the fog created by its own destroyed form, it waded along the side of the ship, more forcefully now. It was almost half as tall as the mainmast, I realized as it loomed above us. Ilori had the sense to step back but I and Faroth had no time to evade it. The elemental, motivated now by a sense of self-preservation, brought its hand down with surprising swiftness on the deck. I was on its way with my animal companion. Faroth bore the brunt of the strike – momentarily underwater as he succumbed within the form of the elemental, I saw him get slammed against the ship’s mainmast. The elemental’s force had thrown him aside like a player had pushed a piece off a chess table. Immediately I too was pummeled by the sheer power of the attack. It felt like a gigantic hammer fallen onto my head – and it was what literally happened. I was brought low and the ship shuddered violently from the hit. The hand made of water remained coherent, but the pressure on me then eased as quickly as it had came down on me as the elemental lifted its unnatural arm. On the deck I rolled, coughing blood and water in equal measure. I had broken ribs, and my pelvis wasn’t feeling right. The deck was soaking wet and I struggled prone towards the unmoving, wet Faroth. He had broken bones too, I could see it right away. Alfred was calling us to pull back, away from the considerable reach of the giant. Sure, sellsword, come and pick us up, I thought in pain there lying face down on the wet wooden deck.
Another stream of fire, ever more powerful this time, wooshed over me. I turned my head to see what the effect of Ilori’s powers were. I was just quick enough to witness the head and torso of the water giant superheat in a blink and explode into steam right next us. The boiling steam rushed over us, I covered my face to protect it but Alfred, standing there, roared in pain as the steam burned his bare skin. Ilori merely stood there and the steaming inferno just flowed past her like it was nothing. As the fog cooled rapidly and passed, I heard Harsk shouting, asking how we were holding up. I crawled over to Faroth, who was on his side whining and breathing laboriously, but was thankfully still alive. Alfred and Ilori came to us, concerned. I gestured we were OK. I didn’t see Harsk but I could feel his positive energies worming around us, touching us and healing our injuries. Within moments, I got up, and Faroth too rose on his feet, shaking water off his fur and growling in irritation. “I know exactly what you mean”, I said to the beast, drawing smiles from Ilori and Alfred. Harsk whistled. “That was close!” At the helm, Jack was laughing. “That’s nothing, I tell you.” Harsk turned around with a frown. “You just lost a crewmember”, he said, pointing at the now unmanned ballista at the stern behind the helm. Jack looked back and shrugged. “One less mouth to feed and one less wage to pay.” His lack of concern for the well-being of his crew surprised even me. I saw the remaining deckhand flinch but he didn’t say anything. Alfred stepped forward. “How about a compensation for us, for saving your ship?” He started, eager for a payment for services our fire sorceress had mostly delivered. Jack just laughed heartily. “You mean for that little thing? Like I said, that was nothing. Elementals come and go”, he stated and took a sip from a bottle of rum he had produced from somewhere. He grinned and belched. But Alfred was not letting up. He walked up to the stern and began to explain why he felt he had earned a due from the captain.
I was too tired to argue so I retreated below decks to rest. On the way I heard Alfred argue with Jack about the bottle of rum. I wondered whether we’d reach Magnimar at all and remembered how it had been me who had insisted travelling by land..
That river! At the rate GMs throw encounters at groups who use it, you'd think no ships would ever make it up or down!
Sea, actually. From Sandpoint to Magnimar :)
..and Captain Jack was actually constantly yelling at them over the course of combat that this was "no big deal!" and they should "head back to bed!", laughing it off as if it happened every time he crossed the Varisian Bay.
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I'm still in the middle of writing the 21st chapter, but in the mean time, here's the 19th.
This chapters presents some spine-chilling reunions and some unforgettable badassery. Please note that the session on which this chapter is based was played live rather than via roll20, offering us some increased opportunities for ramping up our RP. Looking forward for the next live session...
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19. BLOODY REUNIONS
16th of Lamashtan – Toilday – 25th day in South-Western Varisia
Magnimar, Dockway district
We had already arrived to Magnimar when we woke up. Captain Jack had not felt it necessary to disturb our slumber and was nowhere to be seen. A deckhand, the same man that had fought the elemental with us the previous night helped us out of the ship. Harsk asked him about his condition – the cleric had healed him – and about his thoughts regarding the loss of his shipmate. He was as unconcerned as his Captain. As we found out, turnover among the crew was high, and people didn’t really know each other that well to care. The profession, I thought, would have been great for me, have I not disliked sailing so much.
It was my second time at Magnimar and the city had not changed one bit since I had stopped by shortly to pick up Narsius Glasblasen. People flocked the dockway district’s taverns, inns, shops and markets, wares in coffers and wagons went in and out of the docks by the hundreds. Magnimar, as I had learned, was a smaller city than Canorate by almost a half, but still ten times larger than Sandpoint. A true city, it boasted a rich history and a position of power among the competing city-states in Varisia. I enjoyed traversing its busy streets as much as I did the wild forests around Sandpoint.
Harsk borrowed himself a cart for all the dozen or so barrels of ale he had brought with him – he had made a deal with his associate Gaven Deverin to try find vendors for their beers in Magnimar, and had taken beer for tasting and trial. With the dockworkers’ help, he loaded the cart full and from the docks we walked into a bazaar area. To call it colourful would be an understatement. People from around the region worked and did business there. I saw animals from around Golarion I recognized, beasts of prey, predators of all kinds in cages, even some mammoths, and two-legged dangerous looking lizards I had never seen before. Both the rich and the poor crowded the markets. I was walking at the point, as was my place in the group, when a giggling, blond young woman stopped Ilori by touching her shoulder. “Excuse me lady, you dropped this”, she smiled and handed Ilori her purse of gold. Ilori was amazed and took her purse from the young woman, a shopkeeper by the look of her. She regarded Ilori, flashing another smile, then Alfred and Harsk at the cart, and finally me. She had sharp eyes and had identified us as a group even though I had kept my distance to the others. “You look lost, do you need some assistance? Perhaps a guide to the town?” Another random shopkeeper passed us and greeted the woman, calling her ‘princess’ as he went. The map of the city in my pocket, I was about to retort to the woman but Alfred beat me to it. “Sorry gal, but I’ve been here before. We can manage.” The woman snorted. “Where do you come from, then?” Alfred looked around at us and replied. “We come from Sandpoint.” The blond gestured dismissively and laughed lightly. “Ha, that backwater. Come and see me when you need help. Name’s Garnet Alexandros – and I bet you’ll need my help sooner than later”, she added with a smile that looked genuine but I saw the mischief behind it. Hardly trustworthy, this Garnet, I decided. We left her standing there, arms folded, and continued deeper into the city.
“Try to look after your valuables, Ilori”, Alfred scolded with a wink the carmine lady who was going through her pockets for any other ‘dropped’ items. “You just look after your valuables, sellsword”, she spat, irritated. In response Alfred groped his groin and guffawed. “I’ve got all my valuables present and accounted for, sweetling!”
We ascended a steep road from the bazaar area at the docks district up to the Summit. The road was built on a slope next to the massive remains of a bridge called Irespan, a Thassilonian ruin. The Summit was a city area populated by the rich and influential. Using my map we located the Kaijitsu manor, and then the Foxglove manor.
Ameiko’s family’s manor was close to the upper end of the slope road. Without hesitation, we made our way to the main entrance and entered using the keys we had received from Ameiko. The neighbours regarded us briefly, with curiosity and contempt – apparently they were not happy to see Kaijitsu Manor used. The house was two stories tall, a large and decorated building, with rooms to spare. The furniture were covered with white linen, and there was dust and cobweb everywhere, but at least this house was not trying to f*#~ with our heads, I was pleased to see. Instead the place emanated serenity and history. While the others were looking around downstairs, I searched the upstairs and picked the largest bedroom with the most comfortable bed for myself by throwing my backpack on the bed. Ilori, who had followed me up and was on the corridor behind me, rolled her eyes. “Typical”, she stated while I enjoyed my prize. I threw my hands up defensively. “Hey, you had the largest room with two beds at Sandpoint. She folded her arms and frowned, but I could see the smile in her eyes. “Oh, that’s right – what I heard from Shayliss you would’ve needed two beds anyway.” She was playing with me, joking about my now-cold relationship with Shayliss. I winked at her. “Well tha’s true, I would’ve liked Faroth to have his own bed.” Upon hearing his name called, my firepelt jumped on the bed and I had to shoo him away. The carmine lady laughed at us and found herself a room.
I didn’t have long to rest my feet – Alfred and Harsk emptied the ale cart into the mansion’s cellars and we continued our trip to the Foxglove mansion – our prime target in the city. We knew answers awaited us there, but were not prepared at all to who was waiting us.
**
Even with my city map, we stuck to the main roads at the Summit. We were walking south down the Avenue of Hours in Naos, a nicer area where the newly-rich nobility of the city lived, when we ran into some paladins of Iomedae. Harsk, naturally, was rather pleased and made acquaintances. The leader of the group, one gruff and competent-looking, white-haired paladin called Adelbert Steiner, was happy to see a brother of his creed and wanted to show Harsk and us the local cathedral for Iomedae right away. We learned that the church of Iomedae actually had a rather strong powerbase in Magnimar and boasted quite an extensive cult of followers, priests, clerics and paladins. I was then very happy for Harsk’s connections, as they might prove useful – and they did. Harsk apologized to Steiner, explaining that we were in a hurry to reach the Foxglove manor, but promised to come and visit the cathedral at the earliest opportunity. The paladin bode us farewell and reminded us that their doors were always open.
It took us half an hour to reach our target. The three-storey manor was located deep within Naos district, near the south-eastern corner of the city. The first thing we noted were the windows. Every one of them had been covered in planks and boards, as if the manor had been prepared for a terrible storm. Like the Kaijitsu manor, this one looked abandoned. The yards and stone path from the street to the main entrance looked unkempt and weeds had taken over. Our approach drew curious looks from the passers-by, and one rich-looking young couple actually stopped and called at us. Seeing us about to enter, they asked us about Aldern and Iesha, his wife, and if we had happened to see them. Ilori came up with a quick lie about us working for Aldern who was traveling with his wife around Varisia. The couple bought it without a hint of disbelief and left us with greetings for the Foxgloves. I snorted at their backs – they wouldn’t be getting them anytime soon.
I tried the main doors and found them to be locked. Remembering the keyring I had taken from the body of Vidarok, I searched my pockets and took out a jade-headed key which fit the lock. The door opened with a creak and light flooded the darkness within.
I was about to gesture the others inside to a lobby when I spotted movement up ahead. Something approached us in the darkness and I reached to the pommels of my gladii. Faroth growled at my feet and revealed his fangs, sensing my distress.
A woman emerged to the light. “Ah, we have visitors, how nice! Welcome!” Before us stood none other than Iesha Foxglove, in full health! For the first time in ages, I didn’t know what to do. I said nothing. None of us did.
“Come on in, friends”, Iesha continued, with a big hearty smile, and gestured us to enter the house. “My love, we have visitors,” she called someone. And that someone walked into the lobby from a kitchen. I recognized the man immediately. Motherf-. It was [/i]Aldern Foxglove[/i]. He welcomed us as well, his arms wide apart. Harsk opened his mouth to speak and Ilori just turned her head to the side, unbelieving. I strained all my senses – was I seeing true, was I hearing something out of place, was there a stench of the undead in the air. I gripped the pommels of my gladii, unsure to attack or to stay where I was.
Alfred broke the silence by walking in briskly and confidently – he had not been there with us in the haunted Foxglove mansion and was oblivious to the severity of the situation and its implications. My thoughts raced. Were these the real Foxgloves? If yes, who had we killed back in the haunted house? Were these just figments, ghosts, or something else? Alfred regarded the surroundings and walked past Iesha towards Aldern, who was smiling. Harsk had the mental fortitude or a momentary lack of self-preservation and followed Alfred. Ilori was still outside, behind me. Iesha paced to us and touched me on my hand. I flinched and pulled my hand back. She was no ghost. “Come on now. We’re just having lunch.” She told me, patiently. I looked at Ilori, who shook her head, not letting her eyes of Aldern at the back of the lobby. The situation was quickly creeping me out of my boots. Alfred was actually the first of us to speak. “Pray tell, what are you doing here?” Aldern laughed lightly. At any other situation Alfred’s discourtesy would have been condemnable, but the nobleman let it slide and cleared his throat. “We’re renovating the house. Iesha here has big plans for it.” His wife didn’t appear to hear him but instead gazed into my eyes, waiting for me to move in from the doorway. I had an idea. Pulling one of the notes Aldern had left for Ilori, I showed it to her. “Do you recognize this handwriting”, I asked her, almost whispering. Iesha looked at the letter and then at me, unsure. “Well, you’re a weird one.. you haven’t even introduced yourself, sir”, she said, evading my question and stepped back, as if she was now a bit afraid of me. Alfred had reached the kitchen area behind the lobby. “Hey, this smells delicious!” He shouted and sat down eagerly. I didn’t know what had went into Harsk again but he followed Alfred all the way to the table and had a seat next to Aldern and against Alfred. The cleric, clearly dismissing that everything was going to the sh*tter and fast, told us to get in. I finally took a step, Faroth and Ilori right next to me. Iesha turned around and paced to the kitchen, apparently giving up on us and joining the others at the table. She remained standing next to Harsk and said something to Aldern. This is inconceivable, I thought to myself. I had taken one step into the house and didn’t want to take another. All of my senses, my gut, my suspicious soul, my training, everything, was shouting at me. Warning me of a trap springing imminently. Ilori approached the kitchen warily and I focused on Aldern’s eyes. He looked past Iesha at the carmine lady.
But there was no sign of recognition – no sign of the mad infatuation towards her. The realization came quickly. It was not him.
No more playing around, I decided. I pulled my gladii out of their scabbards and felt instantly better – I finally knew what to do. It came so easily to me, like choosing an apple over a pear. Time to kill another Aldern Foxglove. At the same time, Aldern’s face melted like wax and became unrecognizable. Before any of us could yell a warning, the nobleman produced a longsword out of thin air and surprised Harsk by stabbing him to his side. Harsk grunted in pain and surprise and staggered off the table right into Iesha. But her face turned inrecognizable as well and the humanoid, or whatever she had become, started to pummel the stout cleric with her both fists. Alfred roared in disgust, jumped to his feet and drew his trusty battleaxe from his back. Flames danced around Ilori who was already casting a spell. Blazing sparks flew off her as she burned the sword out of shapeshifter-Aldern’s hands.
I yelled Harsk’s name who was grinning in pain and holding his hand against the wound on his side, and leaped to slay the fake-Iesha. She heard me coming and almost managed to duck my first slash. Almost. Blood spattered to the wall next to her but she remained standing. Faroth at my heels came with me and sank his fangs into her thigh, tripping her successfully to the ground. Badly bloodied, the strange creature did not utter a sound. Alfred took a swing at fake-Aldern, trying to get him off Harsk, but missed his overhead strike miserably and managed to get his weapon stuck into the table. He cursed aloud.
Hairs on my back stood up and I flinched. A roaring arc of flame missed me by inches but struck fake-Aldern point blank. Ilori’s attack was so potent it blew the man into bloody, half-burned bits. Knowing she was about to die, the other shapeshifter tried her last desperate stab at Alfred but missed. I finished her with a stab into her throat, not even considering taking her captive. I pulled the gladius out and listened carefully while keeping an eye for further movement. But there was no-one else attacking us.
“You should try interior decoration as a profession”, I noted dryly to Ilori as I regarded the gory and scorched remains of fake-Aldern adorning the kitchen walls, floor and ceiling and replaced the gladii into their scabbards. Ilori didn’t appear happy – I could just imagine what she was thinking, having seen Aldern alive again, even if it hadn’t been Aldern for real. With a roar of effort, Alfred finally got his battle-axe off the table and effectively split it in half in the process. “You too”, I said to the sellsword who just spat to the ground, cursing the shapeshifters we had slain.
White light played in the half-lit kitchen as Harsk healed himself. “That was odd”, he grunted and looked at the dead shapeshifter who had taken Iesha’s appearance. The being had only eyes, but no other facial features. And the eyes were like two black orbs.
**
We searched the house, but found it ransacked. The shapeshifters, or someone before them, had turned the place upside down. The ground floor was empty, as was the first floor. On the second floor, we were already given up hope of finding any clues or valuables that might help us lead to the Brotherhood of Seven or the mysterious mistress Xanesha, before Harsk spotted something weird. In a large living room there was a fireplace, and on top of it, to its both sides, were two brass lionheads. Faint fingerprints covered the right-hand head. The dwarf had a closer look and touched the roaring lionhead. Nothing happened. But then he noted a very small, almost indiscernible keyhole in the mouth of the lion. He asked me for the other key we had taken from Aldern, put it in the hole and it began to turn it in its axis. It clicked, and opened fully to reveal a small compartment, no more than six inches by six. We held our breath as Harsk reached into the compartment and pulled out first a small sack of coins, then papers with official looking text. Harsk flipped the sack to me, and I caught it from the air, while he started to read aloud the first paper.
“Know all men and women present and future that we, the members of the Brothers of the Seven, upon this day the 6th Abadius in the year of 4624, Absalom Reckoning, hereby concede and by this deed confirm upon Vorel Foxglove provisional ownership of the holding to be known here and henceforth as Foxglove Manor, located north of Magnimar on the Lost Coast Road due west of Bleaklow Moor..” The document, as we found out, was a deed between the Brotherhood of Seven and Aldern’s father or grandfather, granting him the coin to build the house and its ownership for a century, after which it would return to the Brotherhood. Whereas it lacked any signatures, the document mentioned a place called Seven’s Sawmill in western side of Magnimar, on Kyver’s Islet. There was also another document, describing weekly payments each Oathday to ‘B7′, or Brotherhood of Seven naturally, that had been made for several years. Their reference was simply ‘Iesha’s trip to Absalom’. I knew of Absalom – it was a major, legendary city in the Isle of Kortos, far away in the middle of the Inner Sea. The Brotherhood apparently had a great reach.
We split the coins – no less than 200 platinum – and I pulled out the city map to track our next destination. Going to Kyver’s Islet would indeed take us to the other side of town. We left the Foxglove Townhouse and headed out to the cathedral of Iomedae to seek further information about the Seven’s Sawmill and the strange organisation running it.
Adelbert Steiner was ecstatic to see his new friend arrive to the cathedral. He led us into the holy place and introduced us to another paladin called Vincent Valentine. The big, broad-shouldered man appeared to be the commander of the paladins there, and radiated natural charisma and leadership so much it was almost ridiculous. He smiled a wide grin when Harsk told him of himself and what he had done to further the cult in Sandpoint, nodded courteously to Ilori and measured me and Alfred like a warrior. We let Harsk to the talking.
Valentine told us a little about what he knew of the Brotherhood. They were a secretive organisation of influential merchants and traders, with key locations west to the city. He recognized the sawmill when Harsk mentioned it, and told that the westside, even though it looked chaotic, was quite peaceful and safe. But he warned us to steer clear of the Underbridge – the area of town evershadowed by the massive remains of the Irespan – for it was violent, dangerous and unforgiving to strangers. Our kind of place then, I mused to myself.
Ilori asked the commander of the paladins about the blond-haired girl, Garnet, the one called ‘princess’ who we had met at the bazaar. Valentine laughed lightly and told us she was well-liked at the docks, even though her profession was pilferage in addition to sales of various items. That made her not so liked up in town. To my question whether she was a swindler and a cheater, he didn’t know the answer.
Before we left, Harsk had the courage to ask for sponsorship – for better arms in particular. The commander was happy to oblige, and soon the cleric of Iomedae was sporting a brand new shield in the colours of his goddess. In addition, a priest of the cult blessed us with a potent spell that would last till midnight. We thanked for their services and information, bode farewell and continued our trek to the Seven’s Sawmill.
The Shore, the districts of the less-wealthy, was no less colourful than the Summit. We passed Lowcleft, home to performers, artists, and taverns, inns and whores, which Alfred of course noted to us. We went past the Merchant’s Guild Hall, the Mage Tower and finally, crossed the bridge to Kyver’s Islet proper. The Isle was an industrious, cramped area, filled with warehouses, shipyards and mills, we nevertheless found our target quite easily.
Outside, we didn’t see any people but the voices of the mill were discernible. There were people inside, working, or doing something heinous. We didn’t know what so we had to investigate – our only trail led here. The Seven’s Mill was a three story building, an unremarkable mill with a small tower at its top. It had been built over water. We had a quick look around and found two doors – one leading to the ground floor and the other to a partly submerged floor. We discussed our options – starting with our cover story or if we wanted to have one at all. I presented the others with the idea that we’d introduce ourselves as representatives of Scarnetti Mill, now in distress thanks to the death of Master Titus Scarnetti. Posing as businesspeople, we could gain entrance to the mill without resorting to violence immediately. Which typically happened.
After courteously knocking (a weak attempt at getting anyone’s attention, I admit) we entered the ground floor first, warily. The floor was empty but for a few wagons, space for wares and a big pile of hay. Voices of working were audible both from up and downstairs – there was a five by ten feet opening in the middle of the ceiling that led all the way to the third floor. I carefully had a peek, but didn’t see any movement, nor did anyone pay attention to what happened downstairs. Alfred noted that something big had lied in the hay – its form was visible as an imprint on it. I immediately readied myself. But no-one came, nothing attacked us. The only way from the storage room was up via a staircase. But we chose not to go up yet – instead, we retreated, closed the door behind us and walked around the mill to the other door, almost at the waterlevel. Alfred was at the point again, and he slammed the door once, more confidently this time. After a moment, the door was opened.
“Good afternoon sir”, Alfred started overly jovially, grabbing the hand of the man who had come to the door and shaking it forcefully, “my name is Alfred, I’ve arrived from Sandpoint to meet with your management. We’re a bit lost it seems.” I was right behind Alfred and realized at that moment how dumb my idea of posing as merchants had been – Alfred and I had habituses that would never pass muster if we tried. But Alfred’s outgoing personality and ability to talk horsesh*t like there was no tomorrow was doing the trick. The man frowned and with a flinch, pulled his hand off the sellsword’s grip. “You can find the bosses upstairs”, his voice was rough and unfriendly. I didn’t see any visible weapons on him, he simply seemed to be a mill worker who we had interrupted. The man looked like a bull. Behind him, I could identify the mill machinery that was connected to paddlewheels, and it distributed the power of the waves up to the saws upstairs. Two other mill workers, similarly strong-looking and if possible, even less friendly, were expertly moving through the mill machinery towards us. Their body language was strongly suggesting us to leave. Alfred tried to take a step forwards but was blocked by the man at the door. He grunted and nodded up. Our sellsword took the hint and stepped out, and the millworker slammed the door close, almost hitting Alfred in the face. “How rude”, Harsk commented from the back. “Tell me about it”, Alfred replied. “We should find a stave and bar them in”, Alfred suggested, visibly irritated by the millworkers. I laughed lightly. “And what if they are just innocent workers?” Alfred turned to me with an unusually serious face. “They didn’t look innocent to me”. I nodded in agreement, but we chose not to pursue his idea, and circled the building before re-entering the ground floor.
The staircase was a narrow one, and we went one by one, Alfred at the lead, me right behind him. As we got up to the first floor, we spotted a worker leaning on a wall next to closed door. We had entered without any prior notice, but the man didn’t seem to be startled. It was like he had been waiting for us. We had to circle the hole in the floor that led to the lower level – there was also the hole in the ceiling, allowing us to peer upwards to the second floor. Long ropes dangled in the space, hanging so that they went from the ceiling at the third floor all the way to the ground at the ground floor. They could be used as means for ascent and descent, I thought briefly.
A war-razor in his hands, the mill worker was cleaning the undersides of his nails with its tip, looking bored. He had a bright red cloak on his shoulders, with a hood one could throw over one’s head. Alfred wasted no time with him. “Good day sir, we’re from Sandpoint on business and looking for the mill management. Can you help us?” The man said nothing, just stared at us for a while, then pointed at the door next to him with the war-razor.
Aldern had had a similar blade, I remembered in a flash.
Alfred, of course without the same insight, happily thanked the man and with a knock, opened the door and entered. He apparently saw someone as he started to talk. Then multiple things happened within a span of three heartbeats.
First, I heard the ground floor door crash open and seeing downstairs through the hole in the floor, spotted rapid movement below. Then, the man guarding the door pulled his red hood over his head, covering his entire face with a mask that was tied into the hood. The horrid mask was made of tanned human skin and only things visible were his eyes and mouth. He leaped off the wall, his body taut and drew his war-razor back for a strike at Alfred’s unprotected back. He managed a powerful overhead strike, but my gladius was on his blade’s way, stopping it five inches from Alfred’s neck. The metals sung as they connected.
“Too slow”, I grinned at him and with my other gladius, slashed open his throat. The man gurgled, drowning in his own blood and slumped down. I paid his death no heed but warned the others. “It’s a trap! Harsk, Ilori, incoming from downstairs!” Alfred shouted a taunt and launched himself into battle in the next room, oblivious to how close to lethal danger he had been. In the back, crackling fires surrounded Ilori as she casted her mage armor, and Harsk pulled his longsword and banged it against his new shield, calling the enemies out for the lack of honesty and honor.
They came from every direction. I heard stomps of boots as some tried to rush Ilori at the staircase. I had just the time to command Faroth to go defend the carmine lady when a red-hooded cultist, looking just like the one I had killed, came sliding down the ropes between levels and landed behind me. Attacking quickly, he managed a flesh wound with his war razor. I turned and coolly ended him with two slashes and a stab.
“For Iomedae”, came the dwarf’s battle cry and he leaped down to challenge the cultists coming to our rear. I watched in awe as the half-man executed a perfect three-point landing on the level ten feet below. His armored bulk slammed into the floor, cracking the wood where his feet and knee connected with it and throwing dust around his form. I lost sight of him as he rose from a kneeling position and charged an enemy. From the staircase came a sound of fire hungrily consuming air and I smelled the stench of burned human meat. The enemy was quickly learning why it was a bad idea to anger a fire sorceress. As I pulled my gladii off the chest of my second kill, I spared a glance inside to the room where Alfred was fighting. “Hey, sellsword, I have two kills already!” I taunted him, returning some of the boasting he so frequently let us hear. He faced two assailants, the other already in a deadly duel with the older veteran and the other staying back. “That’s nothing, boy!” He grunted in effort, trying to pummel the opponent with his magical axe and shield. The one at the back was dressed a little more luxuriously, and suddenly issued a stern command to Alfred. “Get down!” His voice sounded unnatural, inhuman even, but Alfred just laughed at the man. I wondered if the cultist had tried some sort of mental attack but had failed utterly. I stepped in to the room where Alfred was fighting, ready to help him.
But more cultist poured from the second floor, some flinging themselves down using the ropes and others running down the stairs. One charged behind me and past Faroth to Ilori, one challenged my firepelt companion while the last swooped against me. My cloak billowed as I pivoted and faced the new threats. Faroth grabbed his foe from the thigh, scoring a deep series of wounds with his claws. The enemy yelped and slashed down at the firepelt. I heard Faroth roar in pain. My challenger approached me carefully, seeing the two bodies at his feet which I had left there. At the periphery of my vision Alfred struck the head of his opponent in half. “First”, I heard him yell. Under my hood I just smiled at my opponent, who lunged at me. I tried to parry with the gladius in my better hand, but he managed to land a blow on my arm. In retaliation, I struck with my off-hand blade and almost severed his right hand. The cultist screamed in agony. Lights of fury danced in the cramped space and the temperature kept rising – Ilori was dealing death in her own way. Another scream – Faroth was lying on top of one cultist and ripping him to shreds. My enemy cowed momentarily, appalled by who easily we were slaughtering his brothers. I took advantage of his momentary lack of confidence and launched a vicious series of attacks. He evaded the first strike, but the other stabbed him in the chest, and I disemboweled him with the third. With a kick I pushed him off and through the hole downstairs. I hoped Harsk wasn’t directly beneath when the lifeless body fell down a floor and smashed into the woodworks like a brick. “Two!” Alfred yelled at me – apparently he had ended the cultist with the nerve to try ordering him around. “Already ahead of you, three!” I shouted in return and with a simple front flip, jumped down to the lower floor to help the battling Harsk. Alfred cursed to himself.
The dwarf was locked in combat with two cultists, and he was bleeding badly. “Need some help?” I asked as I landed gracefully, my arms wide apart, and stepped up to the other cultist. My bladework was truly fine that day – I found an opening in his defenses but didn’t manage to finish him. I yelled at my companion and he came with a growl, with rapid long strides down the staircase. The poor cultist didn’t even have the time to see what killed him when a grown firepelt leaped on his back and bit half his neck off. A single cultist remained, surrounded by an angry dwarf, a hooded bladesman and a hissing firepelt. But like his brother-in-arms, he didn’t not see his killer. A familiar woman’s stern order issued us to steer clear and we obeyed instantly. A burning lance speared the cultist and half of his torso exploded into burning fragments. The rest of him was flung into the wall behind. I turned and looked up through the opening to Ilori with mock criticism. “Hey, careful now. Don’t burn the place up.” The place was full of sawdust and other flammable material that could catch fire easily. Flames arced around her figure and she just shrugged, signaling her lack of concern. Apparently real, tangible matter did not catch magical fire that easily.
The battle was over. We all had taken blows but were standing. A dozen dead cultists laid dead on the ground and first floors.
“This has a magical aura”, Ilori noted as she examined the dead and touched the red hoods and the masks connected to them. Harsk nodded, lost in his thoughts. “Yes, I can see it as well. My brothers might be interested to see these evil artifacts, he added and crammed one into his backpack. We gathered all the valuables – their master-wraught war razors, some gold and all of their hooded masks, and carefully continued to the second floor. It was like the first – the main room had the five feet by ten feet opening both up and downwards, and there were two adjacent rooms. One had mill machinery, and the other was a storage room. Alfred found over twenty of the weird masks there and stuffed all of the into his magical backpack. “They must be worth something, right?” He asked silently. I rolled my eyes in disbelief – I didn’t know it then but later I would be very thankful he took all of them. Harsk had a look at the storage room as well and found a barrel full of assorted wares – three potions, three bags of gold, a finely made decanter of wine and best of all, three small, uncut diamonds.
We were moving as silently and carefully as we could as I could pick out whispers coming from upstairs – there were still enemies waiting for us. I wondered why they hadn’t chosen to attack us with the rest, but had left their brothers to die at our hands. I guess they had their reasons.
With the valuables filling our backpacks, we returned to the central room. Alfred was eager to proceed but I turned to Ilori. “I could possibly pinpoint the source of the voices for you, you can then strike them with a fireball”, I started with a whisper. She nodded at me and then looked over my shoulder and frowned. Alfred hadn’t stopped to contemplate our next moves but was already at the staircase, pacing up, Harsk at his tail. Mutami utaa, I cursed in Elvish between my teeth. The sellsword wasn’t keen on surprising people I realized. Stupid fool. We started to run after them when I heard someone address Alfred with a voice made for authority at the level above. “Finally! Welcome brave heroes .. to your death!” I heard Alfred guffaw at his mocker and the fight continued in full.
I picked up my pace, my loyal animal companion right behind me. I ran past the stomping dwarf and within heartbeats was up the stairs and in the third, upper-most floor. The level opened into a large room, with workbenches at both sides and ample space for fighting. Alfred had two cultists surrounding him. A tall male figure in intricate dark mithral armor and red and purple cloak was standing in the back. The cultists were wearing their masks, and the tall figure – their leader no doubt – had one too. But his mask was much more ornate and complex than the others. Spirals of black stitched thread circled the mask made of human skin. From his body language I immediately recognized that he wasn’t human or half-human like the two other cultists.
I took in the information without really thinking and launched myself at the nearest cultist, who was trying to flank Alfred. The sellsword was gasping for air – somebody had already struck him, either with a natural strike or with the means of the magical. The cultist saw me coming and pivoted surprisingly quickly – that or I was beginning to underestimate their martial prowess, and I ran into his fist. The knuckles connected with my nose and stars filled my vision. But Faroth had no such bad luck. As I staggered back, momentarily dazed, the firepelt leaped with a roar at the enemy and gave him no quarter.
“My dear apprentice, now is your time to exact your revenge!” The leader of the cult thundered to the remaining cultist, and with a tug of his hood, he pulled the mask of his face, revealing himself to us. For the second time that day, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Before Alfred stood no other than the earless Tsuto Kaijitsu, the bastard half-brother of Ameiko, who we thought was in prison! Immediately my mind started to wildly calculate the implications. I remembered hearing from Captain Jack that it was a Magnimarian official, Justice Ironbriar, who had come to interrogate and pick up Tsuto from Sandpoint. I looked at the figure at the back. Could it be-, I started to consider when my attention was drawn by Tsuto’s fierce attack against the sellsword. His fists were faster than a viper’s sting and he pummeled the old veteran back.
“You little bastard, you’re free?” Ilori was screaming in astonishment similar to mine. She had got up the stairs last but didn’t stay out of the fight. Oh no. “We should have killed you then for what you did to Ameiko!” She roared, unusually angry and a furiously bright lance of fire streaked from her hands right at him. He had no chance to evade it and half his face scorched into cinders in a blink. Flakes of skin fell to the ground as he howled in pain but he remained standing. Tsuto stepped out of the reach of Alfred and I saw doubt in his remaining, unburned eye. We had come a long way since he had alone challenged us beneath the Glassworks.
I regarded the bastard half-elf. “Say my regards to Nualia when you see her”, I stated coldly and with a simple command, let my animal companion at him. I watched with pride as Faroth tore him to bloody shreds.
The leader of the cult took a step back and started to chant a spell. I wanted to think he was surprised and distressed just how easily we took care of his apprentice. Harsk warned us of the leader’s intentions and casted more strength to Alfred, who was closest to our last opponent. Like a bear, Alfred threw himself at the figure and managed to break his concentration and thus ruined his spell. Ilori was still venting pure wrath. She threw nothing less than a massive fireball that struck the back of the room so that only the figure was engulfed by its flames. I shielded my eyes from the violent glow and was certain that would set the whole building on fire, but as the fires died out, nothing was burning. The figure, parts of him scorched, continued to back away from us, casting again. Harsk was shouting that he was healing himself, that we should press the attack to finish him. Both him and the sellsword tried to hit him, but the tall figure evaded every blow. His dexterity and quickness were considerable. For the first time that day, I sheathed my gladii and pulled my bow from my back. But my arrows didn’t find their mark either. Harsk even summoned a magical weapon to support him but that had little impact in the course of the battle. We needed to end this quickly. I was painfully starting to remember our fight with Tsuto, how he had danced around us like we were nothing. Then we had had Frank and his earthbreaker to finish his acrobatics.
Now we had Alfred and his little bag of tanglefeet.
Out of nowhere, between fierce swings and parries, he had produced a small sachet of dust which he emptied at the cult leader I was beginning to guess was an elf. It had the desired effect. The leader howled in frustration as his feet became stuck in the floor. With our assailant unable to move, the struggle became a one-sided affair just like with the cultists and Tsuto. Faroth clawed him, tearing chunks of meat of his belly and feet, and after crying for Iomedae Harsk finished him by piercing his heart with his longsword. The leader slumped to the ground, dead.
Harsk kneeled next his body and pulled the mask made of human skin off. It was an elf indeed. “Do you know this one?” Harsk asked Alfred as I and Ilori approached them. Alfred shook his head and spat on the ground. “No idea.”
“Whoever he was, he had got that little b~+*+ Tsuto out of custody, so he had to be pretty powerful or with extensive connections in the city”, I noted. But since we had no real insight into who the cult leader was, we took his various weapons and other items, left him there and searched the room for clues. I stopped to strip the mithral armor off him – he was roughly my size. I would put this to good use, I thought to myself as I started to remove my old chain shirt.
The back of the top floor was a mess. The wooden floor was stained full with dried blood – the cult had slain many here. Even the walls were splattered with red. A small adjacent room, a study room for the cult leader, had one of its walls covered with cut human faces. It was truly a perverted, sick place. In the small study room Harsk searched a footlocker, and found sea charts, drawings, a beautiful painting of a frozen waterfall behind a frozen cathedral, documents mentioning old, forgotten schools of magic, and two books. The other was a spellbook, which Ilori took to herself, and the other a very old-looking book titled Syrpent’s Tane: Fairy tales of the Eldest. No-one was really interested in it, so I took it, as a curiosity.
Beneath all the other documents was an ornate, well-kept diary. Harsk tried to browse it but couldn’t make a single word out of it. I looked over his shoulder and recognized part of the words as Elvish, but the text was impossible to read. It was like a secret language. Harsk stored the diary anyway, if it would prove useful in the future.
Alfred was skimming through messages and letters on a table next to the foot locker. “Who’s Xanesha?” He asked us. Ilori told him about Aldern and our pursuit of him, and the letter from Xanesha, Mistress of the Seven, we had found in Aldern’s lair. The messages lying on the table had been addressed to “beloved Xanesha”. One, the latest, detailed the setbacks in the “operations” in Sandpoint, obviously referring to the death of Aldern Foxglove and his series of ritual murders we had put a stop to. But the most surprising thing was who had signed the letters. The cult leader it appeared was Justice Ironbriar himself, the judge who had come to Sandpoint to fetch Tsuto and who I had almost met at Sandpoint docks!
The study room also had a narrow ladder leading up to a tower. Alfred climbed the ladder and vanished into the tower above. The night was falling and it was dark up there, but after while, Alfred’s head appeared at the top of the ladder and he smiled. “There are several messenger ravens here, in cages, and some letter paper, ink and pencils. He dropped some papers, a bottle of ink and a pencil down for us. “Want to send a message? We could watch where the ravens go, and that way, we’ll know where to head next. Maybe we’ll even find this Xanesha woman”, Alfred went on with a grin, and I had to admire his wit.
“What if they fly to different directions? What if they fly off the city, farther than we can see?” Harsk asked, a bit sceptical. Alfred shrugged. “Then we’ll be left with nothing, but there’s no reason not to try. Alpharius here with his keen eyes can follow the birds as they soar the skies”, he said, nodding at me. I shrugged, not really against the idea and started to climb up the ladder. Harsk stopped me. “Wait. What should we write anyway? Or should we write anything? We might give an unnecessary warning to our foes if we do so. ” I hopped off the ladder and was about to speak when Ilori cut in. “I know exactly what to write to Xanesha.”
**
We set free two of the black ravens, and they both started towards east, going at the same direction. The night sky was clear and I could easily follow their flight. They flew all the way to the Underbridge and landed at the perches of a clock tower so tall its tip almost touched the belly of the Irespan. They carried one severed elf ear each, with a single parchment of paper rolled over them. Both papers had the same message in beautiful handwriting.
Can you hear us – we’re coming for you next.
We set free two of the black ravens, and they both started towards east, going at the same direction. The night sky was clear and I could easily follow their flight. They flew all the way to the Underbridge and landed at the perches of a clock tower so tall its tip almost touched the belly of the Irespan. They carried one severed elf ear each, with a single parchment of paper rolled over them. Both papers had the same message in beautiful handwriting.
Can you hear us – we’re coming for you next.
Now that, my friends, is style!
That, and a heavily armoured dwarf jumping from the first floor to the ground floor and executing a perfect three point landing among several foes :) !
... and fumbling his first attack, which the narrator did not see ;)
... and fumbling his first attack, which the narrator did not see ;)
Unreliable narrator is the best part of first person limited viewpoint.
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In this quite short chapter, the group finds out killing Ironbriar has its consequences.
Also, I updated the blog. Much death and sorrow there, which this chapter foreshadows..
Enjoy!
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20. ACTIONS AND CONSEQUENCES
16th of Lamashtan – Toilday – 25th day in South-Western Varisia
Magnimar, Cathedral of Iomedae
It was early evening when we departed Seven’s Sawmill in Kyvet’s Islet. The area had become quiet and I didn’t think anyone spotted us leave. Alfred, his backpack full of cultist masks, and seemingly excited about the fight and still eager to vent some pressure, headed to the Lowcleft for beers and whores, whereas the rest of us headed out to the cathedral of Iomedae. We felt withdrawing to our hideout at the Kaijitsu manor was not wise, especially if we happened to have spies on our tail. We didn’t want to risk it and have them to follow us there. Upon arriving to the cathedral, Vincent Valentine came to see us. He was happy to accommodate us after we told him about our battle and showed him one of the horrid cult masks Harsk had taken with him. He even paid us 200 gold pieces for it, as he sensed much evil in it and wanted it eradicated.
At that moment I really, really hoped Alfred wouldn’t lose his backpack during his raid of the taverns and bordellos. He had over 30 of the very same masks with him.
The commander of the paladins took the mask from Harsk and burned it at the spot. As the flames ate the sewn-together lump of human skin, I was just thinking about the equipment I could purchase the moment Alfred would return and hand over the rest of the masks.
**
We spent the night in an unused dormitory. The next morning the priests of Iomedae came to wake us up. Smells of burning incense and the voices of dour chanting followed them as they entered. They had guided a very drunk Alfred in to the dormitory some hours before dawn – and the sellsword had woken us all up with his drunken guffaws, singing and shouting. Luckily he had passed out before I had the chance to knock him out cold, or before Ilori had burned his face.
I was half-awake already, and I asked the priests for a glass and a decanter of water. I filled the glass and walked to the cot where Alfred was snoring. He was lying on his back, and his face was to the side. Perfect. I splashed the contents of the decanter on his head. He woke up with a startle, cursing wildly, his eyes wide open in shock.
“Do you have the masks with you?” I asked with a fake smile as I stood next to him. He looked up at me, surprised, and then frowned. I saw from his expression he wasn’t sure. He looked around and finally spotted his backpack, which was lying at the door. It seemed full. “F*ck you Alpharius. Of course I have them”, he said and wiped water of his face and hair. I had been a bit unfair of course, as I had already made sure he had them, but I couldn’t let the opportunity pass to teach him a lesson about disturbing other people’s sleep.
I was fair however as I handed him the glass of water to help with the hangover, and he thanked for it and drank like he hadn’t seen water in a week.
**
After a modest breakfast, we met with Valentine and Adelbert Steiner again. We went in more detail about the events of the previous evening. When we started to describe the fight with the cult leader, Valentine stopped us and with a grave voice informed us that Justice Ironbriar had been found slain, his ears cut, the previous evening. I was surprised. So what? He was a little piece of s!%# serving an evil mistress. I voiced my opinion on the matter but the paladin-commander was not pleased. It appeared that our two-faced cult leader had been a very prestigious, well-respected and powerful individual, and the public and the city officials were out for blood, demanding justice. By killing him, we had accidentally dug ourselves into a very deep hole. Cutting his ears off no longer sounded that a good idea.
Harsk stepped in. He volunteered to an interrogation that would be held within a ‘zone of truth’, created by a powerful enchantment spell, wherein a person would not be able to speak any deliberate and intentional lies. Valentine accepted the idea, but concluded that a testimony made within a zone of truth would not be regarded as proof in an official trial. Nevertheless, he trusted his fellow believer, and considered interrogations within the zone to be sufficient proof for him. But he wanted to interrogate us all. I flinched at the thought. I didn’t want anyone to poke at my secrets and my past. But as everyone else fell in, I too had to give in – this way, we’d dispel any doubts the Temple of Iomedae would have against us.
The interrogation was a quick affair, and to my relief, Valentine did not ask about my past or my intentions – instead, I told him about what had happened in Sandpoint, what had led us to Magnimar and what had happened at the Seven’s Sawmill. He frowned when I told him how I had cut Ironbriar’s ears off. He probably felt it was barbaric, honourless and simply gratuitous, but I felt then and I still feel it was necessary to send a powerful enough message to our foes. To the foes of Sandpoint, and Magnimar, it seemed. I ended my story with the Ironbriar’s journal, written in a secret language, and this got the paladin’s attention. I praised Harsk’s farsightedness when Valentine asked to have it – the journal might be, he told us, if its secrets could be unlocked – the key that proves our innocence and Ironbriar’s true nature.
The problem was that no-one at the cathedral knew how to read it. The wisest clerics and priests recognized the other component of the language as infernal, but were unable to decipher the meaning of the texts. We had to turn to the help of the Pathfinder Society.
The Society had a university of sorts at Alabaster District, and the far eastern side of the city. We left there, half-forced, with the paladins for Valentine was unwilling to let us go without an escort. He made it abundantly clear that he would bring us to trial if no solid proof of our innocence or Ironbriar’s lies were found. In my mind, I was already starting to plan possible escape strategies off the city.
At the Society however we found a wizened old scholar called Cid Raines. He was more absentminded than poor Brodert back in Sandpoint, but upon seeing the journal, he affirmed us that he could translate its contents given enough time.
He needed a week. And Valentine needed us to stay within city limits for that time. I was automatically rebelling at the thought – not since Canorate had anyone made me stay anywhere against my will. But cooler heads prevailed. We agreed to stay, for now. But we demanded a concession from the paladin – we wanted to have the right to continue the investigations on our own, unmonitored and unhampered by the temple. We wanted to uncover the truth behind the Brotherhood of Seven and Ironbriar’s facade ourselves. Valentine agreed, but only because of his trust of Harsk.
As a further sign of our good will and good intentions, we handed out the three dozen cultist masks to the paladins. Valentine was pleased, but instead of gold or platinum, offered us a huge, uncut diamond in return. It was easily three times as large as the one High Priest Zantus had used to bring back Vidarok the first time he had died. I knew nothing of valuation of gems and diamonds, but I did the rough math in my head. That diamond was worth three lives. Unsurprisingly, we accepted it as a reward for the masks – now, we had powerful insurance that would allow us to return from beyond the veil of death should it become necessary.
At that moment, without informing others, one of us however made the choice not to be returned. And, ironically, this person had less than a day to live.
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No update on the blog yet, but I present you with the latest chapter (this thread and the blog are now "aligned"). The group explores the clocktower under Irespan, and what ensues is IMHO our most dramatic and intense session to date. I hope I've brought alive at least half of the tension we went through.
Enjoy!
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21. THE BELL TOLLED DEATH
18th of Lamashtan - Toilday - 27th day in South-Western Varisia
Magnimar, Kaijitsu Manor
The loot was piled on the master dinner hall's table. The small uncut diamonds, the magical short sword, the enchanted buckler, the potions of barkskin, the master-wrought hand crossbow, paintings, documents, a spellbook, and a very old, very beautiful book. My fingers brushed its leathery cover and I imagined the countless hands that had held it, and the countless of hours someone had spent writing it and drawing the beautiful illustrations within its pages. It wasn't a book really, it was a tome. The Syrpent's Tane: Fairy Tales of the Eldest.
Ilori was holding a spellbook recovered from Justice Ironbriar and smiled at me, perhaps a bit amused at my interest in a book that had the words fairy tales in its cover. Nevertheless, I lifted it for all to see. "Can I take this, for nightly reading", I inquired. Alfred, suffering again from a hangover with red eyes and swollen features, saw the cover and snorted. Harsk just lifted his gaze, nodded and returned to examining the enchanted weapons. Ilori said nothing, so I took it as a yes and stuffed the tome to the nook of my arm.
Alfred wanted to have the barkskin potions, and we let him. "Any other takers?" Harsk asked, looking around. I shook my head. I was wearing Ironbriar's mithral armor, a very fine piece of work I was very quickly getting attached to. Unlike typical mithral armor that was silvery, Ironbriar's was darker, almost black in colour. The pieces of armor themselves were bound to a dark-grey leather shirt, and shades of dark purple were visible in the chest and abdomen plates, and shoulder and upper arm guards that were forged to resemble together a muscular torso. It would've been quite vain to wear it had I not the musculature beneath to match it, I have to admit. It was a perfect fit. I didn't think I had ever wore so comfortable armor in my life.
There were no other dibs for the rest of the loot, so we split the coins and headed out. It was early day already and we had not heard of the Pathfinder Society nor of the Temple, so we decided to take action ourself and investigate the Underbridge. But first, we wanted to spend some of the gold we had taken.
We had barely got out of the Kaijitsu Manor when we ran into a large crowd gathered at the plaza before the Usher's Hall, an important governmental building. Men were addressing the people on a high podium. They were angry and calling for blood. They were after the killers of Justice Ironbriar, demanding the administrators and city guard to stop at nothing to catch the slayers of the 'noble' and 'righteous' Justice. The crowd was frantic, but not of one mind. Some people were demanding the city to take a firmer stance on the other recent killings. I overheard calls to catch the ritual killers. So they weren't limited only to Sandpoin, I murmured to myself, as we waded through the herd of bloodthirsty Magnimarians. How ironic that the ones who had taken the lives of their beloved Justice were among them, right then.
We got past without incident and descended the steep road down from the Summit to the Shore. Halfway down we spotted a rich and noble looking couple sharing bread to the poor. I found it distasteful how the poor were forced to traverse the hill in ditches when the rich were given the road itself. The rich couple were crouched and offering freshly baked bread to the people beneath them. There was much demand, I could see - a congestion of people was forming in the ditch. Harsk saw the situation differently, and paced over to the couple. "Admirable work, sir", he commended the man, who nodded to Harsk and took another bread from his wagon and handed it to a dirty-looking, old woman. The cleric reached to his purse and offered the man a hefty sum of silver coins. "I want to support your work", he said, the silver in his hands. The man said nothing, but appeared taken aback. He exchanged glances with his wife and took the silver with a word of thanks. Harsk bowed curtly and returned to us. "So, you didn't take any of the bread for us?" I asked him when he came, drawing a look of irritation. "What? We barely had breakfast", I said, my eyebrows rising in honest surprise.
**
At the bazaar I quickly saw Garnet, hustling and bartering where she always was. Carefree and beaming like the sun, she was talking to a foreign and wealthy-looking merchant, trying to get him into a deal I guess. She held her hand on his shoulder and with little effort seemed almost to enchant the man. He barely noted when another local trader, one I recognized as Garnet's pals, bumped into him, excused himself and continued with the foreign merchant's gold purse in his hand. It quickly vanished under his cloak and the man also disappeared into the crowd. Sneaky bastards, I rubbed my chin, making a mental note to be extra perceptive in the bazaar to avoid such mishaps. While I needed to work with Garnet, I'd be damn sure I got something in return for my gold.
While the others left to visit places at the bazaar they had yet to see, I stopped by Garnet's market with my animal companion - she had a couple of large tables covered in assorted wares at the marketplace in a central location. A catfolk was standing in a booth, arms crossed, eyeing me suspiciously, almost threateningly. It was obvious I would not get any help from him. He reminded me of the door guard at the Seven's Sawmill. I replied with my trademark cold stare before I started to examine the equipment on display. There was a lot of everything - trinkets, weapons, clothes, supplies, gear, religious items even. I gently moved the items away as I searched for equipment I could use beneath the mess.
"Hi, ugly", came Garnet's light, girly voice. Apparently she had got what she wanted from the poor merchant or he had managed to resist her temptations. I turned my head and saw she was talking to me. "A beautiful scar you have there." Funny girl. I let the remark about my face slide. "I'm looking for equipment for an archer. Bracers in particular", I explained, getting down to business right away and forgetting the pleasantries. This seemed to suit her well. Her eyes lit up in expectation of future sales. "Ha, of course we have them. Give me a moment." She went around to the other side of the tables and whispered something to the catfolk with the attitude. The furry fellow went to rummage chests placed at the back, while Garnet went through the tables. In the end, the blond swindler produced three different bracers. I knew right away which pair I wanted. I recognized them from my earlier life. "That one, with the soaring falcons", I pointed as she was explaining the options and their prices. "How much", I added the question, expecting a hefty sum and getting what I expected. "I think they are most fitting for you too. 400 platinum", she said with a big smile. F*ck. I had only 250 with me. "A moment, if you may", I said with a lifted finger and stepped back and started towards the others who were slowly looking around at the other side of the marketplace. On my way I bought an apple.
After a moment of negotiations, I got back to Garnet with Faroth and tossed an apple core to the street. She was still smiling. "Here's gold worth 400 platinum", I told her while offering her three different bags of gold - one mine, the others from Alfred and Harsk which they had graciously lent. The blond swindler eagerly took them, had a look and nodded to me. She started to share the gold with his friends, which I found perplexing, but I just took the bracers from the table and sighed. Dark green on brown leather, they depicted soaring golden falcons on their wrist guards. They were called Bracers of Falcon's aim, I knew from experience. I had no clue who had produced them but I remembered somebody telling me there were dozens of them around Golarion. And now I owned a pair. I had no sensitivity to magic but I could feel them improve my abilities as I tied them around my wrists and arms.
**
With our businesses concluded, we headed bravely towards the Underbridge. From afar, we could spot the highest tower - a clock tower - that almost brushed the Irespan at the center of the notorious district. Under the Irespan, the district was in perpetual darkness. Light shone in from the sides, reflected off the sea and flowing from the Bazaars, and there were lanterns and torches lit here and there. Buildings were built side by side and streets barred by a makeshift stone wall ten feet high, but we got in with little effort and started towards the dark clock tower. We went in fast and with determination, pushing aside options like approaching by sea during the night, or setting down by rope in the east where a high cliff separated Underbridge from the Summit.
The streets, if you can call them such, were narrow, typically five to ten feet wide. High and barren stone buildings sided the streets, each in a sorrier state than the one before. Windows were broken, or covered with planks. There were very little in the way of people visible, and those few who I saw moved quickly and warily, and did not make eye contact - as if they were afraid of something or someone.
We passed one particularly gruesome scene on our way. A rugged looking hobo was crucified to a building's side. Otherwise clothed, his abdomen was bare and a seven-pointed star had been carved there. Another victim of the Sihedron ritual, another soul stolen. I frowned and considered it a warning to us.
Alfred was traversing the narrow streets at the point, and suddenly stopped and lifted his hand to signal us to halt as well. He put his finger on his lips and pointed up, at the buildings around us. Then I heard it too. Running steps on the roof. A few of them, following us.
"Who's up there?" I shouted, letting them now we knew they were up there. For some reason I thought they were just curious children. I was very wrong.
The sounds stopped above us, but another, a woman's, came from somewhere in front of us.
"..From Korvosa a man left to find a boy, but never did he return with his bounty, leaving a bitter merchant father without his son.."
A lithe, dangerous looking woman clothed in black leather and armored in a fancy breast plate appeared from the shadows behind a corner and faced us. She had a rapier ready in her right hand and a dagger on her left. Alfred turned his head to the side, not understanding. I knew immediately what was the case. She was a bounty hunter.
"The man's description reminded me so much of another man, long lost in a far away nation, worth a hefty sum of gold. His name was Alpharius, I think.. have you heard of him?" She flashed a smug smile. Very confident, this killer.
Alfred was starting to speak but I pushed him aside and stepped forward to confront her. "What do you want, woman?" I asked, sternly. "Nothing else but your head - it's is so much worth gold to-"
Before she could go on, a bow in my hand, I reached out for an arrow. "Well come and get it then!"
As I aimed, somewhere above Harsk and Ilori a very rugged looking man vaulted down. He was armed with a short sword, which he used to attack the carmine lady. But he missed and almost lost his balance altogether. Amateurs. From the back another assailant, a guy with a long moustache, dropped to the street and attacked Harsk with a powerful swing. I heard Harsk cry in pain and blood spatter to the stones.
Alfred left my side, to help Ilori. She was mine and Faroth's. I let the arrow fly, but the bounty hunter ducked just in time and charged me. She was really fast and upon me in a blink. Her rapier found its way through my armor. "You all should run while you can, he's mine", she laughed but her joy was short lived. Faroth pounced to my aid and bit her hard on her leg. Using the distraction to my benefit, I gritted my teeth and dropped my bow while simultaneously drawing my gladii off their scabbards.
"Join the queue, b*tch", I cursed and launched a frantic series of attacks, adding two wounds to her existing one.
I was too focused on my killer to really notice but a fourth assailant appeared to our left at the rooftops. He had a bow and took a shot at someone. A flash of burning arc lighted the alleyway behind me and I once again smelled roasted human flesh. I heard someone scream I didn't sign up for this. Alfred rejoined me at my side, and the bounty hunter welcomed him with a fierce stab that found its mark. Alfred grunted in pain, but fought through it and tried to slam her with his shield. The woman stepped out of the way easily and continued her wild slashes. I simply couldn't keep up with parries and soon the alley under me was stained with my blood. Faroth continued his furious attack and pushed her off me, allowing me to draw a breath. I was badly injured, bleeding profusely from multiple wounds. My animal companion roared in anger, empathic to my pain and slashed with his paws and bit the b%!%$ hard. The bounty hunter grunted and cursed my companion.
"Harsk", I coughed blood, "some.. of your positive energies.. would be appreciated", I pleaded without looking back while my firepelt was all over the killer. Alfred followed the animal and stepped to join the melee, hitting her square in the shoulder with a forceful overhead blow of the magical axe. Now she was really screaming.
Gentle, immaterial tendrils of pure white light gathered around me and I felt some of the wounds close and the bleeding come to a stop. I felt invigorated and with a roar of my own challenged the killer. But she had other plans. I saw the fear in her eyes, and she tried to jump onto the wall next to her, like she could run the wall up. But Faroth was not about to let her go. Pinning his fangs into her thigh, he pulled her back and onto the ground. Before I could stop him, he put his jaws around neck and finished her by thrashing his head around. The killers dead body waggled like a doll. Welcome the queue, I thought as I panted, trying not to feel my injuries.
**
We finished the final straggler with ease. As the attacker fell to the street lifeless and I tore my gladius out of his corpse, Harsk wanted to know how she had known me - known my name - and why she had attacked us. I told him and the others that she was a ghost from my past, and that there was someone who wanted my head and was willing to pay for it. Ilori joked about how much my head would pay, as the assassin had not revealed it. I said nothing else, but that seemed to be enough.
From the dead woman I took a magical belt with a roaring tiger on its buckle that magically made me even more dexterous. This irritated Alfred greatly - he would've liked to sport it as well, but he was too slow to take it. And the kill had been mine through Faroth anyway, so I had first dibs to whatever she had been carrying. He got her boots. I chuckled how they could possibly fit his feet, but it happened they were magical too, and allowed their user to walk on walls. I preferred my boots of elvenkind.
We left the corpses where they laid and continued deeper into the Underbridge. As we got nearer to the clock tower, I saw the clock wasn't working - it had not ticked in ages - but the pointers were showing three hours past midday, or midnight. The tower itself was huge, almost 200 feet tall, and crooked and slighty slanted. I was amazed it hadn't fallen down already. It's top was gabled, and there was an old stone statue of an angel. It had no head, as if it had hit the bottom of the Irespan and fallen off.
The place - its appearance, ambiance and surrounding environment - was shouting 'Do not enter' as much as the Foxglove Mansion. We paid no heed, of course. When did we ever?
A few people scurried away like rats when we approached the only entrance to the tower. I quickly circled the building, looking for other ways in, but could see only narrow windows hundred or so feet above. We could've tried flying, or in Alfred's case, running up the wall.
"Do we go ask around for intelligence about the place, or do we go in with the Frank method", I asked the others, knowing already the answer. "This foul place emanates such evil that it must be cleansed in the name of Iomedae immediately", Harsk replied, sneering hatefully while examining the dark clock tower. Alfred took his cue from Harsk and pushed with a grunt the heavy double doors open. Flash of irritation went through me - I could understand even if I couldn't sympathize with Harsk's arduously righteous motives, but Alfred was simply being reckless. The dwarf and the sellsword entered with flaming torches, but I stayed behind with the carmine lady, who had the good sense not to rush in. Instead, I pulled an arrow from the vine in my back. Ilori summoned and pushed her dancing lights in with a gesture.
There as a large cart standing alone in the middle of the ground floor. On the west side a set of stairs began, and looking up, I could see the stairs ascending into darkness, circling the tower, hugging its walls. There was a great open space all the way up.
Harsk called us and pointed at recent tracks going from the entrance to the stairs. There were many humanoid tracks, and one I could not identify. The tracks were very large however, I could tell, and they were visible all over the ground floor. Leaving Harsk and Alfred to ponder the stairs, and Ilori by the entrance, I paced over to the empty wagons. But they weren't empty, or rather, there was something behind them.
Out of nowhere, a massive creature pushed a cloak off its form and lumbered to its feet. I stopped on my tracks and gasped for air - how could I have missed such a large creature - the wagon offered no concealment! I cried a warning.
The behemoth made a rumbling sound and had in its hands a sharp scythe. "It's not undead!" Harsk yelled as the others turned to face the behemoth. In its full height it was ten feet tall, an unnatural humanoid being. It was Ilori who recognized the what it was. "It is a construct, a flesh golem put together by powerful magic", she told us as flames started to dance around her. "Normal weapons will have a tough time hurting it, we'll have to resort to magic", she added. Harsk and Alfred drew their weapons, and the sellsword dropped the torch. I ran off the wagon, Faroth at my heels, and pivoted. Taking quick aim, I fired and managed to put an arrow to its torso. It barely noted my attack. I commanded Faroth to stay and defend me.
Alfred charged the construct. As I saw him run I couldn't believe he was that crazy and reckless. The swing of the axe had no effect either.
Harsk was paying attention to what Ilori was telling us and summoned a magical longsword to attack the construct. The carmine lady blazed the monster with lances of fire. Through the firestorm, it came and tried to pummel Alfred at its feet. I saw it strike Alfred hard with its right fist. I have to admit I was astonished he remained standing.
I started to fill it with a hail of arrows. I hit it in the head, but managed to hit my animal companion as well, drawing an angry hiss from him. Alfred shouted curses and taunts and expertly started to hack the construct into bits. It did not bleed but after Alfred was done, it toppled to the ground and perished.
**
Our fight ended as quickly as it started and I tried to listen to additional sounds of danger. But the only thing I could hear was the wind blowing somewhere up in the darkness. I can't see the top of the tower, I cursed, even with the low light streaming through the windows some 100 feet above me.
Harsk was first to start ascending the circling stairs. The wooden stairs groaned and creaked loudly, and the dwarf stopped. "This is Thistletop all over again", I commented, remembering the worn-out bridge. "Indeed - these are in a very bad shape", Harsk told us as he examined them, trying his weight on one of the steps. "We should move carefully."
Harsk continued at the point, and me and Faroth remained behind. As we started our ascent together, one of the steps broke in half under Faroth. The firepelt yelped and we retreated. Sh*t. The steps wouldn't hold our combined weight. I had to come up with a solution.
I got an idea quickly. I restarted my climb, but told the beast to stay. When I had progressed twenty or so steps, I ordered him to me. Warily, he started after me, and this way, we went up, with the beast always some twenty feet behind me.
We barely got any way up when Harsk stopped. From the back, I saw him shivering and shaking his head. "I'm not going first", he said, surprising us. What had went into the bold cleric of Iomedae? Another cheap trick, a spell like in the Foxglove Mansion? "What is wrong? Ilori asked him softly, "what would you want to do?" Harsk looked up, then down. "I- I don't know. I don't feel sure going up." Then he leaped. I inhaled in shock and surprise. Ilori and Alfred were wide-eyed. But Harsk slammed to the sandy ground without injury. From a kneeling position, he rose to his short feet, and after a short moment of deliberation, started to ascend the stairs, last this time. I rolled my eyes and continued on my way behind Ilori.
Up with went, carefully, keeping our eyes to the darkness above us. Forty feet. Sixty feet. Eighty feet. The steps bent and croaked under our weight but held firm. The light from the windows started to get stronger, but still we couldn't see the top of the tower, or a ceiling. I saw a glint of light somewhere up, possibly an opening or a hatch, but couldn't be sure. Harsk was still unsure, and kept asking us will the steps bear us. "I'm not the lightest person here", he grumbled from a good level below us. I laughed lightly. "I bet I'm 25 pounds heavier than you", I replied as the stair on which I stepped complained under me. Harsk yelled back at me. "But I have such a heavy backpack!" I looked over the edge of the stairs. "Whatever, dwarf!" I saw the carmine lady imitate chicken's wings with her elbows and heard her cackle like a chicken. That made me and Alfred laugh - probably more than we would've usually, but it broke the tension in the low-lit tower.
I don't know if Harsk cursed the sorceress under her breath but karma struck swiftly. Somewhere above there was a loud crash and a whip of a rope. Something big was coming down fast.
-boom-boom-boom-BOOM-
And from the darkness, a massive bell came crashing down, hitting the walls uncontrollably as it went. It was tolling.
"Watch out!" I screamed, trying to analyze it's trajectory, trying to see if it would hit me. It almost did but I leaped out of its way at the final second. But the thick rope on which it had hung whipped me on its way down. I was slammed to the wall but I managed to grab the stones and halt my descent before the bell and its rope pulled me down to the abyss. The bell brought broken pieces of the stairs with it.
Ilori was not so dexterous. With a panicked, pained cry, she fell.
I yelled after her.
The bell crashed to the floor and split into several pieces.
In the darkness, I saw Ilori's form catch light in the air. She became a living torch - I realized she had the sense to channel all her powers to her mage armor - the only thing that could save her from an eighty-feet free fall. The blaze of the armor was so extreme it looked like she was overheating.
Then her body hit the ground, and the fires died with a whiff as if something had blown them away.
Faroth stood on the stairs thirty feet behind me unscathed and silent, to my relief. But Alfred had been hit too. He was getting up, gripping the stairs in pain. Between my teeth, I yelled down at Ilori. "Are you OK?" I asked, hoping by some miracle she was still alive.
She weakly raised her arm at us. Her voice was barely audible. Blood flowed from her lips. "I'm.. I'm alive", she whispered, lying on her back. I was stunned but let out a sigh of relief. She slowly pulled her wand of healing, and white lights began to dance around her. Within moments, the flow of blood stopped and she rose to a sitting position with great effort. I wondered how close to death she had been. Ilori wiped pebbles and dust off her skirt and got up. Alfred, peering over the edge, guffawed.
I looked around at the damage the falling bell had delivered. At many places, steps had been ripped off. There were empty spaces almost ten feet wide. "Is this worth it, going up there? We almost got killed? We could block the entrance?" I asked the others. Harsk nodded below. "If we return tomorrow, I'll have a personal solution to this problem", he stated, regarding the broken stairs. Alfred could walk the walls, and I could use a rope with Ilori.
But first, we had to see better. Ilori's dancing lights flew past Harsk, then me and finally Alfred. Why didn't I think of this earlier, I scolded myself as the lights pushed the darkness aside in the open space above. With the additional light, I then saw four more bells hanging from the ceiling, and a lot of movement. Humanoid figures. I shouted another warning. "Incoming! Get down to ground level, now!" I was adamant we'd have a better chance to win if we fought organized on the ground rather than on the stairs, one by one.
Alfred was quickest to react, but he didn't run. Instead, he pulled his axe and scanned the stairs above him. The sellsword yelled that he saw something, confirming my suspicions. Harsk was a lot slower. "Get down, f*ckers, listen to me for once!" I pleaded them. I couldn't approach Harsk without risking the already damaged stairs to come crashing down. I saw many figures storming down the stairs. The battle was almost upon us and we were sitting our thumbs up our asses, I cursed.
A few seconds later I recognized the figures. They were shapeshifters, the same strange humanoids we had slain at the Foxglove Manor at the Summit. I pulled two arrows, nocked them and shot the creature closest to Alfred - it was directly above him, one level up. My aim was true and I nailed it to the tower wall.
Alfred finally came to his senses, turned and ran down the stairs. Harsk, below me, too started to run down at his best speed. Above, another shapeshifter came right behind the first, but lost its balance on the edge of broken steps and fell down a good thirty feet before landing on the stairs with a smash next to surprised Harsk. Confident that Harsk could handle the unacrobatic enemy, I continued to rain arrows above. My first two hit another running enemy, but the third missed badly. Even with a two arrows sticking out of it, the shapeshifter continued its run, but stumbled and fell off the stairs. It made a red stain on the ground next to Ilori. The carmine lady startled, gazed upwards and shot fiery magical missiles at the creature next to Harsk. They pierced its body and it collapsed on the stairs lifeless.
I commanded Faroth to run down and protect Ilori. He was uncertain, sniffing the air and looking down and back at me. What's wrong? "Go!" I ordered him and finally he leaped off to a run. Alfred had stopped and was yelling at me. "There's only one left! We can handle this!" I was unsure. There were many broken sections in the stairs - how could Ilori and Harsk manage those? I voiced my doubts. Harsk was already close to the ground level, and didn't hear our exchange. He leaped the last level down and fell on the sand. Nevermind Alfred, I thought, I'd rather regroup below. "Come on!" I was urging him.
Then something happened below. I lost sight of Faroth, Harsk and Ilori as suddenly a black rolling cloud appeared from nowhere, rose from the ground and filled a space thirty feet high. It was like a vortex thunderstorm, but without rain and lightning. And the storm wind was silent.
"What the f&*@!" I exclaimed. "What's in there?" Alfred yelled. Ilori's voice was uncertain. Something screamed. "It's.. It's a demon of some sort. Stay back! It's dangerous to the mind and body!" Another scream, and a woman's voice, unintelligible. She was speaking in an ancient, foreign language. I started to run down.
From somewhere above me, the last shapeshifter fell on the stairs and landed twenty feet in front of me. They really had trouble traversing these stairs I thought as I pulled a gladius of its scabbard on the run. Alfred was behind me, running too. "We're too slow!" I shouted to him as I pounded towards the injured shapeshifter. "I know!" Alfred replied simply and vanished. I was almost upon the shapeshifter when I heard an awful cry of pain. It was Ilori - she was badly hurt. Another cry - of an animal - Faroth, sounded and was cut short. An empathetic pain stabbed my chest.
He was dead.
My soul felt like a shroud had been laid on it and I smashed on the last shapeshifter. "You're on my way", I said to it simply and gutted it with my gladius. I didn't miss a step and kept ascending the old stairs. From the periphery of my vision I saw Alfred running down the wall like a damned spider.
Then a third scream pierced the tower. It started as high-pitched but became guttural, as blood made it impossible to breath. It was a death scream. I recognized it as the carmine lady's.
F*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck-
I ran. I paid no heed to the risks, to the creaking and complaints of the steps, how they bent but did not break. The storm cloud was still rolling and I couldn't see a damn thing what was happening. I cursed the cloud. I cursed the fallen bell.
Through the smoke, I heard Harsk curse and challenge the enemy. Alfred was with him. "The cloud, it's not real! It's not real!" What did he mean, not real? Last level. I leaped down with a front flip and landed gracefully. At the edge of the rolling, black cloud was the inert, bloody corpse of Faroth. No time to mourn now. The others were fighting the enemy in the smoke. I couldn't pinpoint their location. I circled the cloud, desperately trying to find an enemy I could kill.
Then I saw her. She was lying on her back, sprawled on the stairs. She had two bloody holes, one in her abdomen and the other close to her heart. Her mouth hung open as did her eyes. There was no life, no fire there.
It hasn't be the end. I my heart raced the thought emerged. We just have to finish this. I stepped into the cloud. It's not real. And it simply no longer was.
I was seeing the battle in full. Alfred and Harsk were bleeding, and locked in melee with a massive half-woman, half-serpent. She hissed and bellowed in its strange language and paid no heed to me, probably believing I still couldn't see her. The beast stabbed with a long spear, almost hitting Alfred. I sheathed my adamantine gladius and pulled a duo of arrows. It writhed and coiled as it dueled with the sellsword and the cleric, but it was a big target. I put two arrows on its torso and it screamed - I had its attention now. Moving closer to the shattered remains of the fallen bell, I searched for another opening. My mind was numb. I just wanted to kill the b%%*@ for what she had done to Ilori and Faroth. I shot another volley of three arrows and hit well. We were pushing it, cornering it. It struggled free of the melee and tried to move at me but I kept my distance, constantly staying twenty-thirty feet away. But even though we were pushing it back, we weren't delivering enough punishment.
It withdrew, pushing the wagon aside and rose on top of the shattered bell. Time to end this.
I dropped my bow and drew my gladii. I charged towards her and she realized my intent at the last moment. Thrusting with her spear, she tried to stop my advance but I ducked and rolled and got past her defences. The adamantine gladii sung as it cut air and meat. It was surrounded by three opponents, and bleeding from multiple wounds, but the fight was far from over. Casting defensively, it locked eyes with Alfred and he stopped his attacks. Nuuta chan, a mind controller, I cursed in Elvish. Taking over Alfred's mind, she let out a quick command in clear Common. "Alfred, go look for your friends at the top of the tower-" My and Harsk's fierce stabs cut her command short and she screamed in pain, but it was enough for the enchanted sellsword, who nodded, oblivious to our plight and ran towards the stairs. "Alfred, no!" Harsk bellowed and I yelled profanities about his mother. But it had no effect - the man paced up, heedless of anything. Having dealt with one of our group, the serpent woman hissed and tried to evade us once more by gaining a better vantage at the top of the shattered bell.
But Harsk and I were relentless. We had to finish her now, when we were still flanking her from two sides. The cleric voiced a battlecry for his goddess and hacked off her hand while I drove both of my gladii into her back. Black ichor pulped out her chest where the tips emerged and she let out a sigh. Her form wriggled for a second, and then she collapsed. Harsk, not wanting to end up under her, took a step back in disgust. I was still furious and leaped on her. With swift slashes, I cut her head off. It dropped on the sand and rolled away.
"What the devils was that?" Came Alfred's question. He was at the stairs, looking down on the carnage, dumbfounded. The death of the serpent woman - Xanesha, it had to be her - had broken the spell. We were too tired to answer him.
I let myself a second to catch my breath and jumped off the dead woman and the bell. Harsk was murmuring prayers, his eyes closed. I stepped to Faroth, and kneeled before his dead body before gently feeling his pulse. There was none. You died valiantly, defending her like I commanded. I am so sorry, my friend.
I rose and walked my head held low to the prone body of our carmine lady. Harsk came after me. I lowered myself to one knee next to her in the stairs.
"There is still hope, even beyond death", Harsk whispered. "I know", I replied as I put my hands on her face and closed her eyes. "It doesn't need to end here", Harsk was saying. "I know", I repeated, between my teeth, feeling tense. I didn't want to think about the implications. I didn't want to believe she was gone for good. I didn't want to think about Vidarok. I didn't want to think about my brother. But I still did.
**
Alfred went up to the top of the tower to search it, using his magical boots. Harsk and I had no stomach for trying to get up there again. The sellsword found a loot we had never seen before - thousands of pieces of gold, silver and copper, and dozens, if hundreds of gemstones. He dropped them down in bags and we loaded them all to the wagon. Last, we gently placed Ilori and Faroth on top and covered it all with the flesh golem's cloak.
When we got out, we could hear drunken brawls and accordion playing. The Underbridge was becoming livelier as the day progressed. Clouds were gathering and I could sense rain approaching. We got out of the Underbridge and back to Kaijitsu Manor uninterrupted. I don't think anyone of us said a word on the way back.
At the manor, I carried Faroth to the back yard and placed him under a canopy. I got back to the others and we carried Ilori upstairs to her room and to her bed. Harsk had used the wand of gentle repose on both so they both looked like they were sleeping - there was no rigor mortis, no first signs of decay. Only the horrible entry wounds of the b*tch serpent's spear. I turned to leave with Alfred, but Harsk told us to wait. I saw Harsk had a small note in his hands.
"She doesn't want to be resurrected", he said, gravely, showing us the note. From the door I recognized the beautiful handwriting. Alfred's eyes went wide. "You've got to be kidding me, with the diamond and all.." I just shook my head. The numbness returned. I felt like we had betrayed her. I left her room and on my way out I punched a wall, leaving a dent on the wood panel.
**
The evening was falling. I gathered some firewood from around the manor into a small pyre in the backyard and carried Faroth's body to it. With a gladii, I removed his fangs - they would not serve as battle trophies but as mementos of our short time together. I would not forget him.
The fire burned brightly.
**
Harsk wanted to take his mind out of everything and he volunteered to count the thousands upon thousands of coins we had taken from the tower. Alfred wanted to blow off some steam too and did it his way - by going out to screw whores and drink his brains out.
I went to Ilori's room. I found a comfortable chair, pulled it next to her and sat down. I had the old tome, Syrpent's Tane: Fairy tales of the Eldest with me. I opened the book on my lap and started reading aloud from the first page.
Outside was dark and raindrops kept falling on the windows.
Wow... just... wow...
Again.
Even the toned-down Xanesha in the AE edition always seems to manage at least a party member or two. Her reputation as the deadliest BBEG in all the APs is well-earned.
Well-fought and well-won, all, and sorry for your losses!
Damn. Not who I thought it would be. I rather liked that character. Also, at the rate you're going, you're going to pass where we are and I won't be able to keep reading. :(
Thanks guys!
Xanesha was a tough cookie - the level of DAM and the magics she poured out was stunning. I'd imagine Ilori would've survived if a) her player would've withdrawn her back up the stairs outside her reach and b) our party hadn't been split (we always get ourselves killed when we split up, intentionally or unintentionally). Faroth was a lost cause anyway, no doubt about that. Poor fella.
Game-wise, we're infiltrating Fort Rannick at the moment.
But between Magnimar and FR I've planned to write at least 3 chapters, of one I've just written a half. At this pace I'd imagine you'll read about our endeavours in FR by end of June. So don't worry Poldaran :)
Game-wise, we're infiltrating Fort Rannick at the moment.
We just did that one a couple weeks ago. At a game every 3 weeks(if we're lucky), you'll likely pull ahead rather quickly. I am glad for that lag between sessions and postings meaning that at least it will be a bit before your posted story catches up to where I can no longer read it as it's posted.
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New chapter is up. The third book slowly starts as Alpharius continues on his emotional rollercoaster, a new member is forced (from Alpharius' PoV) into the party, and we rock the world of the Mayor of Magnimar...
Read the chapter in my blog if you prefer that medium.
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22. UNINVITED GUESTS
19th of Lamashtan - Fireday - 28th day in South-Western Varisia
Magnimar, Kaijitsu Manor
I woke to the first light of a new day, the tome in my lap. I realized that I had fallen asleep while reading to Ilori. Eyes closed, expression neutral and hands at her lap, she was still resting on her bed peacefully. No, I corrected myself, she was somewhere else, and all that remained was her broken yet still beautiful physical form. I closed the book, got up and left.
As I got downstairs, Harsk was already gone, but he had left us, or me, a note he was going to the temple and some breakfast at the kitchen, which I hungrily devoured. I realized I had not eaten for almost a day. I was about to drop a big piece of bacon on the floor for Faroth but then I remembered and pulled back my hand. I recalled the small pyre, the scent of the slowly rising smoke and the gathering rainclouds above me. I reached out to my bandolier and found the fangs. As I touched them I remembered falling asleep to the sound of raindrops hitting the windows. I closed my eyes and gripped the firepelt teeth in my palm, letting the emotions wash over me, letting them break against my mind like waves hitting rock.
The front door slammed open and Alfred broke my moment of contemplation by entering the house. I was at the back of the ground floor in the kitchen, but I could still hear him moan in pain. Another hangover. Another normal morning for the sellsword.
He didn't say anything when he stepped into the kitchen but burped and slumped on a wooden stool opposite to me. His eyes were bloodshot. Gods, the smell of old liquor was thick around him. I was amazed he could fight let alone operate in such condition day in and day out. I wondered how his manhood hadn't fallen off after f++*ing so many whores - who knew what diseases they carried. In a way, Alfred was just like Frank - an alchemist's bomb, waiting to go off. At least the barbarian had been honest about his rage and suicidal tendencies, but Alfred was just destroying himself in a very slow, carefree manner.
I wondered if I was doing the same, running after a ghost, chipping parts off myself in the process, until nothing remained, not even a purpose.
As I gazed to nothingness, Alfred reached out and grabbed a large loaf of dark bread. "Do you still have the list and the letter", I asked, coming back to this world and referring to something peculiar Alfred had found among the coins and the gemstones. After slaying the Mistress, we had stumbled upon a list of names and a letter to Xanesha from her sibling. The list, titled 'Sihedron sacrifices', had thirty four names, some of them crossed over, including familiar names like Benny Harker and Titus Scarnetti from Sandpoint, all Aldern's victims, and familiar names from Magnimar, like Garnet Alexandros and Lord-Mayor Grobaras. The list even had my and Ilori's names on the bottom. It was a list of assassination targets, with greed apparently as their common denominator. I was amused they had felt I was greedy. Quite the opposite. There was just no-one I would share the loot with open arms and without deliberation. Ilori's words echoed in my mind. You need to trust some people, Alpharius.
"I gave them to you yesterday", Alfred responded with a coarse voice, his throat dry, and munched the bread. I shook my head slowly. "No, I just had a look and gave it back to you." Alfred frowned and stopped eating before tapping his pockets across his clothes. "F*ck."
I narrowed my eyes. "That list and letter are critical if we want to prove our innocence to the Temple and the city-" I started, but Alfred slammed his palm to the table. Cutlery and cups trembled. "I know I had it. I'm sure! Gods damnit! Somebody must have taken it from me when we left Underbridge!" For some reason, I believed him outright. I had been too occupied, too haunted by regret to spot Garnet's lackeys, the realization came quickly and I was sure where to go and look for the documents. "Let's go to the bazaar", I told the sellsword.
**
At the marketplace by the docks I spotted Garnet from afar and didn't like what I saw. A pale-faced, lithe young woman in her early twenties, wearing a dark leather vest and breeches, was frantically discussing with her, and she didn't seem happy. As she saw me and Alfred approach, she seemed to get even more tense. The other woman retreated and vanished behind the counters and market booths.
"Hey, you", Garnet started and pointed me accusingly. "I am Alpharius", I informed her matter-of-factly, realizing at the same time that I hadn't introduced myself to her earlier. I was so bad in getting to know new people.
She waved a piece of paper in front of us. It didn't take a bright man to realize what it was. "Care to tell me, Alpharius, why I am on a kill list of a Mistress of a rich men's boy's club?" I flashed a hint of a smile. "We found about that yesterday so you tell me. I'm there too." She didn't appreciate my humour. I realized she was quite angry, and terrified. Alfred chose to stay back. I think he didn't want to worsen his headache by arguing with Garnet.
"I don't find this funny, stranger! There are men and women on this list who I've known and who have been killed!" At that I frowned and crossed my arms. "So what? It's not like you're an innocent little girl, I'm willing to bet you have a lot of enemies in Magnimar." She stepped closer to me and gazed up to my eyes keenly. I really couldn't give a s!~& but I didn't break the stare. "So you don't care that there's a group of powerful people after your life", she asked, trying to make a point. I just laughed without any mirth. "Poor girl, I already have powerful people after me. This changes nothing." She was taken aback. "What, so you'll just go on pretending nothing happened, and won't investigate who's behind all this?" A momentary flash of anger, but I hid it well. Something happened. We lost Ilori. I lost my animal companion. But she didn't know of our losses, of course. How could she?
"Of course we'll investigate." I sighed and went on. "We lost Ilori yesterday, fighting that mistress, retrieving those pieces of paper you hold. We'd need them back", I said, feeling like I was carrying a mountain on my back. I pointed at the documents. I didn't see any point in accusing her of theft in the first place. Hearing me, her expression softened, loosened a bit.
"The red beauty? I'm sorry for your loss", she uttered her condolences but I couldn't say if she was being sincere. "But you must then realize the importance of seeking this sibling of Xanesha", she explained, briefly checking the letter she got the name right, "and make sure others will not suffer and perish at their hands." You mean you won't suffer and perish, I thought, but didn't say it aloud. "And surely you wish to avenge her death", she added as a final note. Avenge the carmine lady? I hadn't thought about it, but she was right. I wanted it. I wanted to make the bastards suffer for what they had done to her and Faroth. Powerful emotion surged through me but I held it in check, almost. I realized I was clenching my fists, and released them.
"Point taken", I admitted to the blond swindler. She nodded. "Then you won't mind if someone I know tags along with you in your investigations, to make sure the threat is eliminated swiftly." My brows rose in surprise. What insolence! "First of all-" I started, but she wasn't listening but rather blew a loud whistle. The same pale-faced, dark-haired woman she had been talking to earlier appeared and walked to us confidently. Alfred guffawed, his input to the discussion having been nonexistent that far - and chose to continue to stay back, perhaps thinking I had more say in who joined us and who didn't, which of course was absolutely not true. We weren't a team, a company, nothing. We were just strangers.
But I was damned if I was going to allow some outsider to force-feed a person to us - a person who we didn't trust let alone know and whose only reference was a known swindler and a troublemaker. "This is Alice, an old friend of mine, a person of great abilities-" This time I cut her short. "No. Absolutely not. We're not interested in babysitting your friend here." Alice stepped forward, seemingly not minding my words. "I can well take care of myself, half-elf." I quickly assessed her. Lightly built but vigorous, that big scimitar in a scabbard on her belt. Plain-looking, blue eyes, not unfriendly, pragmatically dressed and equipped. A fighter perhaps, no - too intelligent, something else. Magic wielder. And she has that fancy magical backpack like Alfred does. "Like what you are seeing?" Garnet asked sardonically.
"It doesn't matter", I said simply. "Even if, if, we decide to pursue Xanesha's sibling, we'll do it on our terms and no-one else's." Garnet lifter her hands. "Of course! Alice here won't boss you around. She is just there to make sure you get the job done. She'll be a valuable member of your group."
The discussion wasn't going anywhere so I changed tactics. "Why are you so intent on getting after the person behind the kill list? Like I said, you must have enemies in town already." The blond swindler looked down. "I- I can admit I'm afraid for my life. This is something else entirely. While I can be quite sure I'm safe here at the bazaar and the Dock district, among my friends-" I cut in again. "If you're safe here, why don't you just hire good Alice here to protect you?" She was lost for words for a moment.
I pressed on. "Don't bullsh*t us." Garnet licked her lips as she considered her next words. "The fact is, I don't want to have powerful enemies as much as anyone." Whatever, I thought. "In any case, this is not up to me. We have Alfred here too, and Harsk, who have a say." I turned to Alfred, hoping he'd be as reluctant as I was, but I was sorely disappointed. He was smiling. "Sure, why not. An extra blade in skillful hands is always welcome." I wanted to hit him right there and then.
"Excellent", Garnet exclaimed happily. I shook my head wearily. "No. It's not settled. Harsk gets to decide, but he's not here." The swindler just shrugged. "Alice here surely can tag along until you meet up with the dwarf again", she half-asked, half-stated. I gave them both a cold look. "No she can't, but who am I to stop her from following us around." Garnet laughed but I sensed the resentment and irritation beneath it. Whatever, I thought again. If I paid no attention to this Alice, maybe she'd leave us be.
An awkward silence fell. I broke it by reaching out to Garnet with my hand. "We'll need those back", I said, referring to Xanesha's documents. Garnet looked at me unsurely, then at Alice, who nodded and she handed me the papers. I took them. "You're not holding these anymore", I said to Alfred who snorted, and folded the papers before stuffing them into my breeches' pocket. Doing that, the tips of my fingers brushed against Faroth's fangs. I was yet to string them with my other memorabilia, but I was reminded of a practical necessity. I required another animal companion to replace the curious, strangely coloured firepelt.
"I am looking for a new animal companion", I started, taking the discussion to another topic. This seemed to please the swindler as she flashed another carefree smile of hers. "Of course. The bazaar has pets for sale from around Golarion. I happen to know just the place." Of course you do. "Do you want to have a look now?" She asked. I nodded, and she led me forward past the market stands and booths. Alfred followed, as did the new girl. We walked all the way to the docks, and to a shadier part where there were a lot of inns and taverns. After taking a corner, she stopped and gesture forward to an alleyway. I looked and saw a dark-skinned man sitting hunched and feeding seeds to a red parrot who was on his shoulder. Around him, under a canopy tied to the surrounding houses, were dozens of cages of various sizes, and in each cage was an animal or a few.
I paced past Garnet and towards the man. As he noticed me approach, he stood up, took the parrot and placed it into a cage nearby. He gave me a wide smile. His golden teeth flashed in the shadow of the canopy.
"Good morning master", he started, and looked past me to Garnet. I noted a slight nod of respect to her. "I am animal trainer and salesman Reshi. What brings you here to my shop today?" I let my gaze wander around the cages. "I am a hunter, looking for a trusty animal companion. Preferably a large feline rather than a hound or a wolf - or something exotic", I added as I noted a large lizard, probably a monitor, in one cage. Reshi sneered pridefully. "I have the best cat beasts in Magnimar for hunting. Come and see", he encouraged me and gestured me to follow him. As I went, my attention was caught by a beautiful harris hawk. I recognized it by its chestnut-red shoulders and white-banded tail. Would I had the time to train it, I would've eagerly bought one of these pack-hunting falcons. Maybe later, I thought and continued to focus on what Reshi was saying - an empty sales pitch.
"Here is a fabulous creature, the mighty lion", he told me and showed me a large cage. Within, a starved, diseased male lion lied. The poor thing was breathing laboriously and flies buzzed around it. "50 gold pieces for this great alpha male, a pride-leader like yourself", Reshi went on. I looked at him like he was an idiot. "I'll pay you five gold coins to let him out of his misery. He's almost dead!" I offered. "What? No. He's fine!" Either he was blind or desperate. Seeing that I wasn't going to be fooled, he flashed a smile. "I can take the 5 gold on your offer." Under my hood, I rolled my eyes. "What else do you have?"
He took me deeper into his shop between buildings. He had a few firepelts, but they were vicious, scrawny and unfit. Then I saw him. It was like an instant recognition of an old friend, just like with Faroth at the woods. A black leopard, a panther, was stalking in circles in its small cage. It was a male, almost full-grown. Handsome, tense and only muscle and no slack. And it was furious. As Reshi walked past its cage, it roared and trashed, and tried to claw at him through the bars. He hated Reshi. Reshi cursed him and took a stick of wood and rattled its cage and hit him on the paws. The panther retreated a few paces but showed its fangs at the beastmaster. "That one needs some discipline", Reshi muttered and slammed the cage once more for emphasis. It was obvious to me that Reshi was a trainer who used force and pain as his only methods. And I could spot the tell-tale signs of disciplinary action on the panther's fur. He was a slave in training. And after that realization, for a second, I was somewhere else entirely.
Training hall. Blood and sweat drip on the marble floors, making them slick. "Stay down, boy!" A slave-master, a whip in his hand, shouts at the jet-black haired youngster. The whip cracks against his back and the boy screams in pain. There are six bloody marks on his back. Another whip. Seven marks. Light shines through the windows onto the boy's face and it blinds him. He's crouched, driven to his knees, wearing nothing but breeches ."Insolent bastard! I'll teach you to strike you masters!" The man with the whip yells in rage. The boy lifts his chin, sweat and tears of pain fall down his cheeks and nose. He sees the other man lying in a pool of blood, a gladius in his throat. Through the agony, the boy grins.
I made eye contact with the panther. His expression became neutral in a heartbeat and he regarded me with his large yellow cat's eyes. I stepped closer, and I was next to his cage. "Watch out, that bastard likes no-one", Reshi warned me but I gestured him to shut up without looking away. I felt Reshi's gaze, and Garnet's and Alfred's too on my back. I pushed my hand through the bars towards the panther. Hello, fellow slave. Do you want your freedom?
The panther turned its head to the side first, then lowered it, before looking back at me from under the corners of his eyes. I could feel his breath on my extended hand. It was only a feet or two from him. Such wrath. Such power. I am a sullen, silent creature. Become my avatar of fury. I held eye contact. "Crazy fool.." Reshi was muttering behind me, but I ignored him. Finally, the panther took a step towards me. Then another. He brought his head close to my hand, sniffed it and finally licked my fingertips. I realized what connected me, Faroth and this beast. It was about being down-trodden and hurt by others. Faroth by his pack - by other, normal firepelts. The panther by his beastmaster. I by my slavemaster. I scratched its head and gently brushed its fur. The black leopard let out a low growl - a purr. You are a shadow from the shadows. I name you Dûath.
"How much?" I asked Reshi after I snapped out of the trance and slowly pulled my hand out of the cage. "On- I mean two hundred fifty gold pieces", Reshi answered, his mouth agape. He couldn't believe what he was seeing but the sleazy bastard had the sense to push the prices up. I frowned at the ridiculously high price but then I had an inspiration. I called Garnet to come over.
"Alexandros", I started by using her surname, "I have a suggestion." She nodded me to go on. "I'm quite interested in this panther, but Reshi's price is quite high. If you pay him, I'll agree to take Alice with us." The swindler opened her mouth so say something but then closed it and just thought about it for a moment. Reshi was looking nervous, glancing back and forth from me to Garnet. Finally she yielded and nodded. "Fine, I'll pay for your animal, and you, Alfred and Harsk take Alice with you. No problems, no games." I laughed lightly. Yeah right. I could agree on the girl coming with us, but I wouldn't have to like it. "Deal", I promised her.
**
Reshi remained back behind the protection of the cage door when he let Dûath out. The panther had a collar around his neck, but Reshi tossed me a thick leash to connect to the collar. I caught it in mid-air and threw it back. "I won't be needing this." He looked at me like I had gone totally mad. I just grinned at him.
**
Dûath remained firmly by my side as we left the bazaar. His behaviour had changed dramatically, and he sniffed and regarded the world with curiosity, but I could sense the burning fury within him. The desire to lash out against his wrong-doers.
I was still being hunted. Had killing Horryn been too little? Should I return to Canorate to finish the entire family, for what they did to us? For what they did to my brother?
Instinctively I shook my head to clear my mind. We had just met but my connection with the beast was already strong. It was not subtle like the connection I had had with Faroth. This was direct, and taxing. I needed to take control. We were partners, but I was in charge. Focus, Alpharius, I thought to myself.
We decided to stop by the Pathfinder Society to see how Cid Raines was doing with the translation of Ironbriar's journal. He had make little progress. The absentminded scholar told us about how the language was a fusion of three different languages that only educated minds could understand, and how the author had had a secret affair years ago. Tsuto Kaijitsu, I realized. Ironbriar had been his true father. That explained many things, I considered.
I bought a simple map of Varisia while we were there - we'd need to understand the geography of the area to locate our next destinations - Turtleback Ferry and Fort Rannick - that were mentioned in the letter to Xanesha. I pinpointed them in the map, and realized that the journey there would take some time - a week or so by river boat, or two weeks via land. The land route quickly became intriguing to me as it offered a way to visit a number of small towns - and look for clues about Macharius.
At the Summit we also found a jewellery and sold our massive diamond. Or rather, I had it cut to two smaller diamonds while Alfred took his share as platinum. I wanted an insurance in case I lost my life, and believed Harsk would like one too, while Alfred wanted to buy new equipment. While he and Alice left to the Mage Tower at the Shore, I excused myself and headed out to a different direction with Dûath.
**
From the city map I had learned that Magnimar boasted a large hippodrome, called Serpent's Run, the largest building in the city. Stadiums and arenas like Serpent's Run typically showcased gladiatorial and other fighting games.
I wanted to see if they had any, or just races. I wanted to concentrate on something else entirely than the dark thoughts that were clouding my mind.
The hippodrome was close-by in the affluent Marble District that neighbored Alabaster District at the Summit. I quickly traversed the streets and located the place from afar. Even from the outside, it was a spectacular sight. A long promenade led from the main street to its entrance, and the promenade was divided lengthwise by a beautiful fountain. The entrance itself was a massive triumphal arc, and a score of statues and portraits cut into the stoneworks covered its sides. There were illustrations of races and fights as well, finely painted into the stones, depicting past games and heroes, and their victories. I was intrigued, and awed.
It was a Fireday afternoon, and already there was an event going on within the hippodrome.To the entrance I could hear the oohs and aahs of the thousand-strong crowd, the clapping, whistles and hoots, the rhythmic stomping of feet against stand floors. I couldn't help but smile. I hated my years as a slave, as an owned hunter. I despised Canorate and its pampered, cruel elite. But I still loved the games and the fights. And I knew my brother did too.
People were entering the arena in two streams. Without asking I could see how people decided which stream to follow - the other had the poor, the other the rich and their entourages. I first decided to go in through the poor people's side, but quickly learned that their stands were abysmal and offered little chances of actually seeing what happened. Ten gold coins exchanged hands and I was in through the doors for the rich folk. People barely registered Dûath who silently and loyally followed by my side.
I found an empty seat next to a older couple and sat down, while Dûath lied down at my feet. I had arrived just in time to witness a bull fight. Dozens of fierce, bloodied bulls stampeded across the field and among them three fighters competed, each trying to kill more bulls than the other two. My heart skipped a beat when I spotted the first of the competitors - a large, muscular man with white hair sporting a greatsword, but then he turned and I saw his blood-soaked face. My shoulders sagged noticeably. He was not my brother. His sword, as bloody as his face, cleaved bulls into bits in a hurricane of wrath. I could see he was raging, and I was reminded of Frank. Maybe the barbarian had gone to fight in the arenas as well?
An elf danced in the arena, two rapiers in his hands. He was like water as he seemed to flow past the running bulls, gracefully striking killing blows here and there, and remaining completely unharmed in the process. His fighting style was as close to an art as I had ever seen. I had a hard time spotting the third competitor. He was a gnome or a halfling - I couldn't be certain - and he kept ducking and rolling, using his miniscule size to his advantage. Every time a bull seemed to pummel or overrun him, he evaded, typically between its legs, and slashed open its belly with razor-sharp knives.
The crowd was ecstatic and lusting for blood. I had never been too interested or happy about the rampant slaughter of wild animals in games, so I quickly bored and left my seat to scout the arena. My intention was to have a look if there was any sign of my brother, or if I could apply into a fight myself. There was always good money for good fighters in games, and the size and scope of the Serpent's Run promised great rewards indeed.
I tried to slip into the sub-levels of the hippodrome but my efforts were thwarted. While I wasn't really trying that much (just being interested), security was high and I was soon stopped by a duo of guards. While I heard nothing of an silver-haired, young half-elf fighter, I managed to hear that the director of the gladiatorial games was overseeing training and weeding of fighters every morning at the arena and he would be the person I would need to talk with should I want to participate. Satisfied with what I had found out, I left the hippodrome.
**
While I was gone on my own business, Alice had led Alfred to the Mage Tower. From what I'd heard the place was a combined school of magic and magical weapon armory located at the center of the Shore. He was buzzing with excitement - he had ordered a brand new mithral heavy armor to replace his old, common steel armor. My interest was piqued and I started to think about utilizing magical weaponry and armor too. I had never really put any faith on them, but my time in Varisia was quickly changing my attitude. Magic seemed to have its place.
Surprisingly, Alice showed some initiative and general usefulness by reminding us about Lord Mayor Grobaras - the de-facto head of government in Magnimar - and how he had been one of the targets in the Seven's list. She knew also that Grobaras was personally invested in Fort Rannick, the fortress mentioned in the letter to Xanesha as an ultimate target of her sibling. Though Harsk was still at the cathedral, we decided to try to get a meeting with the Lord Mayor anyhow without our more pleasant party member. Alice, most familiar with the streets, took us to his compound.
His luxurious, magnificent mansion was deep within the Capital District. The mansion itself was surrounded by extravagant parks and I noted that security was lax - we got to all the way to the main entrance unchallenged. A slight hint of an immediate threat to Grobaras' life got us past the guards, and we were in, waiting for him at a large atrium.
After a short while, a middle-aged man in fancy clothing, with finely trimmed, grey hair and beard made an entrance at a level above us and pompously strolled to the top of a staircase. He addressed us there, a good thirty feet away, while six guardsmen took firm if nonthreatening positions around us. Looking at us up his nose, he made sure he had little time for games and asked what kind of information we had. I shortly told him of the Brotherhood of Seven, described very economically how we had taken possession of a kill list and sent it up to him via a servant.
He took the document from the servant, had a quick look, and fainted on the spot. The lucky man did not fall the steps.
To be a better GM and not forcing them rails so much..
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Another quickie - a filler perhaps, detailing majority of the downtime days we had before we left Magnimar. The group gets a new mission and lays Ilori to rest.
No action here - somewhat tedious perhaps to play (not IMO!), but I personally find it fulfilling to write about the downtime - it helps me to really get into my character's head without the distraction of flying arrows, clashing swords and three-point landing dwarfs.
Oh, and before I forget - shameless self-promotion to read the same chapter in my blog.
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23. GRAVE POLITICS
19th of Lamashtan – Fireday – 28th day in South-Western Varisia
Magnimar, Capital District
Lord Mayor Grobaras slumping to the ground did not for some reason activate my sense of flight or fight. Someone among the guards shouted a surprised bark of an order and we found four spears and two short swords pointing at us in a flash. I disregarded them. I was cursing our luck.
From the shadows in the level above, a young woman with a shaven head and very ornate, very expensive clothing emerged. She wasn’t panicked but rather determined, as if she had seen this happen before. I realized she had been following the discussion from afar and made herself known just then. She paced hurriedly to the side of the fallen Lord Mayor and the alarmed servant. As she kneeled next to him, she glanced at me. She was no mindless drone in the service of the Mayor. I saw a sharp mind behind her eyes. A kingmaker, the notion came to my mind from nowhere.
We were walking out of the situation, I decided. But I really wanted the documents back. “We’d need those papers back”, I called out loud to the kingmaker. Alfred and Alice were cautiously regarding the tense guardsmen around us, who were gripping their weapons, unsure what to do until they heard their master was fine. I struggled to remain composed, fearing that my animal companion would sense my tension and provoke the guards. The shaven-headed woman had a look at the papers that too had fallen to the floor. She calmly ordered with authority the guards to lower their weapons before replying to me. “Ten minutes. Wait outside, and you’ll get the papers.” I gritted my teeth. Again we faced the possibility of losing the documents that would help prove our innocence. But we really didn’t want to worsen our situation by getting into a fight in the house of the Lord Mayor of Magnimar. With the firm guidance of the guardsmen, we found our way out. Then we waited, just outside the main doors.
Twenty minutes later the doors slowly opened and the kingmaker appeared. She had the documents in her hand.
“I am so happy you waited for me”, she started, looking relieved. “My name is Eiko Carrol and I am a personal aide to the Lord Mayor. The Lord Mayor is fine but he is resting.” She considered her words and looked at the papers in her hand. “The news you bring are.. alarming at the least.”
Alfred was first to answer. “But they are the truth”, he said, “we’ve seen to the killer, but there is more, as it says in the letter.” The woman nodded. “How did you come to get a hold of these papers?” She asked. I told her briefly how everything started with the murders in Sandpoint, leaving out our affair at the Sawmills, and ended how we had battled the Brotherhood at Underbridge. After I was finished, the kingmaker was nodding. “I believe you. I know a little of the Brotherhood of the Seven, and this conspiracy does not surprise me. But I have an offer for you that relates to this letter.” She handed me the papers, and I hung onto them like they were the most precious thing in the world. “You seem able-bodied and the kind of men and women I am looking for – would you be interested in a mission, for a good reward?” I could hear the sellsword counting the platinum coins in his head already. Alice was smiling, and I had to admit I was interested as well. “Of course we’re open for suggestions”, was my diplomatic answer. Carrol flashed a contented smile. “Good. We should arrange for a meeting to discuss details, somewhere else than here”, she explained, looking around like checking no-one was listening. Alarm bells sounded in my head. We had just met this person and we knew nothing about her, about her position and motives. We needed a public enough place for the meeting, and one that did not reveal where we lived. “Let us meet at the Cathedral of Iomedae”, I suggested frankly. She looked at me oddly, but accepted. We fixed a meeting there the next morning.
**
It was late afternoon when we arrived back to the Kaijitsu Manor. Harsk was already there, having returned from the Cathedral. Alice was still with us, which irritated me not so slightly. But she was a burden we’d have to carry. At least until we got out of Magnimar.
The sellsword presented her to Harsk, who greeted her in his warm, friendly manner. So we were four again, I thought bitterly. I needed a drink. I fetched a bottle of the fine red wine and a crystal glass from the house cellar. I strolled back to the main dining hall, sat down, removed the cork and poured myself a glass. The others had gone to examine magical artifacts we had found to the adjacent room.
As I was drinking and thinking, I overheard Harsk interview Alice. She was telling him about her history – how she had been training to become a wizard at the Mage Tower, but had found the regime too rigorous, dull and not suitable for her. So she had left and joined forces with Garnet Alexandros. She preferred the free, exciting lifestyle working for her provided. I could relate, but it didn’t mean I approved of her presence the slightest. I emptied my glass with a long swig and poured another. I really would’ve liked to have an apple.
After a while, they finished with the artifacts and returned to the main hall. Alfred excused himself and left, probably to get drunk again and play cards. Alice had the sense to get the heck out of my sight, but Harsk walked over to me and I saw he had a curious look. He was seeing how I was faring.
“Sit down and have a drink with me”, I suggested. He nodded and fetched a glass and took a seat across the table. I poured him a glass and pushed it to him. “To the carmine lady”, I raised a toast, my voice level. “To Ilori”, he responded, and we drank.
“Vincent Valentine promised me we could bury her to the Cathedral grounds”, Harsk told me and had another swig. He was still regretful. I was glad I wasn’t the only one. “That’s good”, I responded soberly, not really knowing what else to say. A proper burial, like for Vidarok. It’s not like we could’ve burned the fire sorceress’ body anyway. I didn’t find my dark humour funny at all, so I left it unsaid.
**
I told the cleric what had happened with the Lord Mayor earlier that day, and the next morning we carried Ilori’s body to our cart and left for the Cathedral. The priests welcomed us, took Ilori and proposed she’d be consecrated and buried later that day during evening prayers. With heavy hearts we agreed, and Harsk slipped a bag of gold coins as compensation for the temple’s services.
We had the meeting with Eiko Carrol as agreed at a small chapel within the cathedral. She was alone, but not without incentives. Safe to say, negotiations were over the minute she handed us each 300 platinum coins and promised more was to come if we agreed to take the mission. The rest was just agreeing on details. She told us about Fort Rannick and Turtleback ferry, the locations in Central Varisia that had been mentioned by Xanesha’s sibling in the letter. The former was a fortress built to protect the latter, a fishing town of crucial importance to Magnimar’s interests in the area. While on paper the fortress guarded the town from hostile intentions of Korvosa, a rival city-state, in reality it typically fought off ogres and giants that infested the area and were a general nuisance. I raised my brows in interest when she told of the Black Arrows, a guard of rangers that operated from Fort Rannick. The fort was a pet project of the Lord Mayor, and the initial problem with Fort Rannick had been its costs – it was expensive to maintain and thus had been a issue of much dispute between Grobaras and other politicians of Magnimar. But beyond the politicking was a far more critical matter. For the past months or so, there had been no word from Fort Rannick. Fort Rannick could not be lost. Carrol felt that our letter and the situation were closely interlinked so it would be up to us to go there and investigate what had happened.
We were of course interested. I was interested – this offered me a chance of getting out of Magnimar and continuing my personal mission across Varisia. And as said, Carrol was willing to pay us handsomely. She even offered to pay for the travel arrangements.
The only thing was that the Lord Mayor was a vain, self-conscious creature, and to ensure he would hire us, Carrol wanted us to meet with the Lord Mayor personally and make sure the plan came across as something he originally suggested. The political games amused me, though I admitted they were not my playing field. But she made it abundantly clear that this was something that she and Grobaras had been planning for some time now – the Lord Mayor had even been thinking about sending troops. We would be visiting him per his request, and we would be the natural choice for him.
We agreed to meet with the Lord Mayor on the 22nd.
**
We got rich that day. After the meeting with Eiko Carrol, and a trip to the bazaar, where we made Alice barter our unused magical equipment for Garnet’s platinum, we each had became almost a thousand platinum coins more wealthy.
I’ve never been keen on carrying or owning gold per se, so I immediately considered ways how to improve my equipment and weaponry. Ultimately I too found myself at the Mage Tower, where I reluctantly handed out my longbow, mithral armor and my adamantine blade for enchantment by the wizards working there. It was the first time ever I would be using magical weaponry, so I was a bit nervous. How would they turn out? Would they serve me better in combat?
The wizards needed some time to imbue mine and Alfred’s equipment with the necessary spells. We were to wait for at least five days. This irritated Alice, who was already eager to leave Magnimar for Turtleback Ferry. Naturally, we wholly disregarded her opinions.
At day’s end, we walked to the Cathedral of Iomedae to lay Ilori to rest. The funeral, I have to admit, was tougher to me than Vidarok’s. It was more devout, more beautiful and longer than his. I remember being angry at Vidarok, then calmer, when I realized how he had died the way he had wanted – even if it had been a freakish, stupid death caused by his stubbornness.
In Ilori’s case.. I don’t know. I felt her life had been stolen from her. A story left untold, a book that had been begun but never read to the end. The pragmatical, the true me knew it was not my fault she had fallen.
But still I regretted. I felt remorse. I had never felt remorse for anyone’s death. I touched Faroth’s fangs, hanging in a thread around my neck. You too, my friend, taken from this life too soon.
She was in a simple wooden coffin that had engravings at each side – longswords and an armoured woman kneeled in prayer – the goddess herself I guess. The coffin was open. I didn’t have a look inside. I don’t know why.
Chanting filled the cathedral chapel. As part of their normal evening rituals, the temple priests said their prayers and sanctified her first with holy water and incenses, and then we walked out of the chapel to the graveyard. Cathedral clerks carried the coffin and we formed a small procession behind it. When her coffin was lowered to the grave, we said our goodbyes. I did not linger.
**
Days went past. At first lights, I woke up to train Dûath at the yard of Kaijitsu Manor and strengthen our bond. He was maybe not as sharp of mind as Faroth had been, but he made up for it with brute strength and durability. In the evenings, I walked the Shore, looking for clues about my brother. I wasn’t really surprised to hear nothing. Nothing at all.
I also revisited the Serpent’s Run, the hippodrome, and tried to get myself into the exhibition games as a participant. But I was turned down without even a chance to show my fighting skills – I found out that I lacked a prestigious and or wealthy sponsor who would support me and serve as a reference. As I was a nobody, and I didn’t have any friends among the city elite, my plans for earning extra gold had to be given up.
On the 22nd we met with the Lord Mayor. Carrol introduced us to Grobaras, and barring some tension between him and Dûath (he really didn’t like big wild animals up close, it seemed!), we struck a deal with the Lord Mayor and agreed to travel to Fort Rannick and investigate what was going on in there before reporting to him. Each of us got a down payment of no less than 500 platinum for our efforts. I have to admit I was shocked. Then again, I knew we’d be walking into a wolf’s den anyway, so anything less would have been offensive.
The meeting with Grobaras strengthened my opinions on both the Lord Mayor and his personal aide, Carrol. The Lord Mayor was a tool, simple as that, but the lady was truly a kingmaker, the real power player behind the scenes. She seemed fair, likeable even, but I wasn’t sure. I would need to keep an eye on her.
Alice was still whining for us to leave immediately, but we chose not to. After all, we were still waiting for our equipment to be returned to us from the Mage Tower, and I was in the middle of training Dûath. Harsk left for Sandpoint for a quick one-day visit to see how the orphan boy Zack was maintaining his budding chapel for Iomedae. When he returned the next day he brought along an old acquaintance to my pleasant surprise.
You know what's horrible? Tomi writes loss and remorse so well I'm rooting for other party members to die!
Bad Tomi! Bad!
And yes, I must say that I'm drooling in anticipation of the next chapter. Sooooo.... much.... wrong....
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Could I get your order sir?
What's that?
More PC deaths coming right up!
Would you like our house special, death of Alpharius?
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:C
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New chapter is up! Alpharius gets some new toys, and the group leaves Magnimar for Turtleback Ferry. During the trip they encounter some nasties, swindlers and overly friendly halflings.. Enjoy!
Also, read the same in my blog.
24. UP THE RIVER, INTO THE STORM
23rd of Lamashtan – Toilday – 32nd day in South-Western Varisia
Kaijitsu manor, Magnimar
I had not seen ranger Shalelu Andosana since she spent the evening with us at Sandpoint almost a month ago. The month felt like an eternity. But I was glad to see her. She strolled in confidently as ever, in her long elven strides, her golden hair billowing. Seeing the magical bow in her back made me cringe slightly and I felt suddenly very unarmed. Mine was still being imbued with magical powers back at the Mage Tower. But I went to greet her with Alfred, and it turned out, to no surprise, that the two Sandpointians had known each other for a long time. I left them to chat and exchange news with Harsk while I went out to continue the training of my animal companion.
Later that day Shalelu appeared outside to watch me train Dûath. She complimented me on my choice of animal and petted the panther without a hint of fear – she knew well to trust him as he already strongly mirrored my own emotions and actions. He was quickly becoming that what his name implied – my shadow. I continued with the panther, and here and there told Shahelu about our mission to the East. She was quite informed about the rangers, the Black Arrows, who operated from Fort Rannick, and about their constant strife with the local giants. According to her, for years the giants had been a nuisance, albeit a dangerous nuisance, but not a real threat to Turtleback Ferry and Fort Rannick. The fort had stood and the rangers had kept the giants at bay. That was why the lack of communication was such a mystery. Were they under siege? Had they been overrun? If yes, what had the giants done differently to surprise the rangers – or was there a third party involved, the sibling of Xanesha?
Later that evening Alfred returned from the Shore with his cheeks red from booze and a beaming, happy smile – but his merriness was not due to alcohol, nor cards or harlots – no, he came in resplendent in his brand new adamantine heavy armor. We were having supper at the main hall table, to where he paced before pulling out my mithral armor and adamantine gladius from his backpack and handing them out to me. “Fresh from the Tower”, he guffawed and winked. I was not pleased. “What the Fall are they doing handing over my gear to other people – they should’ve given them to me and me only”, I seethed and grabbed them from the sellsword. Alfred merely shrugged. “They knew I was with you, so they let me take them. Lighten up, half-elf, I saved you from a stroll to the Shore.” I just shook my head in irritation and retreated to my room upstairs to examine my first magical armor and sword.
I donned the magical mithral armor and watched in awe as almost imperceptibly the dark purple shade within the otherwise unnaturally black armor seemed to coalesce and scatter randomly like clouds in the sky. The armor itself felt stronger, more robust, but at the same time, seemed to fit me even better, like it was adapting to my body and allowing me more maneuverability. I chuckled contentedly and lifted the gladius next. It had been master-work quality already, and forged from unbreakable, nigh-indestructible metal – I would never need to sharpen its blade. But as I scrutinized it closely, I noted a slight but constant ripple of air surrounding it, akin to an inferior mirage seen in deserts or other hot places. But the metal of the gladius was cold to the touch. “I will put you to the test soon enough – I hope you do more than optical tricks”, I whispered to my improved sword and put it into its scabbard.
**
The next day we met briefly with the commander of the Iomedean paladins in the city, Vincent Valentine. We handed over the documents we had seized from Xanesha, and the stern soldier brought good news from the Pathfinder Society. In short, we had been exonerated from all charges. The journal of the late Justice Ironbriar had been translated and it decisively brought to light the web of lies and deceit Ironbriar had weaved around him and the Brotherhood of Seven. The documents from Xanesha were just a spicing on top of the feast of uncovered secrets and truths. To us this meant we were finally free to leave Magnimar if we so desired.
Our ever-present escort Alice of course pushed for immediate departure to Turtleback Ferry, but I made it abundantly clear to her that I would not be leaving without my longbow that was due the next day. She just rolled her eyes at my remark which made me snarl in irritation. She was truly eager to die, this mage school washout.
**
On the 25th, I walked to the Mage Tower to retrieve my longbow. The wizards were ready and I was presented with the weapon.
“You asked us to imbue the wrath of fire within the weapon, and we did as you asked”, a colourfully clothed, grey-haired wizard of the Tower told me as he held the bow gently, almost reverently on his palms, close to his chest. “Unlike the simpler spells of battle wrought into your adamantine sword, this weapon endured more.” The wizard looked at me closely and considered his next words carefully. “Normally, evocation draws upon magic to create something out of nothing, but we felt something in this bow. A remorse, an underlying desire for vengeance so great it had carved an essence for the weapon. It does not have a soul of course – an echo of strong emotions rather if you may – but we felt the essence respond when we immersed it in the evocative powers of flaming.” He extended his hands, my longbow resting on his palms. I took the weapon, grabbing it by the handhold. Immediately I noted how my hand warmed and the longbow glowed with faint red where I touched it. It was like my hand was burning the weapon, but I knew it was the other way around. The wizard’s eyes were large as he watched what happened with great anticipation. “Every magical weapon is unique, every one of them functions differently”, he started, not letting his gaze off the bow. “Yes.. yes.. It responds to your thoughts, your emotions.. your soul..”
I didn’t know what to say. I turned the bow around in my other hand, seeing no other visible marks in Savah Bevaniky’s beautifully master-wrought weapon. Still the wood glowed red where it joined my hand. The hue of the red was all too familiar to me. An echo of my emotions.. It responds to my thoughts..
“Can I try it?” I whispered. The wizard nodded and pointed left towards an alcove in the hall where two human-sized wooden figures stood like statues. I drew an arrow, nocked it and carefully pulled back the string. There was still the faint glow, but nothing else happened. I aimed at the second figure’s head and let the arrow spring. I was quick enough to see the arrow hit its mark before a magical fireball exploded around it. The small fireball died quickly but I could see arrow still sticking out of the head. The head itself had caught fire and was burning.
Harsk had told me to name my longbow. But I didn’t have to. The weapon had named itself. It was the Carmine Avenger.
**
With our affairs in order and majority of our gold spent, we decided to leave Magnimar. The Lord Mayor’s aide Eiko Carrol arranged a river boat for our trip to Turtleback Ferry. We left on the 26th from the docks opposite Kyver’s Islet – the little island filled with industry where we had attacked the Brotherhood of Seven and killed Justice Ironbriar. Yondabakari river streamed down to the Varisian Gulf around Kyver’s Islet. According to Carrol, by Yondabakari we could reach Turtleback Ferry in a week.
I was pissed off. I had many times suggested and tried to reason for an overland trip. While slower, it would have allowed us the chance to visit the small towns on the way, and for me to scout for any signs of my brother. Possibly my reluctance to reveal the true reasons why I wanted to travel overland hindered my cause. All I had was our previous boat trip experience – that had been a violent and potentially lethal endeavor. In the end, everybody else wanted to travel along the river, so I relented. But it didn’t mean I was happy about it – not at all.
Shalelu wanted to join us. She had a personal agenda and desire to see what was going on at Fort Rannick – she knew some of the rangers there. No-one had any reasons to deny her, so we kind of shrugged our collective shoulders and she hopped on the boat. We didn’t even question her why she really wanted to go there. Even I didn’t, which in hindsight, was not normal.
The boat itself was a strange piece of machinery. First, it had no sails, but something the crew called an engine that powered a propeller at the back of the boat that thrust the boat forward. The engine made a faint chugging noise, like a large continuously snoring beast. Harsk in particular was keen to hear more about the machine, but the captain, a halfling called Noel Wetwitt, was unable to share any details. I realized he knew nothing about it. “I press the pedal and the boat goes forward, that’s all there’s to it. We’ve had the boat in our family for generations”, was all he could manage. Curious, I thought.
Noel crewed the boat with his brother, a slow, dull halfling called Noah. I think he had fallen on his head as a baby, or something similar, and it had left him half-witted. Noah served as the second-in-command, and as the chef. I tried to look him in the eye but his eyes squinted, so I had to give up.
The boat was quite small and narrow. 75 feet from bow to stern and 25 feet wide, it was designed for transporting goods up and down rivers. It had one tiny cabin at the stern, but that was reserved for the Wetwitt brothers. At the bow there was a small space covered at the sides by a heavy leather curtain and above by a sturdy canopy, and one could walk and lie down on the canopy as well. If you wanted shelter from rain, the only place you’d have was under the canopy. Otherwise the passengers were left to their own devices. Wonderful, I mused when I jumped aboard, thinking I was the last to embark. I was wrong. Just as Noel was starting up the ‘engine’ of the boat, a young couple, farmers by their looks, ran to the pier and shouted at us to wait. They made it at the last second.
**
I threw my backpack at the top of the canopy and climbed up after it. Dûath followed me with a gracious bound. The boat – I didn’t catch its name – left the docks and accelerated smoothly. We sat down to watch our surroundings as we ventured deeper into Varisia. The riverbank south and south-west of us was swampy, covered in thick, low growth. Shalelu joined us at the canopy and nodded towards the swamplands. “That’s Musfens, thousands upon thousands of square miles of almost uncharted swamp”, she explained before sitting and crossing her legs. “Have you been there?” She asked me. I smiled absentmindedly. “No I haven’t, though it looks like a challenging environment.” The elven ranger snorted. “You could say that. It is a great hunting ground, filled with strange animals, goblin tribes – and if the rumours are true, a lot of lost treasures waiting to be found.” I turned my head over to her. She was scratching my panther behind his ears. “Then we absolutely have to go there for a hunt after this mess is done and dealt with”, I suggested playfully with a laugh. She winked and nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
The others were sitting below us at the main deck. Noel was at the stern, steering the vessel in a small cage so low only a halfling fitted in comfortably. The cage was an oddity, but its purpose was clear – to protect the captain from attacks while he controlled the rudder. I hoped the cage would prove redundant during our voyage. The dwarven cleric was exchanging words with our captain. I overheard the captain telling him the trip would take six days, depending how long we spent ‘at home’, wherever that was.
Beyond Shalelu I kept my distance to the others, as I was still bitterly disappointed with our means of traveling. I was being juvenile I had to admit, but then again the others were enjoying their own company. Alfred was mainly drinking beer with Harsk from the dwarf’s magical bottomless tankard. The couple sat silently at the other side of the boat, drowsing. I didn’t know what Alice was doing and I wasn’t interested to know either. So the first day went past with me chatting with Shahelu and training my panther however I could in the limited space we had on the canopy.
The sun set and the first day of the voyage was coming to an end. As the light of the sun dissappeared behind the swamplands, the temperature fell rapidly. The halfwit, Noah, came up to steer the boat as Noel retreated within the captains’ quarters. The couple were first to seek shelter from the weather under the protection of the canopy, and Alice followed them. The sky had become cloudy during the day but there was no sign of rain, so I decided to stay put and sleep under the sky. Alfred and Harsk set up nothing less but Harsk’s tent in the middle of the deck which I found hilarious. I fought back a laugh when they realized only Harsk could fit in so the sellsword had to set his bedroll on the deck. Shalelu remained with me on the canopy.
Darkness fell and we succumbed to sleep one by one. I remained awake. The Mushfens continued its slow but steady roll past us and I caught glimpses of forms and eyes of wild animals hidden in the undergrowth and bushes. Finally even I was beginning to lose the fight against fatigue. Then a horrible, pained wail echoed from the north. A deer in plight, I recognized immediately. I twisted my head around to see but the cry had come from deep within the forest. Then I heard another familiar voice from the same direction. It was unnatural and undead. The first voice, a growl, was joined by others. The hairs on my back rose. A pack of ghouls.
“What’s that”, Shahelu whispered, her voice drowsy, having stirred from her slumber. I didn’t take my eyes of the forest. “A group of ghouls are killing a deer”, I whispered. Shalelu turned on her bedroll to watch as well. “Ghouls? Undead? How did they get up there?” A flash of recall and I came up with a logical explanation. As the deer cried anew and died I told her about Aldern and the short-lived undead uprising at Sandpoint Farmlands and Whisperwoods. Our strange boat kept chugging forward with Noah at the helm and voices of death fell behind us.
**
The sun had barely risen when we woke up to a strange sawing like sound. No-one was working on wood however, but my animal companion was making a peculiar call, informing other predators to keep out of his way. The throaty call reminded me of someone sawing a plank. The others were nagging about the early wake-up of course, but I had to admire his brazen attitude. I’m here, he was making a statement, have fear and steer clear.
The halflings prepared us some breakfast. With little really to do, I continued training the panther, and between sessions, I read the Syrpent’s Tane, the half-factual, half-fictional tome on ancient monsters. The problem of course was that I didn’t know which half was which. Shahelu, lounging and relaxing beside us, spotted the book and whistled. “That’s a really old and expensive looking tome you have there.” I raised my eyes from its pages and shrugged. “Where did you get it”, she continued with a question. “I found it during our time in Magnimar”, I answered neutrally, intentionally leaving out the bit where I snatched it from a dead leader of a sadistic cult in a sawmill covered in human blood and body parts. That just didn’t have the right ring to it. “I’ve read it for my own pleasure during pastimes”, I added and offered her to have a look. She took it and reverently opened it before randomly opening a page. “It’s a book on ancient monsters. It even has a chapter on something called the Sandpoint Devil”, I explained. Shalelu snorted. “I’ve seen the Devil, twice.” My eyebrows twitched. “Really? So it is real?” I asked, a hint of incredulity in my tone. She noted it and turned serious. “Yes it is.” I remembered the nightly trek back from Thistletop to Sandpoint, after we had slain Nualia and her retinue. I remembered the spine chilling, unnatural call we had heard from somewhere in Tickwood – like a dying horse screaming. I told her about it and she nodded, still grave. “You were lucky you didn’t face it. I’d rather face a hundred goblins in a fight than the Devil.” I didn’t mention that we had that night faced off and killed a band of people that had subdued a force of one hundred goblins..
**
Shalelu told me more about the Musfens. I learned that of the area the river was actually the most dangerous to travellers – one should be careful not to fall lest be torn apart by fearsome water-dwelling creatures. Mushfens had its share of goblin tribes, and large beasts resembling frogs. The swamps were also infested by giants and trolls, and there even were signs of dire tigers stalking the area.
While we were talking the farmer man approached Alfred, Harsk and Alice. I didn’t hear exactly what they were talking but I overheard the farmer mentioning how his wife was a decent potion maker. He was offering her services right there and then. A farmer who could cook healing potions with little to no equipment in a little boat? I wasn’t buying it, but Alice, for the love of gods, literally did. It seemed that her years with Garnet Alexandros had not made her careful of swindlers. She paid for two potions of cure moderate wounds, and the farmer took her gold before retreating back to the shelter of the canopy and the leather covers where his wife waited. True to his word, after some hours the farmer man returned with two potions full of liquid and handed them over to the pale-faced magus. Days later, when the farmer couple was dozens if hundreds of miles away, they did turn out to be just brackish water.
**
The third day on the boat began like the second. It had drizzled infrequently for the past three days, but on the third day fog had developed above the waterline.
In the afternoon, we got company. Through the mist we heard faint sound of laughter and a shining, blue will-o-wisp emerged. The elven ranger was first to spot it and she became immediately disturbed. I knew why. Will-o-wisps spelled doom and death everywhere they went. The creature floated through the air and landed gracefully only ten feet from me, Dûath and Shahelu on the top of the bow. Shalelu started to keenly scan the shoreline to our north where the magical creature had come from. I saw nothing at the riverbank through the fog but I heard something. A splash. Something big had dived into the water only sixty feet away from us.
Noel, our captain, ordered his brother to retreat behind locked doors into their cabin while he himself pulled the cage door closed. “What’s going on”, Alfred asked, quitting a card game with Harsk and the farmer man as they spotted the will-o-wisp. I pulled the Carmine Avenger from my back. “Eyes open, we might get company”, I instructed them and nocked an arrow. Shalelu had done the same and was aiming towards the sound. “Should we be worried?” Alfred added the question. Shahelu didn’t look away from the fog. “You should.”
The words had barely left her lips when I spotted two fins above the water only fifty feet from us. They were approaching us quickly. Beside me Dûath was growling with anticipation of violence. I shouted a warning, and Shalelu corrected her aim and let loose two arrows in quick succession. The first missed and disappeared underwater, but the other hit, puncturing the flesh of whatever was coming at us at the base of the fin. I now had a clear target. “Trolls!” Shalelu cried, pulling new arrows from her quiver. The others sprang to the starboard side of the boat to see what was happening.
I shot the Carmine Avenger in anger for the first time. The bow beneath my grip flared with the colour of deep red and I let loose the arrow. It found its mark and blossomed a split-second fireball on the troll’s back. The fireball blew off a chunk of flesh size of a child’s head. The beast stirred, lifted its head from the water and bellowed in pain and rage. I had hurt it bad. Before I could hit it anew, it submerged completely.
The silence lasted for maybe five seconds. Then something big hit the bow of the boat, and the vessel lurched to the side. I couldn’t see it from my position but I knew the troll was hanging from the side of the boat, trying to get up and onto the deck. Under me, beneath the canopy, the farmer woman cried in fear. Alfred was closest and reacted first. With bold strides he swooped under the canopy. I heard his axe cut flesh and bone with a whack. Despite all, the troll was just laughing with a deviant, low grumble. It was taunting the sellsword to hit harder.
Shahelu was standing at the edge of the canopy and rained down arrows at the insolent monster. She almost fell on the water as the second troll, the one I had already wounded, emerged from the water and slammed itself amidships, shaking the boat violently as it did. It was massive, easily over ten feet tall and wore no armor or clothing worth mentioning. It’s skin had a sickly blue-green pallor. The troll had an ugly, leering face and sharp, long fangs protruded from its jaw. The little boat lurched again as it tried to get on the deck with sheer momentum, but failed, getting only half its body up. Brownish river water flew to the deck instead. It roared in anger and swept with its long, muscled hand, aiming its claws at Alice who was on its way. The pale-faced magus, now drenched in water, stepped back at the final second and slashed down with her curved scimitar in retaliation, hitting the troll in the shoulder and sinking the blade deep into its body. But the hairy, wet beast was relentless and did not let go. But the other did. With a splash it vanished beneath the surface. “We need to burn them! They regenerate in the water!” Shalelu was yelling instructions to us and turning her killing attention to the second troll. One of her arrows struck it at its bulging back but the ugly bastard clung to the side of the boat.
A crossbow bolt glanced off the troll’s hand and I heard Harsk curse his weapon. “This is a true weapon of a follower!” He roared after throwing his crossbow into his tent and unsheathing his magical longsword. He didn’t have time to use it though. I stepped next to Shalelu before shouting a taunt at the beast: “Hey, here’s some fire for you!” With cold precision, I shot two arrows in one go, and hit its exposed throat. Powered by vengeful fire magic, I almost blew his head clean off its shoulders. My second shot was an afterthought, and it scorched the torso of the troll. The corpse twitched and remained there, hanging on the side of the chugging boat.
The other troll thought it was being smart. A fountain of water exploded upwards at the port side and the first troll, the one that had taunted Alfred, half-jumped, half-climbed unopposed onto the deck. Now completely healed of all previous wounds, it roared a challenge and prepared to rip us to shreds. While turning to face the threat, I saw weird colours dance around Alice’s free hand and suddenly the world beyond myself, Shahelu, Alfred, Harsk and Alice herself seemed to slow down a little. Everybody else, even the water and the boat, seemed to move as in a dream. Harsk immediately understood what Alice had done and charged the troll. The beast was moving slower, but it was still fast enough to counter the little cleric with a punch. The fist did not connect but it ruined Harsk’s attack.
But it did leave the way open for Alfred. The sellsword guffawed as he leaped across the deck, easily ducking the troll’s feeble attempts to hurt him and put his battleaxe to use. Gibbets of troll meat flew all around in a wanton bloodshed as Alfred hacked the creature down. The troll was already on its knees, almost dead, but for emphasis, he slammed his shield against its face. “C’mon half-elf, finish it with your fancy arrows”, he taunted me, mocking my bow. I put an arrow between the troll’s eyes and burned the head to cinders.
“Well that was easy”, Harsk commented when the world around caught up with us and the glowing will-o-wisp began to feed on the dead trolls, laughing like a sinister child all the while.
**
“Home. Home. That’s my home”, Noah the halfwit mumbled and pointed when we finally reached our first stop in the evening of 28th. Through the mist, we emerged next to a peculiar town above water. Wartle – comprised of a multitude of huts of different size – literally stood on stilts, fifteen to thirty feet high. Boardwalks connected the huts and I could spot lanterns and small people going their ways from one to another. I had never seen anything like it. They had actually built a town over the swampy river in the middle of nowhere, I thought, unbelieving. I could see the town extended over ground as well, but majority of it was above the Yondabakari, like madman’s docks.
Harsk was intrigued. As the boat decelerated, he went to the captain, Noel. “That is Wartle?” He asked. The halfling grinned a wide smile. “Yes, that’s my hometown, lad!” The cleric stroke his long beard, nodding slowly at the same time, before asking another question. “Is there anything to see, temples perhaps?” The halfling just guffawed and shook his head as he steered the rudder and controlled the pedals. “No, no temples. But we have excellent home-brewed wine and the food is the world’s finest. And I forget! We have a world-famous troubadour, my sister’s husband!” Hearing that, I rolled my eyes. Were they all blood-related in this gods-forsaken swamp town?
**
We came to a stop beneath one particularly large (by Wartle’s standards, anyway) hut. Noah and Noel tied the boat onto two stilts with thick ropes while an elevator, a wooden box really, large enough to carry a person, was lowered to our level. The farmer couple was acting nervous and was in a hurry, so they crammed themselves into the box and were hoisted up to the hut first. The sellsword followed, then I.
The elevator creaked and groaned as it struggled to lift me up and into the hut through a hole in the floor, but eventually I found myself in a dark, damp hall, surrounded by dozens of happy-looking halflings. The place was full of them and I felt uneasy, like an animal cornered, even though their body language was nothing but threatening. Many of them came to shook my hand, which I reluctantly offered. Halfling girls giggled at me, probably finding my height, easily three feet more than the average halfling, amusing. The crowd really erupted when Noah and Noel stepped out of the elevator last. The brothers hugged each and every one of their kin and with their arrival, a feast of sorts began.
I asked Noel for the local armory or any place where I could buy arrows for myself but got a laugh as response. According to our captain, they didn’t sell arrows for my size of longbows anywhere in Wartle. Godsdammit. Ultimately I didn’t even get out of the hall, which I came to understand was their main tavern, called Lean-to, thanks to the slight inclination of the floor. The place was packed when we got there, but as the evening progressed into night, it seemed that the number of halflings doubled. Local music played, the people danced, cheered and sung, and food and drinks were served in plentiful. Noel had told everyone about our heroics at the river – how we had easily taken care of the scrag trolls. He mentioned how I had burned them both to char, so for the rest of the evening I was constantly buggered by adulating halflings of all ages. Somebody was playing the lute and was turning Noel’s story into a merry song. To loosen my nerves, I tried a few different wines, all of the local brew. The first was awful, and I coughed and spat the first mouthful to the floor in disgust. Behind me a halfling man wailed, and immediately the one with the lute started a song about how the bold bowman hated poor old Vraxim’s wine. The second was fine however, so I hoarded a bottle to complement my supper, found the least noisy corner in the tavern and tried to hide myself beneath my hood and cloak of elvenkind. Not the easiest task, I have to admit, even with the magical cloak of stealth.
Shalelu was first of us to call it a day and unrolled her bedroll in our corner, apparently willing to try to catch some sleep in the commotion. The others of our group took seats close-by and I overheard them talking with a fisherman and a trapper, asking for any news and rumours. The first mentioned fears that the heavy rains that had come suddenly and lasted unnaturally long were ruining next year’s crops in the East near Turtleback Ferry and the border between Magnimar’s and Korvosa’s areas of influence. The trapper whispered about how things were getting bad in Sanos, a vast forest north-east of Wartle that extended all the way to Fort Rannick and Turtleback Ferry. It seemed that the gnomes there had suddenly become very unhappy. Unhappy gnomes, are you f*cking kidding me, I thought to myself as I listened and poured myself another glass of the local wine.
Finally, the number of halflings started to decrease. Some people left, while others simply passed out on the floors and stools. Alfred and Harsk were in their cups, again, and were joking and laughing with the halflings. The sellsword was cursing that there were no women around, human women that is, he corrected after gaining the angry attention of some local halfling maids. Harsk was asking if there were any bearded women and drew laughs from the audience. I couldn’t see either Noah or Noel, nor Alice for that matter, so I spread my bedroll onto the floor next to Shalelu and went to sleep.
I probably got thirty minutes of shut-eye when Noel came to kick me in my boots. Apparently the party was over and the journey was to continue.
**
On the 30th, we stopped by Whistledown, an unremarkable tiny village at the shores of Lake Syrantula where Yondabakari River started, and on the morning of the 31st, we reached Ilsurian, another unremarkable village at the mouth of Skull River. Locals there warned us not to travel north, which we naturally disregarded, and from there we continued up the Skull River. In the evening of next day we docked at Pendaka, a fishing town at the souther tip of Lake Claybottom. Noel and Noah left us there, claiming the lake to be cursed but promising that the locals would have means to transport us safely to our destination.
At the docks, we watched over the lake towards Turtleback Ferry, and in the horizon, we could see the enormous, black stormfront. It was unmoving, hammering the lands north of us with lighting and showering it with endless, heavy rain. It was unnatural, and it reminded me of the dark cloud spiral Xanesha had summoned to distract us in the tower, if only in a massively larger scale. In my mind, I heard the death cries of Faroth and Ilori. As I gazed far into the darkness, I wondered what evils this storm hid and how many heads I would reap as I exacted vengeance for my animal companion and the carmine lady.
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Hi Tomi !
I will GM my first pathfinder game very soon, rise of the runelords, so I checked some forums for tips, and by chance, I discovered your journal.
WOW ! What a great job you did ! I admire your patience, and I really like this POV journal from a player. Can't wait to go read it from A to Z, I just wanted to salute you before and tell you how much I appreciate the work you've done, I'm sure it will give me plenty of ideas, and just to share your experience like that, wow again !!!
... and even if it's the 100th journal like this, I don't want to read the 99 others, at least, not until I finished yours, you inspire me, and I would be more than happy if one of my players made just a fraction of the work you did to write about my game...
I'm still not sure if I'll post my games on youtube... we will play in french, so I guess not many people would be interested in seeing it...
I just copy-pasted your journal posts only, in a word document, 1 cm margin all-around in times new roman 12, and I have 130 pages worth of reading for my future bus travels :)
Thanks Avenka, I really appreciate your comments and the fact the story serves as an inspiration to you! That really motivates me to write more :) !
If you want to read the truly up-to-date texts during your bus trips, then I'd recommend you to check the blog, that's where I can fix and edit any mistakes I've made so the texts there are of better quality than what I have here ;) but anyway, I hope reading our story makes your trips feel shorter than they really are :)
Good luck with your campaign!
Avenka Thalma, I'd encourage you to post your games on youtube as you'd still reach quite an audience and might encourage and inspire even more people into the joy of gaming. In their native language.
I've recorded couple of our sessions and have been wondering the same but so far have lacked the motivation to upload our sessions as Tomi has been providing plenty of a memento for us and I'd guess the audience for finnish videos is really a marginal one.
@Tomi : I couldn't wait until my bus trip, I took a little advance :) I was laughing when I read that the barbarian failed the first time he tried to hit the hammer, so funny :) Seriously, I enjoy it at the same level than if I'd read a pathfinder tale, perhaps even more, it's really good. You put some thoughts into your character, and the way you tell the tale from his perception point, it's great. I'll check that blog for sure !
@Riding bull : If my game is ok (we are all new to pathfinder, my 3 players and me), then I'll surely post them, but if it's so-so, I doubt I'll do it :) But you're right about inspiring other people into joining this great game ! More motivation to try to GM this properly :)
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New chapter is up! In this episode, our group shortly visits Turtleback Ferry before heading north towards Fort Rannick. We had our first 100+ damage hit, and the chapter includes possibly the first use of the NOT BAD Obama face in fantasy fiction ever.
Also, the story has a huge surprise in store for Alpharius... Enjoy it, also in the blog.
--
25. THE BLACK ARROWS
2nd of Neth - Toilday - 41st day in Varisia
Turtleback Ferry
A few silver coins bought us a roof over our heads for the night and a simple supper. For a few more, and we were off at dawn the next morning, sailing over Lake Claybottom on a ship that in its previous life had been a shell of a gigantic turtle. I understood then where the name of the town we were headed to had originated from. A few hours later, we reached the stormfront and the endless rain. We had arrived to Turtleback Ferry.
We split up, unceremoniously, just agreeing that we wouldn't leave the town alone. Harsk needed some alone time with his goddess, so he went searching for a temple. Shalelu and Alfred went to the Bottom's Up tavern, to have a drink and gossip, and Alice left to the general store. I headed out to the blacksmith, that also served as the town armory. All these places except the church were situated around a town plaza. Turtleback Ferry, it seemed, was even smaller than Sandpoint.
The rain had swept the city in many ways. The weather painted everything in the shades of grey, but everywhere I looked, the place felt bleak, withdrawn and tired, like an old man waiting to die. People kept to themselves, sheltering from the rain, moving only if necessary. There were no sounds of typical small town life I realized - no traders selling their wares, no children playing, no women laughing and gossiping.
With Dûath, I trekked over the muddy plaza and went straight to the small house that had a hammer and a horse shoe nailed to its door. I told my animal companion to wait outside under a canopy, knocked the door twice and entered.
Within a hearth warmed the air, welcoming guests. A man was crouched over it, pushing the coals around. It was still quite early so I took he was still heating the furnace.
"Yes? How may I help?" The blacksmith himself, judging by his clothing, asked without turning or rising. I closed the door behind me and took a few steps closer, instinctively drawn by the warmth of the hearth. "Name's Alpharius", I started, this time actually introducing myself. Though I didn't think he was interested in it anyway, but I had to start being more courteous. Ilori's words echoed in my mind. You have to trust some people, Alpharius. "I'm new in town, and I'm looking for some supplies. Arrows, namely. Normal and special variants", I continued. The blacksmith straightened and turned to face me. He had a worn-out face, tired like the town, aged beyond his years. But it was not unfriendly. "Of course. I am Simmon, town blacksmith. I have arrows of course, but you'll have to elaborate exactly what kind of special arrows you are looking for", he told me and scratched his bald head, leaving a dark stain of coal where he touched. I drew one barbed thistle arrow and one elven-bane arrow from my quiver and showed them to him. "This one", I started, offering the thistle arrow, "is made from a poisonous plant, and it stops the blood from clotting. The other", I raised the elven-bane arrow, "is magically crafted to cause horrendous pain to elves." I slid them back to the quiver. "Just a few examples."
Simmon nodded first, indicating he had understood, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't have anything like that." He did however walk over to one of his workbenches and took a quiver full of arrows. "Ten silver for the normal ones, good for your longbow", he offered. I took what I could. "I'll take 20 extra arrows as well." Reaching into my pockets I produced two gold coins.
I hoisted the other quiver to my back and filled my old one. "One question though", I said, after clearing my throat. The blacksmith moved over to his hearth and started working the bellows to increase the heat within. "Go ahead", he sighed, knowing full well I had more than one. I pulled back my hood, showing him my head and face. "Have you seen a half-elf, my build, similar features, around here lately - or ever?" Simmon kept on pumping the bellows that blew air into the hearth. "We don't get a lot of visitors around here", he explained, not taking his attention off the machinery. I crossed my arms. "Humour me." That made him look at my direction briefly. Our eyes met, and I could see he examined my features, his gaze lingering on my scar. "Can't say I remember. As I said, we don't get a lot of visitors. Just them soldier boys from Fort Rannick." He seemed to spit the last words. "You don't like them?" I probed, eager for some intelligence that might help us and deciding to use his contempt as leverage. Simmon sighed and let the bellows be. "Look, they're well-trained rangers, but otherwise they're scum. They came here, to Lucrezia's ship, just to drink cheap booze, gamble and f*ck her harlots, and to generally act like a pack of asses. But they're my customers too. They paid good coin for my services. So you see where I'm at." I nodded. I understood - he had to suffer their presence to ensure his livelihood. "You talked in the tense form, they came, you said", I noted. The blacksmith sighed again and turned back to work the bellows. "Indeed. They stopped coming a few weeks or so, no - month or two ago. Not a surprise because that's about the time when her ship burned to cinder. Haven't seen any of their lot since." It was obvious that was all I would get from him. I thanked him, turned to leave and left a silver coin to his workbench. "For your troubles", I said as I parted. "What are you doing here anyway, stranger?" He called to my back. "Somebody around here is responsible for my friend's death", I replied as I opened the door and stepped into the rain. "I'm here to kill this somebody."
**
I made my way through the plaza over to the Bottom's Up. Again, deciding it was better for me not to barge in with a panther, I told Dûath to wait outside. Within, Shalelu and Alfred were already chatting with the innkeep, a small mousy man with a temper. I entered silently, garnering no attention bar a nod from Shalelu, who was standing next to Alfred at the counter. The bartender was telling something to Alfred. ".. she came here five years ago, with her friggin' ship, and set up shop on the Skull. B*tch took all my customers", he was venting and gestured rudely at the men sitting around his tavern, a good dozen of them. "Now they're back of course, all o'you", he was addressing the clientele, who seemed to take the scolding like a bunch of naughty little boys, just hunching embarrassed and not saying anything back at the innkeep. "Now that the pretty whores and the card games are just ash on the bottom of the lake!" Alfred seemed taken aback. "What happened to Lucrezia when her boat got burned?" The innkeep winced, as if the name was a curse. "Gods if I know. I don't care. I'm happy she's gone. She ruined the business of many here in town!"
I had heard enough and stepped to stand beside Alfred on the counter. Alice made an entry at the same time. "When did this Lucrezia woman's ship burn?" I asked with a low voice. The innkeep was uncertain, weighing me first, then glanced at Alfred, who nodded, indicating I was with him. "Two months ago roughly", he responded simply, lowering his hands on the table and leaning towards us.
Lucrezia, I thought. The letter had said nothing about Xanesha's sibling being a sister or a brother. This Lucrezia could be the one. But then again, Xanesha had been a half-serpent, a magical creature if I had ever seen one and I doubted the locals would approve such an abomination to live among them. Maybe she was an agent of the sibling? Or maybe Lucrezia was a nobody, just a mistress and proprietor of a brothel? I couldn't be certain. But it was clear that the destruction of Lucrezia's ship and Fort Rannick falling quiet were connected. As my mind raced, my watched the people at the tavern. Most were drinking, minding their own business, all withdrawn. One group of men was playing cards and talking to themselves. One of them, man sitting his back towards me, had something strange on his neck. A tattoo. I stepped one step forward and looked closer.
Well f*ck me.
The tavern was not well-lit - pale daylight shone through the windows which in turn was amplified by a few candles here and there - but I could by then recognize the Sihedron Star in my sleep.
We were potentially already in a trap, I cursed to myself, feeling the pommel of my adamantine gladius, instinctively making sure it was there. I looked around, in control of my nerves. Everything was as it had been before I had noticed the evil sign. Alice had walked over to us and was talking with Alfred and Shalelu. The innkeep was pouring beers into wooden tankards. The group of men continued their card game. I weighed each of them, assessing their body language, clothing and physique. Normal unarmed men, probably peasants, millers, dockworkers and the like. I could handle them myself if it came to that. No, I was certain I could.
I decided to investigate. "Morning", I said in a way of greeting as friendly as I could after I had briskly paced to them. I got cold, empty stares in return, and they continued their game without a word. Well let's cut the small talk then, I mused and leaned over to the man with the Sihedron tattoo. My voice was barely a breath of air but it made him startle. "A nice seven-point star you have there." The man, barely an adult really, with hair the colour of autumn leaves and face full of pimples turned to regard me stiffly. He lowered his neck and lifted his shoulders, as if trying to hide the tattoo. "I don't know what you're talking about mister", he said quickly, nervously. His friends frowned at me and him equally. I smiled a dangerous smile. "I recognized the tattoo immediately. Care to tell me how you got it?" I knew of course that my rude interruption could get us into a fight any second. Our scouring of the Seven's Sawmill in Magnimar came to my mind, but I knew I had to pursue this lead. Behind me, Alfred was heading out to the exit, calling us to leave for Fort Rannick. I disregarded him and kept my attention on Tattoo Boy.
Tattoo Boy swallowed. The cards on his hands were trembling. He glanced at this friends again. First I thought he was pleading them to help him but then I realized he was begging for forgiveness. He set the cards on the table and pushed his chair away from the table. I took a step back, allowing him space to get up. Alfred was with the others on the door, calling for me again. The tavern had become silent. "A moment", I waved at Alfred dismissively. Tattoo Boy was now facing me, and he leaned closer to whisper. "Can we talk outside?" He asked. I nodded, and let him past me. As he did, I was struck with a powerful reminiscence.
A spring sun shines upon an vacant courtyard filled with blossoming flowers and trees of all colours. The tranquility of it all is broken by the boy with the jet-black hair, almost a man grown, who hisses at another slave at the side of the yard, in the shadows. The boy, a killer, has his hands on the shoulders of the other, a thin-faced, grey-haired scribe. He wants to know where his brother has gone, where the rich man with the meaty hands and the voice to command lesser men has sent him. The scribe slave shakes his head in denial. The boy yells at him, he pushes him against a stone wall, but he does not relent. He does not know, he says. It was a fool's errand, a mistake, a dead-end. The rage in the boy's face melts away like snow, and he repeats tear-eyed what the scribe had told him. A fool's errand. A mistake. A dead-end.
I blinked, the here and now displacing the memory as quickly as it had emerged.
He led me outside and to the back of the tavern, where we were covered from the rain. At the back a pair of chickens hurried from our way, and disappeared between a group of barrels. Alice was intrigued with my antics with Tattoo Boy, so she followed us. I didn't mind her.
Deciding to resort to heavy-handed methods later should they be needed, I kept my distance and crossed my arms. "Well?" Tattoo Boy made sure no-one was watching or listening, and opened his mouth to speak.
**
No violence was required to get him talking his heart out. Tattoo boy had been nervous, yes, but for different reasons I had originally assumed. He didn't want people to know he had frequented Lucrezia's ship - and the tattoo on his neck was a sign for regular customers. I was amazed men (Tattoo Boy said there were many others like him) had allowed her to mark their skin for petty discounts, but I remembered the words in Xanesha's sibling's letter. It all made a lot more sense.
Are you still simply carving the Sihedron on them as they expire? How crude! My method of marking is so much more elegant.
Using tattoos was elegant, I had to admit. And the greed, they were both after greed. What a better way of harvesting it than setting up a brothel and gambling house that you could move from one place to another. Games for gold were obvious, but lust was a kind of greed as well. And now Lucrezia had power over her customers, having marked their skins. But they, or at least some, were still alive, unlike Xanesha's victims, who all turned up killed and soulless, if the story of stealing souls was to be believed. Was the harvest of souls yet to begin here in Turtleback Ferry? Was Lucrezia already controlling Turtleback Ferry in some way? Or had she taken what she wanted already? We had no idea how many people had died the night Lucrezia's ship had burned.
I shared what I had heard from Tattoo Boy with Alfred and Harsk, but being men of direct action, they felt that heading out to Fort Rannick was the best and only option. They clearly didn't really pay any heed to the warning signs, which I found irritating. Was there more to be uncovered here in Turtleback Ferry? Perhaps we should investigate the sunken ship, I thought to myself, entertaining the idea of a dive. Alice was unreadable, but then again her opinion was of little value to me. Her motivation being to dispatch the threat to her friend's life, I imagined she approved the straight-forward approach to problem-solving.
Horses were more valuable to people than gold so we left the town on foot, heading north towards Fort Rannick, stumbling towards the dark like always.
**
I was with Shalelu at point, trekking a narrow carriage road in the middle of a deep, green forest when we heard an animal wailing over the constant patter of rain to the ground. Instinctively, we raised our hands, telling the others to stop. "It's a mountain lion", Shalelu identified the creature immediately, "and it is in pain." Without further commentary, she started west with a run, jumped over a boulder and vanished into the forest. Under my breath I cursed her for her recklessness and ran after her. The others followed suit, Harsk and Alfred rattling in their armors, Alice being somewhat less noisier.
The wailing became louder as we approached its source. The voice carried both anger and pain. The lion was struggling. And within seconds we knew why.
I had never liked to see animals tortured or harmed for no reason, so Dûath emphatically gave voice to my thoughts with a low growl of revulsion. A large bear trap had sprung and seized the mountain lion's hind-legs in its metallic jaws. The poor beast of light-brown fur was crying the way animals cried, without shedding tears but letting out a heart-breaking whimper. The fangs of the trap had bit deeply and shattered his legs. Without help, the beast would have bled to death on the rain-soaked forest floor within an hour. It stared at us intently but did not move, still whimpering as if it was pleading for us to save it from its plight. "We have to get him off the trap quickly", Shalelu was saying, approaching the wounded cat slowly but firmly, gauging its reactions. I saw the narrow collar on the mountain lion's neck and sensed it soon after. "That is somebody's animal companion", I said out loud and instinctively reached out with my finger tips to touch the fur of Dûath beside me. "Easy, boy", Shalelu was soothing the lion, more confidently now. Lying there on the tussock, it could not withdraw, but let out a weak, short growl. It sensed its predators approaching.
I heard dogs barking in the north. "We're about to get more company", I hissed, looking up the hill to the north but seeing nothing but trees and bushes. My instincts were telling me to help this creature, and I expected we were soon coming to blows with whatever or whoever was hunting the wounded animal. Shalelu threw caution to the wind and stepped closer. The big cat did not attack her, or even try to stop her. "Help me with this!" She told us and gripped the trap with her hands, before trying to wrench it open. Alfred went to help her and they pushed and pulled the trap together. Their efforts were useless as the jaws shook but did not budge, and the mountain lion roared in pain. An idea came to my mind. "Let me try something else," I uttered quickly and pulled out my thief's tool set from my backpack. "Hurry!" Shalelu urged me as she understood what I was trying to achieve. Alice was staying at the back, as was Harsk. I crouched over to the beast, and started to take apart the trap with the tools as quickly as I possibly could. The barking was nearing us quicker than I would've wanted, but in my mind I pushed the noises away and focused to the task at hand. Click. I got the first spring to release. The others were already moving into a semi-circle around us, creating a protective half-ring. Clack, the other spring was released and the lion was free. I lifted the forty or so pound trap over my head and threw it away. "Harsk", I called the cleric, "your ministrations, please", I told him and tendrils of pure white lights of positive energy danced from the dwarf's hands and enveloped the mountain lion.
The dogs were less than a hundred feet from us and still coming right for us through the thick forest. The wounded beast struggled on its feet, Harsk's powers having mended his broken bones and ugly wounds, and pushed its head against the cleric's thigh in gratitude. Harsk smiled, a bit taken aback by the animal's almost human response, and patted the beast on his head awkwardly. "The dogs, what are we going to do with them", Alfred shouted, a good twenty feet north of us, and pulled out his battleaxe and shield. He kind of answered his own question right there and then, so I unshouldered the Carmine Avenger. "I guess we've chosen our sides in this one", I replied. Shalelu was already running east, back towards the path we had been walking. She leaped on a boulder to gain a better vantage at the same second as the hunting dogs emerged from the forest across the path.
There were five of them, all of pitch-black fur. They were driven by the scent of lion blood, but nevertheless reacted immediately to our presence. We were between them and their prey, so they slowed their pace first before beginning to circle Shalelu. They never stopped barking.
They were vicious creatures, I had to give them that. From my experience I knew that hunting dogs, driven to point of madness, knew nothing but the desire to maim and kill. I had had my share of them on my trail in the years past.
That is why I felt nothing for them when I slew two with an arrow each in rapid motion, shooting from the cover of the tree canopy. Alice had turned herself invisible, and stepped back to the light after electrifying one with her scimitar. The remaining two threw themselves at Shalelu at the boulder. She kicked out and hit them with her bow, but their sharp teeth found their marks and the elven ranger cried in pain. Dûath was scrambling to her per my command, and the panther easily overpowered the closest of the smaller canines. He thrashed its neck and warm blood fountained from ruptured major veins. The last one tried a final bite at Shalelu but I put an arrow through it.
Not a moment later the master of the hounds stumbled to view on the path. It was as hideous as I had ever seen a person. It was an ogre of sorts, or rather an ogrekin, a horrible cross-breed of human and ogre. My first thought was that the thing had no right to exist. It stopped on its tracks when it saw Shalelu, me and Alice - Alfred and Harsk were still deeper in the forest south and west of us - standing over the dead bodies of its hounds.
"Food killed my doggies", the fat, eight feet tall ogrekin muttered in amazement and just stood there, dumbfounded and his mouth agape like an idiot. Not the sharpest arrow, this one, I thought to myself. It was foul, I also noted in disgust. I could smell the sh*t it was covered in all the way where I was standing, and it had a massive finger where its left hand was supposed to be. In its "normal", undeformed hand it wielded a longspear.
Alfred made an appearance, stepping out of the bushes to its right, effectively cutting its way back north via the carriage path. "Who are you", he was asking and grimaced when he saw what we were seeing and smelled what we were smelling. "Food talks. Bad food!" The simpleton ogrekin shouted at us, not really knowing who to keep an eye on, and brandished its spear, trying to keep us at bay. We all stepped closer to it, despite the stench rather than the mortal threat it tried to present. From the periphery of my vision, I saw Shalelu recognize something and she regarded the lumbering ogrekin suddenly with hate I had not believed she possessed. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THEM?" She screamed in rage. For a second there she reminded me much of Ilori, during those few times her composed demeanor been consumed by wrath. I flinched and pushed away the thought.
"Uh-oh", was all the ogrekin could utter before it turned tail and ran back into the forest. We followed suit of course. I think Alfred was taunting it to come back.
Alfred and Alice were closest to it when it dashed, or rather lumbered quickly, to escape. I had to admire their coordination as Alfred stormed up the path, keeping to its left side, while Alice stayed behind the monstrosity. I was right behind her with Shahelu, both of the animal companions at our heels. Harsk.. well Harsk was a bit slower in his pursuit.
Naturally the ogrekin made it no more than thirty feet before the sellsword and the magus caught up and surrounded it. But it did not go down without a fight. It was clumsy with the spear, not being able to wield it properly with two actual hands, but what it lost in dexterity it compensated with raw strength. The spear cut and stabbed, and the sellsword and the palefaced magus had to make an effort to hit the big bastard. Being slightly too slow to evade it, Alice got the worst of the aberration's wild thrashing, a dangerous-looking thrust into her thigh that dug deep and drew blood, but Alfred hacked and slammed the foe back before it could capitalize on its small victory. The brown-furred mountain lion got his share too, a payback of sorts, as it tore its claws to the ogrekin's unprotected, fatty abdomen. Ultimately my arrows finished it and it fell on the ground like a tree. Alice was cursing her wound, Alfred was guffawing and panting, and Shahelu was looking fiercer by the minute.
But we weren't allowing him to die just yet. We wanted information. Who was it? Who was it with? Where had it come from? And did it know about what had happened at Fort Rannick?
Alfred had to grab a hold of the mountain lion's collar to keep it from shredding the body of the ogrekin. In hindsight, I should've probably done the same to Shalelu. The dwarf called upon his goddess' healing powers and in seconds, the wound on Alice's thigh closed and the dumb-as-nails ogrekin woke up with a startle, and scared a swarm of flies from its sh*t-stained hide.
"Uh-uh-oh", the ogreking muttered again, seeing us all around his prone form, weapons drawn. "Who are you", Harsk asked him first, articulating his words carefully should the dull-wit have problems with understanding Common. The fat bastard smacked his lips and looked at us, its initial fear dissipated. "Mmmm, escaped food talks too much. Rukus is hungry", it grumbled with its low, stupid voice. Shalelu kicked it in the chest as strongly as she could. That made it yelp. "Rukus.. Rukus Graul", it finally managed. "Dumb food, kicking Rukus", it continued and rubbed its chest where the elf had kicked it. Shalelu, disgusted and on edge, spat on it. The ogrekin just regarded the elven woman as she was a dinner on a plate, smacking its lips again. It was however intelligent enough not to try and move. "Where do you come from", Alfred was next to inquire, his attitude and tone carefree as always. Rukus slowly pointed somewhere north by north-east with its chubby finger-arm. "That's where the Family lives, that's where Rukus comes from", he explained like child and seemed to capitalize the word family. Mine and Alfred's eyes crossed. A whole family of these smelly f*cks? That meant trouble. "How many are there in your family", Alfred went on with the questioning. The ogrekin raised his good hand above his face and excruciatingly slowly counted with his fingers. "One, two, three, five.. no, one, two, three, four, five brothers." Five, I thought, that we could handle. "Oh, and mama-brother too, and dada-brother", it added, looking happy with himself that he had seemingly remembered everyone. What the hells, I recoiled in disgust as it blabbered about its incestuous family. "So seven in all", Harsk commented and stroke his beard in deep thought. Shahelu had had enough and was walking away. Alfred snorted. "If you trust it to know how to count, that is", he reminded the dwarf. I asked it about the cut insignias it was wearing around its only clothing, a stained breech-cloth. "Hehehe, they made a lot of tasty dinners for us Grauls-" Rukus started to tell with a devious laugh but he was cut short by an arrow to the forehead. The ogrekin, now without any of his limited brains, let out a long sigh and his upper body slumped back to the earth.
"F*CKER!" Shahelu was crying, tears in her eyes. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THEM!" She yelled again and lowered her longbow, but of course, no-one expected an answer anymore. We all just turned to stare at her uncomfortably.
"Shalelu!" I shouted back at the elven ranger, feeling both uncertain and annoyed. "Why did you do that-" I was about to chide but she didn't give me the chance. "He had told us everything valuable he knew already! He deserved to die.." For all he had done, I finished for her but not aloud. I could guess the reason for her anxiety. I could sympathize. "It's the insignias, isn't it. The Black Arrows? You know of them, but you know them too, personally?" I asked, my voice low, knowing I was walking a fine line into a sensitive subject. An awkward silence fell. "Let's just go", Shalelu said, as if closing the matter for good and turned to trudge up north towards where Rukus had pointed.
**
The ogrekin with something resembling a pumpkin growing out of his head died quickly and wordlessly. The ravens that had harassed it flew away in surprise as my arrows, shot from a distance, accompanied Alice's scimitar that had came from literally nowhere and gored the putrid monster. Lying there dead in the middle of the cabbage field the ogrekin reminded me of a fallen scarecrow. Our surprise attack, a combination of my ability to approach unseen and unheard and her magic of invisibility, had been an improvisation, something me and Alice had made up without really thinking about it. We had executed it to perfection however, and would have made my old mentors and teachers proud. Crouching next to the slain ogrekin in the cabbage field, the pale-faced magus looked at me but not betray any emotion. I responded in kind.
Letting the eager mountain lion lead us, we had found the Graul farmstead, a collection of two buildings and some fields. Unnoticed by anyone I had scouted and circled the buildings first, and identified one as the main house and the other as a large barn. Eating the bull one bite at a time as the saying goes, we begun our assault by storming the barn first.
We took care of the three ogrekin within with laughable ease. Crashing the doors in and with Harsk bellowing war cries, we charged in with the howling wind and the rainstorm behind us and they did not even have the chance to draw their bloodied ogre hooks.
I was getting used to the ever-present stench of old sh*t, piss and blood that accompanied the perversions and I knelled next to one to examine it, to learn of its anatomy and how to kill his kind more effectively. The mountain lion, now let to run free by Alfred, scrambled up a set of stairs at the side and ran to a door up in the upper corner of the barn. With its forepaws on the wood, its clawed and growled, trying to gain entrance. Shalelu and I walked past a bubbling, rusty rotgut distillery to another set of large wooden doors at ground level, opposite to the front doors. They looked thin and worn, but they were jammed by something. Alfred and Alice both followed the mountain lion up the stairs and along the corridor to the upper door. There was a bucket next to the door, and Alfred had a look into it before spitting and cursing audibly. Apparently there were parts of humans in the bucket, feet and hands, like a sick version of a pack of children's sweets. Alfred produced a key he had taken from one of the slain ogrekin and tried it into the door. It opened to reveal a complete darkness within, but from my position below them I could see nothing else.
Alfred stepped in after the eager mountain lion. Shortly later a commotion ensued.
"What the f*ck is that..." I heard Alfred say in awe before a horrible screetching sound filled the barn. Alice shouted Alfred's name and bolted into the dark space as well. She too screamed, more in disgust and surprise than in fear, and then a massive lightning cracked. The darkness within the space beyond was filled with white light for a shorter time than it takes to blink, and I could sense the electricity that was being discharged at the other side of the barn. The rapidly expanding heated air even made the thin wooden walls bend slightly outwards and the doors complain at their hinges.
Afterwards, dust began to fall gently from the structure above me and Shalelu.
"You all right?" Harsk called carefully, his mouth forming a circle. I ran upstairs to see what had happened, leaving Harsk and Shalelu to guard our rear.
I could see in the low light I was ill-prepared to what I was witnessing. A truly gigantic spider, its furry body easily twenty feet long, was hanging loosely on its thick web. Parts of it were steaming. On its head, if you can call it that, was a long and wide wound that split the majority of its eyes and oozed black-purple blood. Even as dead it looked horrifying. Armed with a pair of fangs the size of longswords, I imagined it could snap men in half and swallow the pieces whole. Alfred was staring at it, mouth agape, unable to say anything. I understood what had jammed the doors we'd tried with Shalelu - the whole space beneath us was covered in the rope-thick web, and it reached all the way to the door.
"Guys, a little help over here", came the clear, high-pitched voice of a woman.
I looked down and spotted Alice in the gloom next to the spider, dangling just below it in the web, caught in it like a fly. Her scimitar glowed in the darkness. "You killed that, with one blow?" I asked, unbelieving. Lying there on her back, Alice flashed a smile. "I did." I nodded at her, my eyebrows rising and the sides of my mouth turning downwards in a reserved expression of approval. "Not bad."
We were not alone in the dark. We couldn't hear them, but after freeing Alice from the giant spider's web, we had the time to check the corners and found two cages ten feet wide and five high. The stingy stench of death and decay permeated both, but from the other, we found life. Three barely breathing men, naked, covered in bruises. They were lying in a heap among the dead, as if someone had thrown them in like trash without really thinking about it. One of them, still wearing his eye-patch if not any clothing, turned his head weakly as Alfred crouched over, carefully feeling if the bodies were alive or dead. "We've got live people here!" He shouted, uncharacteristically seriously. The horrors of Graul Farmstead were having an impact on us all. Alice was standing behind me and Alfred, watching the spider that still bled, transfixed. Harsk and Shalelu rushed from downstairs. The clerics powers of healing erupted from his fingertips once more, and with their light, we saw the full picture of horror in the cage, the stricken figures among the decay, the flies that buzzed and laid their eggs and the maggots that swirled and feasted on dead flesh. I was too caught in my revulsion that I didn't catch the name Shalelu called in distress.
**
We carried them away from the rot, and down to the barn exit where they could breath fresh air. Veins bulged on Harsk's arms and sweat droplets formed on his forehead as he gave everything he had to bring the three men back from the shadows of near-death. Finally, he stopped, breathing laboriously, but he had succeeded. One by one, they regained full consciousness. Under the clotted blood, healthy colour returned to their skins. Alice, Alfred and Shalelu were watering them from their skeins, and I was staying back, keeping one eye on the main farmhouse for any signs of trouble. The eye-patched man was first to recover. He coughed violently and Shalelu, who was kneeling next to him, raised his head a bit so he could drink himself. The mountain lion was glued to him and made a whining noise - evidently it was his master we had saved. Feeling the animal beside him he managed a weak but happy smile. "Kibb my boy.." I heard him greet the animal with voice that was nothing more than a whisper, and the lion begun to purr loudly. Then he realized who was holding him. "Shalelu? Are my eyes.. betraying me?" The elven ranger looked like she was close to bursting into tears, but she stayed strong. "Jakardros, of course it's me. Oh what trouble you've got yourself into.." The man, Jakardros, tried to laugh but ended up coughing so fiercely that it shook his whole body. ".. you have no idea.." His gaze had been hazy and dreamy, but from his supine position he quickly begun to look around and assess his surroundings like a proper soldier. "Vale, Drake, both alive, thank the gods.. and you brought friends with you", he spoke, still wearily. His eyes traveled from Alfred to Alice and Harsk. Lastly, our eyes met.
Looking at me disbelievingly, he opened his mouth to speak. My world came to a complete stop as he gave voice to his question.
"Macharius, is that you?"
Clap. Clap. Clap. Well-played, Riding Bull!
Clap. Clap. Clap. Well-played, Riding Bull!
I think you missed out on a great opportunity to combine your avatar with a "Dun dun DUUUNNNN!".
But indeed. That was kinda awesome.
D'oh! You are SO right! And it's a little late now...
...but when has that ever stopped good ol' Elan!
Dun dun DUUUNNNN!
I know! I know!! It was sooooooo cheesy but I couldn't resist it :)
Players after spider kill: *yawn* "It's getting late.. Should we end it here?" *random noice of agreement*
Me: "No no! You will know when the session ends.. Wait for it.. Wait for iiiit.."
And so everything - between the amazement of Magus damage and that last cliff hanger from any 90's tv drama - was played lazy by everyone. Tomi does great job bringing life to moments that sort of happened, but none was really focused anymore.
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The group continues the righteous purge of the nasty critters at Graul Farmstead. After easily slaughtering a quite a few of the ogrekin, we started roll 1s, 2s and 3s like no tomorrow (Alice's player fumbled his attack at least six times during the session, no joke), which resulted in an all too exciting game..
Also, blog.
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26. SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST
2nd of Neth - Fireday - 41st day in Varisia
Graul Farmstead
Within his grand estates in Canorate, my former owner, Eximedes Horryn, second and hopefully last of his name, had three separate barracks for his retinue of assassins, bodyguards and gladiators - one for each group. My brother, Macharius, was part of his personal guard, so he slept in a different barracks to mine - being one of his very few dedicated man-hunters, I spent my nights with the assassins. Compared to most of the other killers, I was a jovial, out-spoken person, which is saying very much. I didn't really prefer their company, and they steered clear from me. Typically, there were a few present at a given time anyway, since our tasks took us around Canorate and Molthune on a regular basis. I was then so young that I was still being trained mostly, and hardly ever left the estates alone.
Nevertheless, when we were at the estates, I was never far from my twin brother.
It was hard for the other slaves to understand how important we were to each other. They couldn't simply relate. All of them had arrived alone, and no true connections to their pasts remained. It is in the human nature to bond with a group, to seek the shelter of a tribe or a pack when the alternative is to suffer and die alone. It was different with me and Macharius. We had always had each other to watch our backs, to share the hopes, the setbacks. The grief. The hate. As such, we didn't really bond with the others. Bar the gladiators, we spent time together with the guards and the other servants and slaves of course. We never however gave anyone the chance to earn our trust, to get under our skin. Horryn used our voluntary seclusion as leverage, being the bastard he was. He even told me once to my face that he'd throw my brother to the lions if I'd escape during a man-hunt. But of course I wouldn't have ever left my brother behind. We had our lifeline, Macharius at one end and myself at the other.
After Canorate I had never spoken with anyone about my brother.
After seven years, I had almost lost all hope of finding him. Almost.
Hearing a beaten, old ranger with an eye-patch calling me with his name felt as if someone was tugging at the lifeline, after all those years.
**
"What.. did you call me?" My voice fought to stay steady, before becoming cold as steel and I stepped forward to the black-bearded, tumble-haired ranger. He was still examining me as I approached slowly. "I thought you long gone, brother.." I pulled the hood from my head and was about to form a question when he frowned and shook his head lightly. I could feel the eyes of the others on us. Shahelu, who still held Jakardros on her lap, tilted her head, and followed our exchange with keen interest. "No.. I'm sorry", Jakardros started before he grinned, fighting the pain and getting up to a sitting position. "I thought you were someone else."
Thoughts begun to race inside my head. Hopes. Fears. My hands started to tremble. "Who did you think I was", I simply asked, controlling myself to my best ability. Shalelu was covering his stark naked body with her cloak, and he uttered a wordless thanks. "A brother", he turned his one good eye back to me, "a good man from two winters past." I couldn't believe it. "Two winters? What happened?" "He was with us for a few seasons, before leaving-" "Where?" I demanded, sounding too excited and regretting it immediately.
"I don't know." It was all he could say before the dark-skinned ranger came alive with a thrashing and a growl of a bear and I lost his attention. But I had enough information. For the first time I had something. He had seen my face and called me by my brother's name. That could not be a coincidence. But two winters ago? It could have been a decade for what it was worth. And he had been here in Varisia, all those years when I had scoured the lands around Lake Encarthan. I felt so stupid, so powerless. I wanted to hit something, but at the same time, I was elated.
I paced back to a corner to gather my thoughts and regain my composure as the other rangers woke up and our party covered them in cloaks and the hides of the ogrekin.
The dark-skinned man, called Vale Temros was a brute, easily my height but twenty pounds heavier and he could have been carved from a slab of metal. His bass timbre of his voice was like a thick oak bending in the wind. His body was blanketed with cuts and scars, and I would later come to understand why there were so many of them. He was a warrior to the core.
The third one we had saved was called Drake Windstrike, an auburn-haired young man who appeared to be least experienced of them. There was something familiar about him, about his facial features, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
Jakardros was their hunt leader and he briefly and numbly went over what had occurred in Fort Rannick. Ogres had indeed attacked the fort a good month ago, but the three and their brothers-in-arms had been away on a patrol when the assault had taken place. Upon their return, they had found ogres of Kreeg infesting their stronghold. He did not understand how the ogres could have seized the fort, since they had been beaten so easily in the past. Jakardros had led his men in an attempt to take back the fort, but it had failed and they had retreated in haste to the forest, only to run into an ambush of the Graul ogrekins. Many of his men had fallen, but in the end, the rest had been taken captive. Out of dozen or so of his party, only they remained.
From the back I tossed the suggestion. What if betrayal had been the means of the ogres - what if the rangers had had enemies within the walls? I told the remaining Black Arrows about Xanesha and her sibling, who possibly was Lucrezia, and how they seemed to work in the shadows, using middle-men and lackeys to advance their unknown, dark aims. Jakardros was doubtful, but did not dismiss the idea completely. The timings of the events - Lucrezia's disappearance from Turtleback Ferry, the attack against Fort Rannick - all fit too well together. Vale gazed at me with contempt. He clearly did not like me suggesting his friends had betrayed them. The auburn boy remained mute and unreadable.
We didn't have time to discuss the implications and other possibilities as Alfred was already urging us to move on to the main farmstead. More enemies were close and none of us was safe until they were put to the sword. Still unarmed and unequipped, the Black Arrow rangers chose to stay behind and watch the barn. Despite our keenness to cleanse the farmstead, I wasn't finished with them. As I walked out to the rain I stabbed a finger at Jakardros' chest. "We'll talk more about Macharius when I get back."
**
I volunteered to have a second, better look at the main house alone, before we'd barge in and announce our presence to our foes.
The windows of the two storey house were all barred by planks - if anyone lived there, they preferred the low light. At also enabled me to run across the yard without being tracked from the house over to what looked like the main entrance. I slipped my longbow over my shoulder and stretched by fingers. It was time to put to the test my fancy new fingerless leather gloves which I had bought in Magnimar without really thinking about it. Taking a position next to the door, I laid my palms across the wall made of birch and took a deep breath.
The wall facing me vanished and I could see and hear clearly within. I grinned, satisfied with myself and the gloves.
My grin quickly faded as I took in what I was seeing.. and smelling. A wave of foul stench poured over me and I had to fight back an urge to cough and vomit. I closed my eyes and held onto the wall firmly. The rot was still there but I was coping. Cursing silently in Elven I opened my eyes and had a second look inside.
It was a kitchen of sorts. Parts of humans were lying here and there. Blood, human blood I took it, was everywhere. A human skull, still with some slices of skin and hair sticking out of it, was lying on its side on a table. It had the jawbone connected, and it looked like it was screaming at me, telling me to get as far from there as possible. A partly-eaten corpse was on the table next to the skull, with two large meat-axes driven into it. I realized I was examining a half-finished dinner table. Revulsion and hate in equal measures made my skin prickle. I had to let my palms off the wall, and when I did so, the wall returned as if it had never disappeared in the first place.
The rain cleared my thoughts and I settled down. This was to be expected. The ate us, just like Rukus had said. Willing myself to focus, I walked right to a corner and had a quick peek around it. I saw no ogrekin, or nothing alive for that matter, only a terrace and some furniture made for creatures twice larger than a human. I was about to step on the terrace, but it dawned to me that everything looked like they hadn't been used in ages. A closer look at the floor planks revealed that they were rotten and at breaking point - a single step might crack them in half and gods knew what would happen then. Dismissing an entry via the terrace, I went back to see the other corner of the front of the building.
Another look into the building with the Gloves of Reconnaissance unveiled a social room of sorts. And the first glimpse of new enemies. Reflexively I almost pulled my hands of the well before remembering they couldn't see or hear me like I did them.
On the floor two smaller ogrekin were sitting cross-legged in their own s~%%, playing with long nails, corroded knives and sharp-looking pieces of wood. They were making blabbering noises, gurgling and laughing in a sick, weird way and for some reason I was reminded of human babies.
I would be happy to put them out of their misery, I thought.
I circled the house counter-clockwise and on the third corner, found a small storage room with my gloves and noted something shiny - a ring - among piles of junk and human arm bones that had been nailed to the walls like trophies. There was a pair of very small hands too, a child's, but I looked away, not wanting to examine them or think about what I had noticed. The ever-present glow where I gripped the Carmine Avenger flared ruby red in empathy. I saw no other ogrekin, so I turned to return to the others. No more scouting, I decided. It was time to kill the man-eating, filthy vermin.
**
We gathered around the main doors, Harsk, Alfred, Alice, Shalelu and me, and I gently pushed the doors open. The all too familiar stench of human rot blew out, and it was too much for Harsk who turned around and vomited his breakfast on the grass. Alice coughed violently, but did not give up the contents of her stomach. Alfred resisted like I had, but the dismay and abhorrence were easily readable on his face.
Two doors led further into the house from the kitchen. I had a glimpse through the walls with my gloves, and the one facing north led to a stairwell beneath, while the other leading west opened to a dining hall. Before Alfred, who was on the point, could push the door open, I lowered my hand on his and stopped him.
"It's a trap. There's a metal blade that will swing down from the ceiling and strike at you if you open the door." The sellsword grunted in irritation and surprise and stepped back from the door. "What do you suggest we do then?" He asked. I reached up to the corner of the door where my fingers found a small knob. I pushed the knob to another position and with a click the mechanism secured the blade in place. "It's off now.. or on", I flashed a smile as I lowered my hand. Alfred did not enjoy my humour, but being the reckless man he was, he pushed the door open. Nothing happened.
I told them of the two young ogrekin in the room to our north-east. We decided to leave them be for now, and push on. We'd throw away our element of surprise for something greater a threat.
We went through the dining hall as stealthily as possible, with Alfred at the lead, and me right behind him with Dûath. After the hall was a corridor leading south and west, and a stairwell upstairs. I checked the storage room I had seen from outside and grabbed the ring. As I was making my way out, Alfred was already going forward and pushed open a new door. He thought it was a door to the backyard, which I had falsely claimed based on my earlier scouting. Instead, it led to a bedroom from hell.
It was dark inside - only the grey light shone between planks that covered the windows. Thanks to my elven vision I could see perfectly well, and over Alfred's and Alice's shoulders across the corridor I saw them hunching in the in the darkest corners. Vile, rotten undead humans - Harsk had called them zombies. The closest had the time to react and turn around to face Alfred.
The sellsword wasted little time. With a roar of hatred he shield-bashed the slumbering zombie away from him. His momentum was so fierce that the undead creature flew across the room and slammed against the back wall and crashed down on some chairs. From somewhere deeper in the room a keening, high-pitched laughter welcomed the human fighter as if its source was applauding the Alfred's martial prowess.
I saw another zombie rise to its feet and begin approaching Alfred. I pointed at it with my free hand and commanded Dûath to slay the unnatural beast. From my feet he leaped and landed violently on the zombie, clawing it and making it lose its balance. Alice went in, and gasped in shock at what literally lied waiting for us. It was obese beyond words, a mountain of fat and dirty flesh that covered entirely a bed wide enough for two adult humans. It was just sitting there, leering at us. She - from its long, unkept hair and massive breasts I had to believe it was a woman ogrekin - held her hands in front of her and wriggled her meaty fingers and to licking her lips in hungry anticipation, as if compelling Alice to come closer so she could have a taste of her.
"Dear boys, we'll have fresh meat for supper!" She screeched in joy and the zombies became a bit more animated upon hearing her voice calling them.
"I'm no-one's food", Alice answered with a yell and introduced the she-monster to her magical scimitar. Powers of lightning buzzed and popped, fat burned and the b%*~+-mother cried in agony. I was about to add to her plight with some fire magics of my own, but Harsk ruined my aim by charging past me into the dark bedroom and into the fray with what I knew by then had to be mama-brother of the Grauls. "Iomedae curse you, man-eater, DIE", the righteous little cleric declared as he swung down his longsword and cut deep. I put two arrows into the she-monster, and a third to the last surviving zombie that tried to get to Alfred. The fat ogrekin was quickly surrounded by our close-quarters combatants. In a vain attempt to defend herself, she tried to cast a spell at the sellsword, but the pale-faced magus struck her at the last second. For her effort, Alice got a smack to her face from a meaty fist that moved with quickness that surprised us all. Gaining some breathing ground, the mother-Graul casted mirror images of her filthy, ugly self and suddenly there were six of them against us. Trying to look at her felt as being drunk - which one of her was the true enemy?
Alfred approached the dilemma in his own way. "Aim to the center!" He screamed the order and vaulted into the bed beside the mirror-imaged Graul and started to whack and slam with his weapons. He was relentless and giving the monster no quarter, and after each hit one of the mirror images crashed into blinking fragments and disappeared. She had nowhere to go. I knew that within seconds, we would end the b#$~+ whose kin mutilated and ate people like us - a family that had no right to exist. Through the ever-present stench of blood and s%#$, the scent of vengeance at hand was sweet and sharp like that of fresh fruits. I let my exploding arrows communicate my contempt.
But smiting down the mother of the dark family was denied to us at the final moment. Utter, absolute darkness suddenly enveloped me and I heard Shalelu, who had remained back at the corridor, cry in pain. I tried to look back at her but saw nothing, only blackness. "Something is behind us! Shalelu, get back to me! Listen to my voice!" I warned the other and urged the elf, trying to make a constant noise for her to follow. "What evil sorcery is this", Harsk was bellowing, "she got away! She went through the floor!"
"Can you see anything?" I asked, yelling, feeling the wall beside me with my free hand, the other still clutching the Carmine Avenger. I couldn't see anything, not my hands, not the faint, blood-red glow of my longbow, nothing. I had never encountered anything like it. Then Shalelu bumped to me and I heard the woosh of a large weapon slashing down and she cried again.
"Yes I can", Alice responded to my call. "Someone is casting darkness, get away from its source!" I took, all too confidently, a couple of running steps forward, trying to remember what I had seen in the bedroom and after my fifth step the blanket was swept from my eyes and I emerged back into the dim light. Shalelu came right behind me, leaving bloody tracks on her wake. "It was another ogrekin, it completely surprised me", she managed between breaths. Her hair and back were covered in red.
The total, impenetrable darkness begun to cover more of the bedroom. I realized its source was walking towards us down the corridor - it was like a light from a lantern, but backwards - instead of lighting, it blanketed everything in black. I couldn't see Alice, Harsk nor Alfred, who were at the other side of the wall of black that grew and grew every second. I gritted my teeth, feeling helpless. During my travels I had seen a monk with a blind over his eyes fight a group of challengers, so I knew blind-fighting was possible, but I required a target I could see.
At the periphery of my vision I saw a door. A way out, possibly a route to get behind our assailant? As the darkness continued to sweep the room into its embrace I rushed to the door and pushed it open. F*+&. It was empty save a four inch thick layer of s!%% that carpeted the entire small room. It was a lavatory, I realized to my disgust. I had managed to get some s~&~ on my boots. Cursing, almost vomiting, I stepped back and slammed the door close. I had to try something else then.
Harsk, putting his dark-vision to use, and Alice, fighting the darkness with magic of light were challenging the attacker head on. I could not see what was happening within but I heard metal hitting metal, Harsk bellowing an oath of battle and finally grunts of pain that did not belong to any of us. I blinked my eyes and the darkness that had almost consumed the entire room disappeared. I sighed in relief.
"It's running, get it and end it before it can escape", Harsk was hollering as the stomped after whatever had tried to get to us. Alice and Alfred were with him and I caught a glimpse in the corridor where the sellsword put down a ogrekin baby on the run with a single swipe of his battle-axe, as if as a quick afterthought. I sought Shalelu, who was still bleeding from her wounds. "Go! I'll heal myself", she commanded me with a grimace and started to pull out a wand of healing from her backpack. I nodded and went after the others with Dûath.
The tricky bastard had activated the door traps around the dining hall during its retreat and Alfred almost got his head chopped off. Harsk's and Alice's loud warnings however prevented it.
"It's in the corner room, where the little ones were staying", I informed them, my keen hearing picking out sounds as we were considering our options. "Are you sure", Alice asked me. I shrugged. "There's killing to be done, we go room by room", Alfred dismissed the discussion flatly and kicked in the door leading to the social room at the corner of the ground floor. But instead of the ogrekin with the darkness tricks we found the mother creature. It had somehow travelled across the house and was hovering a feet or two above ground. Seeing Alfred crack the door open, it yelled shrill profanities at us in a language I did not understand. Acting out of instinct I had the shot and took it, but my arrow missed by an inch as the monstrosity retreated further into the room. Alice went after her but stumbled into a drooling, thrashing ogrekin baby. Electricity crackled, lighting the interior for a short second and the small ogrekin fell to the floor lifeless. Alice stepped over its corpse, her eyes keenly on our primary target.
It was alone again, and this time we would not let it escape. Drawing and nocking another pair of arrows, I commanded my animal companion to attack the flying mountain of fat. Dûath bravely sprung into the room past the sellsword and the magus and charged to deal death with its claws and teeth. But the mother of evil had one last spell in store for us. Screaming quick words of casting, dark purple lights flashed once around my panther's head and I heard him moan and hiss. He stumbled before halting completely only ten feet of the leering ogrekin and seemed unsure what to do. "What is it", I called out to him while Alfred, Alice and Harsk used the distraction to their advantage and elbowed their way deeper into the social room and towards our prey.
Alone and surrounded, she had nothing against us. Alfred pounded her up and down on the floor with his axe and shield, while Alice stabbed her continuously with her scimitar and I shot fire arrows into her center mass. Even Harsk was furious, calling for his goddess' powers to cleanse the place. We gave no quarter, no mercy. Ogrekin blood splattered across the room, fat cooked and burned and she pleaded and cried in pain. How many people had pleaded for their lives as they had been prepared as dinner for her sick, twisted and incestuous family? How many rangers had they fed to that hulking spider in the barn? How many children had they killed and consumed over the years? The Carmine Avenger glowed a fierce ruby red in my grasp as I put arrow after arrow into her body. The sound of her dying screams was music to my ears.
My last arrow blew a sizeable chunk from her head and that brought an end to her cries of agony. There was only a smoking, bloody pile of foul meat in the corner of the room. I ran to my animal companion and gasped in shock when I saw his eyes. Over them I thought was a shroud of strange white substance, but it was not anything tangible. His eyes had turned completely white - into milky orbs. Dûath could not see. He whimpered and whined, finding me by scent only.
"Maybe the spell's power will wear out soon", I told him as I crouched next to him, attempting to reassure myself mostly since he could not understand what I was trying to tell him. Harsk put his hand upon my shoulder and I feared what he was about to say. I turned my head and saw him examining the panther with narrow eyes. "I am sorry Alpharius, but that will not wear off. He will need powerful restoration magics to overcome the spell." I grimaced, grief-stricken and surprised. "What? Can you restore his sight here?" I was pleading, but the cleric shook his head sadly. "Not now. Maybe later. It would be best if we could find a temple with individuals who have a better grasp of the required magical domain." I let out a humourless, coarse laughter. I was furious, and feeling so helpless. "How the Fall do you think we can find such individuals here in the middle of f&#%ing nowhere?" Harsk had no answer, so he just stepped back and looked away. Me lashing out to him was unjust, I realized, but I stayed silent and just patted and scratched Dûath. The fat b~#*& could have casted that spell against anyone of us. It could have been me standing there, unable to see.
"Let's move out", Alfred called us again, "there is still the one, probably the father of his family, to be killed." I rose to my feet and tucked Dûath by his collar make him to follow me.
**
We checked the upstairs first, but found no enemies and little of value there. The first floor was half a storage room with smashed wooden boxes, ruined furniture and cobweb. The other half was a dormitory for the ogrekin. Seven massive beds laid empty, covered with stained, never-cleaned linen, furs and hides made of human skin. Making some quick arithmetic in my head and I knew we had just one ogrekin left to take care of. It seemed Rukus did not know how to count.
Between two of the beds there was a small casket, unlocked. I checked its exterior and found no traps, so Alfred eagerly opened it and found a bag full of something metallic. He took a hold of it and pulled it up, and almost got his fingers severed by a trap hidden under the bag. And in the end, the bag contained only some silver and copper coins - not a treasure you'd want to sacrifice your hand for.
We got back down and headed towards the main doors and the kitchen. Harsk went out to seek out the rangers, but they had seen no-one exit the building. So the father of the accursed family still hid from us, beneath the building in the cellars. Vale was particularly twitchy, demanding us to find his weapons, a pair of axes. I was about to retort thornily that he was welcome to join us in our hunt but Harsk beat me to it, diplomatically promising him and the other rangers that we'd look for their equipment when we descended into the cellars, the last unsearched part of the farmstead.
The stairwell led down from the kitchen. Pitch-black darkness awaited us beneath, so Alfred lighted a torch and we headed down, one by one.
**
I had to walk carefully to support Dûath, who was struggling to traverse the steps. Luckily, the stairs were straight and quite short. First to reach the basement floor, Alfred found three doors, one leading north, one west and one south. The sellsword had a quick, nervous glance into the room beyond the northern door, but saw nothing and tried the southern door instead. The others followed him inside, while I took out my everburning torch that never went out, and had a personal look inside the northernmost room. I found more rotting corpses and skeletons of all sizes around two large woodenm blood-soaked tables. I did not even pay attention to the stench anymore. Seeing so much blood, so much death and decay, was wearing down on me, numbing my senses and mind. There had been so much pain and agony here that it felt like the walls and ceiling themselves were imbued with it. The sadism and bloodshed of my former master Horryn paled in comparison to the Graul family and to what they had accomplished.
I heard the others whisper in the other cellar, something about searching the junk and piles of ruined wood.
"Another doubledoor", Alfred hissed from the point and turned to face us. "Open it", Harsk responded abruptly, taking a firmer grip of his weapons. I heard nothing but our breathing. We were getting nervous, over-eager to find the last of the ogrekin, to have something to strike to release the tension. We wanted this nightmare to end. I saw sweat beads rolling down the pale-faced magus' forehead. Alfred nodded to us, feeling bold enough and pulled open the doors.
Nothing happened at first. Alfred stepped into something I believed was a corridor, Harsk right behind him. I was still at the back and couldn't see, but in the silence, even their whispers reached my ears.
"Alfred.." Harsk started, having the better vision, "watch out! The darkness creeps towards us!"
"What is that..", Alfred was saying dumbfounded. "Get back, step away from it!" Harsk responded with a yell. I shouted at Alice who was still at the door. "What's happening in there, magus?" Alice did not turn to face me. "There something.. a living tree, or a massive plant.. I can't see it.." Her scimitar flared with electricity as he started to cast a spell. Shalelu was next to her and nocked an arrow.
I didn't want to sit there a thumb up my arse so I tried and pushed open the third door in the stairwell's end, believing that to lead to the fight. Instead, I found an empty room. Bones littered the room, and they were full of claw and bitemarks, as if they had been sucked dry. Something screeched and I realized what or who exactly had left the marks on the bones.
From a dark corner a rat size of a small dog stepped carefully closer to me, curious of the fire of my torch. Its body was trembling in hunger and anticipation. Our eyes met and it grinned, revealing a set of sharp, green teeth. I cursed very audibly in Elvish and dropped the torch to my feet and used my free hand to draw an arrow from my quiver. I heard Harsk order Alfred to fall back. My first arrow burrowed into the rat and it let out a pained cry, drawing out two more similarly sized rats from their hiding places. Great, I thought as I stepped back to the corridor, limiting their space and possibilities to attack me. The first, wounded rat came at me teeth bared, and I tried to kick it but managed to present my leg so that it had a easy time of biting into it. I roared in pain and disgust and put another arrow into it and its friend, ending their miserable lives with two beautiful fireballs. Shalelu had heard my cursing and had moved behind me to offer support. She tried to shoot an arrow at the last rat, but missed. It was almost at biting distance to me when Alice, out of nowhere, scrambled past me and over the rat and dexterously cut it in half.
"I was taking care of them", I said to the magus, somewhat irritated at her intervention. Alice just snorted. "Yeah right, looks like it", and pointed at my bleeding leg with her crackling scimitar. I was about to retort when I saw Alfred and Harsk return to the cellar room and pull the doubledoors closed. Both were panting and wild-eyed.
"The last ogrekin is in there", Harsk started, "in a large space beyond a ten-feet wide corridor. But it has some kind of unnatural, living growth of weed, not unlike a tree, defending it." "It's huge, fifteen feet wide branches", Alfred added between breaths. "Can we lure it into the corridor, cramp it there?" Alice suggested. "I don't know if it can move", Harsk shrugged, "I didn't see any roots securing it onto the ground however."
I went to reclaim my everburning torch, and finding the third room secure, told my blind companion to wait there. Looking miserable, the panther just laid his head down on his paws and let out a whine.
"So what are we going to do", I asked them when I returned and pushed the torch between stones in the wall to provide us some illumination. Alfred looked around and was the one to answer. "We charge in and kill them both." I nocked two arrows into the string of the Carmine Avenger. "Lead the way."
**
The fight was a mess. The living tree of weed was something I had never seen before, but that did not disturb me. Little did anymore. It fought without a voice, the only thing making any sound were the slimy tendrils that wriggled and swayed like rapidly moving constrictor snakes. They grabbed Harsk and despite our and his efforts forcibly drew him into the jaw of the creature, and I thought the little cleric lost to us when he disappeared out of sight and into the plant's mouth. Alice managed to break his scimitar in the fight, and Alfred was brought low by the last ogrekin, an ugly f#+*er like every other of its family.
As I said, everything happened very fast. In the darkness of the cellars, I had a hard time seeing anything but the thrashing plant-monster. I put arrow after arrow into its form, burning it relentlessly but I wasn't doing enough harm. The situation was going to the gutter quick. With Harsk eaten and probably dead, Alfred unconscious and Alice without a weapon, my courage started to falter.
I don't know how it was possible but at the last second, Dûath came running from the cellar where I had left him. His eyes, gods, his eyes were the yellow of a feline predator and without a command, he scrambled and leapt at the ogrekin. Emboldened by the miracle, I took a deep breath, nocked an arrow and let it fly at the plant-monster.
It hit it in its midriff, if it had one, and exploded with such ferocity that it burned a massive, gaping hole and bled acid. The weed-tree fell down, its branches finally having ended their thrashing and from the hole in its center erupted a badly burned dwarf, gasping for air.
At the same time, the Alice had flanked the ogrekin despite being armed with a blade bent out of shape. The brute still had his nasty looking hook and tried an upwards swing against the magus. I don't know if Alice let him connect the hit, but as the tip of the hook touched her armored abdomen, a violent eruption of electrical energy spiraled from her armor to the hook and further across his body. The ogrekin spasmed, bellowed and burned, his hand still clutching Alice's armor. Three seconds later the energy was drained and the brute barreled to the ground, utterly dead. Alice let out a sigh and slumped next to him, exhausted. But we could take a moment and rest. The horrors of Graul Farmstead had been ridden from the face of Golarion.
**
Shalelu found a sizeable chest filled with human-sized weapons and collected those she suspected to belong to the remaining Black Arrows. I woke up Harsk and Alfred with Alice. The dwarf was covered in slime and acid, and was cursing the plant-monster for its insolence and voicing his prayers to his goddess in equal fervor.
Tired and worn, we ascended from the cellar of hell and into the grey daylight, where we were met by the Black Arrows. They were happy to get their weapons and equipment back - especially Vale, who laughed a bass grumble and kissed his battle-axe and hand-axe, which he introduced to us as Father's Peace and Mother's Love. Shalelu muttered something about men and their desire to name their weapons, to which Alice snorted.
They put on some clothing and their armor as well. Drake tried to remain apart but when he pulled on his leather armor, I saw a glimpse of a tattoo on his bare shoulder blade. My blood stirred and my hands instinctively traveled to the pommels of my gladii.
"A nice Sihedron star you have there on your back, auburn boy."
Back from a week at Disneyland to another wonderful tale! Woo hoo!
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Got stuck with the incident at Fort Rannick, so instead of banging my head at Black Arrows' fort wall I spent a sleepless night and wrote down this piece on one of the handful of key moment's in Alpharius' past. This is completely original and does not describe events occurred in our current game but the idea of the chapter had brewed in my mind and I wanted to flesh this out so I could draw thoughts and ideas from it later.
Also, like always this can be found at the blog.
Enjoy.
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28. SOMETHING HARD TO FORGET, AND PAINFUL TO REMEMBER
Months ago
Nirmanthas
The day had come. The inevitable had occurred. We had been caught.
I stood there next to my chamber window, holding her close and her hands in mine, firmly, but not hurting her. Midnight wind blew in gently, making the colorless curtains sway. The window was already open, patiently waiting for me to make my departure like a servant holding open a door. She was not pleading me to stay, as she knew better. She was a smart one. But it didn't make things any easier, the opposite actually. Deep down we had both been waiting for this but the reality was nothing we could have expected. The few candles' light reflected from the tears she was shedding. Mine were closed. I was trying to take it all in for the last time - her scent, how her skin felt like, her breath on my chest.
Keeping my eyes shut, I tried to picture how she looked, so that I would remember. I let go of one of my hands and let my fingertips travel to and across her face. With them, I sculpted a copy of her features to my mind.
The long, delicate neck. The small, pointed tip of the jaw. The round cheeks and high cheekbones. The straight, well-defined royal nose. Skin the color of olive.
The small, a bit juggish ears she always embarrassedly hid behind her long, onyx dark hair but which I always sought when we made love. She might have disliked them, but when I pushed the curls aside, kissed her ears and the neck beneath them, the skin on her hips and thighs raised into goose bumps. She told me she wanted me and when her body trembled slightly in pleasure and anticipation, I believed her.
The mouth designed for only beautiful, wide smiles and full lips made for kissing that hid her slightly large, outward turning upper front teeth, an imperfection she loathed but I loved, for she hated laughing and revealing them publicly. But when we were together I made her laugh and she couldn't help herself. She said she loved me and when she laughed, I believed her.
I opened my eyes and met hers. Dark brown like mine, but anything like mine. I had looked only once, for too long, and fallen deep into those two glittering wells. Large beyond belief. Those two dark oceans that drowned men's souls and made them sing, fight, kill, die, and ramble. Many had fallen to them, I had heard, but apparently only I had made them smile and laugh.
The two reasons I had stayed behind. The two reasons and the bright, brave soul behind them, and the beauty, all them had made me pause - made me almost forget why I was running in the first place. I had been so stupid. I had not been me. But I had been so happy.
Before me her face was a combination of joy she had felt for the past months and the sorrow of losing everything but the memories. Drawing breath she pushed back the tears, laughed a bit even. She knew better. She was of nobility, a daughter of a backwater count, but a count nevertheless. I was nothing. A bounty hunter turned hunting instructor to her little brothers. An orphan and former slave, with no other family than one lost brother. Her type shouldn't spare a long glance at mine. But thank the gods she wasn't of her type.
Exactly six months ago her father had purchased my services for an indefinite span of time. A day later our eyes had crossed first during a feast for his father's honor. Gracelessly eavesdropping in a grove I had heard her speak and sing absentmindedly two days later. Three more days later I had ran into her alone within the castle corridors. The rest is, well, history.
She had such lust for life. She desired to be more than a noble's daughter, 'cattle to be sold' as she put it. She enraged her father by openly defying his will and turning away eager suitors from nearby lands in Nirmanthas. She felt she deserved more and wanted to choose her own path. I admired her so for it, for I felt the same way and could so easily relate. I felt a knot tightening in my stomach when I thought she wanted me of all things. I still do, though I don't want to remember for the pain it causes me.
She had a gentle, good heart. In that she was like her mother - it was said there were no hungry children in the Count's lands thanks to her mother the Countess. Her mother was brave and farseeing, and understanding of her first-born daughter. I was sure her mother knew of me and her, but she never told her husband - she knew who I was, a restless man riddled by his history who would eventually leave - but in her heart she gave us, or her daughter, the chance to love.
She was driven, like her father. But not aloof to his family, or quick to anger as her father would often do. Passionate rather, and confident. Another characteristic of hers I absolutely revered. Her father was not a bad man - far from it. But he was the Count, and he wanted the best for her daughter. A former slave would have never done.
"How long do you think before my father's guards get here?" Her voice was mellow and slightly nasal, making her sound younger than her nineteen years. A sound I would pay anything to hear again.
My answer was a whisper. "A few minutes. Depending on how fast Typhion runs across the keep to report what he had seen."
She lowered her gaze in regret and shook her head. "What business could father's own man-servant have had to you at this time of the night anyway?"
"I don't know", I sighed. "Maybe he woke up and felt like going to hunt at dawn, and wanted me to be prepared accordingly." I furrowed. "Maybe Typhion was here on his own business, spying on me. Us."
She said nothing but I could see tears stream down her cheeks again and her shoulders hunch in resignation. They were bare, as she had only covered herself with a white sheet, rolled it around her body. The linen was sheer, and did nothing to hide the form of her small breasts, slim waist and wide hips. She was not tall, only five feet and four inches or so, so when we stood she had to stand on her toes and reach out to kiss me. I always thought it was funny.
I was not laughing then. "You're so beautiful." I said simply, unable to let my eyes off her. Unable to run, while knowing perfectly well his father's guards would be soon storming in, with orders either to capture me or kill me on the spot.
I was awarded with a faint chuckle. "You sound just like the suitors", she murmured and laid her head to my chest. "But I know what I'm talking about - I've seen the inside", I replied, and brushed her hair gently.
My keen hearing picked up the steps of the house guards approaching my chamber. Typhion had been quick. The man-servant had caught us in the act, in my bed. The thrice-damned fool had just entered without my leave. Anger at the nosy man-servant mixed with desire to stab his eyes flared, momentarily overcoming my sorrow. I would have done anything to have one more day with her but I knew our time together was definite. A small part of me was amazed our secret had lasted as long as it had. Secrets had not been kept from my former master Horryn within his estates. Perhaps he had been ten times more paranoid and suspicious than the Count. At least he had had ten times the enemies.
After Typhion had peered across the room into my bed, found me there with her and vanished without a word, I had locked the door and barred it with a heavy wooden chest. We had both lapsed into a shock. Eventually I had got clothed, and packed whatever personal belongings I had in haste. My master-wraught longbow was down at the armory and beyond my reach, so I had only the two kukris I had carried all the way from Molthune.
Of course, I couldn't have cared less for any of my equipment. Above all I was not willing to let myself be taken prisoner - I had made a solemn promise to myself never to be caught again. For a fleeting moment of stupid regret I had entertained the thought of fighting the guards, her father even, and stealing her away, but that was something from a fairy tale. Death at her father's command would have been a valiant but ultimately empty, futile gesture. After recovering from the initial shock she had told me she didn't want my blood on her hands but she could live knowing I was somewhere out there, alive. In the end I was lost to her, as she was lost to me, now that our secret had been uncovered, so running into the night was my only option.
The guards arrived behind the door and ordered me to open it in the name of the Count. I took hold of her shoulders, and kissed her like I had never kissed her before. There was a kick at the door, then another. It would hold for a moment longer, I knew. "Are you not afraid of your father?" I asked as our lips parted. She just smiled like I was a lovable idiot. "He won't hurt her beloved princess. I'll just get a scolding. It's you we should be worried about." Something heavy slammed into the door. I could hear voices in the courtyard below my chamber as well - a few guards were smartly making sure I would not escape through the windows. I was in a hurry if I wanted to get out. Still, I lingered.
"I have done nothing to have earned your love", I uttered the admission like I had done several times before. I was a man-hunter and a killer who cared little of others. I had made that clear to her at the beginning. My story was sad and violent. I remembered her fingers examining and caressing the scars on my back, chest and face. Her astonishment and compassion when I had opened up and told her everything about my past - something I had not done to anyone. How she had wept when I had told her about the death of my family. I trembled as I realized how precious, how forgiving, how good she was.
"You have to go", she whispered, barely making a sound. I let go off her and climbed over the stone-tiled window edge. Taking a firm grip of the edge, I placed the tips of my feet into nooks on the rocky wall. She followed me and standing there at the window above me she looked so small. Moonlight shone into her deep, brown eyes and I resisted climbing back up and stealing one last passionate kiss. Clutching the pure white sheet around her figure with one hand, she lowered her other on mine. Another loud slam into the door made her flinch, and I heard the lock and hinges wail and give in.
"Will you find him?" She asked finally, still holding her hand on the back of mine. "I'll try", I replied, trying to flash a smile to overcome the tears. She opened her mouth to speak but didn't find the words. I could not linger. I heard the doors crash in and the frantic shouts of the house guards. "I love you Aurora", I told her for the last time and let go of the edge of the window
As I fell I heard her mellow voice call out to me. "Tell him he's an uncle".
I hit and slid down a wooden canopy and wet, thick grass beneath it softened the second drop, allowing me a graceful landing.
Then I ran and did not look back.
Poor lad, filling the void of his soul made by Patrick Rothfuss, with his own little fancies. There there son, the pain will go away.
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Finally, I present our attack to Fort Rannick. This one's a big one, and I've added some artistic liberties - I hope people who are familiar with the AP enjoy them. All in all an exciting chapter, with surprising twists and turns..
Read it in the blog as well!
Enjoy! And please comment!
PS. the chapter I posted above is supposed to be read after this one.. ;P
PPS. Apparently this one is so long I have to split it into two :D
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27. A PYRRHIC VICTORY, DROWNED
2nd of Neth – Fireday – 41st day in Varisia
Graul farmstead barn
I had never been particularly good at arithmetic. I could do the additions, subtractions, multiplications and divisions as well as anyone, and some geometry but nothing more complex. I was never trained for that. But I knew odds. Especially when it came to fights.
There, glowering at Drake Windstrike, the man a few years my junior, who had the seven-pointed tattoo on his back, I was counting the odds at even. Alfred and Harsk were still wounded and exhausted from the battle with the Grauls. Alice had taken a hit or two and was carrying a broken, bent-out-of-shape scimitar. I was tired but unscathed, I realized only then, as was my panther. In response to my rapidly darkened expression and the challenge in my voice, the Black Arrows instinctively drew closer to each other. They were malnourished and still weak, but otherwise well – and we had just given them weapons and armor.
Harsk grunted in disbelief but did not say a word. Shalelu went completely still. I couldn’t know which side she’d take if it came to blows. That worried me. She kept eyeing Jakardros strangely.
Raindrops kept pattering on the roof and the moonshine distillery still puffed and popped but the barn itself couldn’t have been more silent. Nobody knew what was happening. It was Drake who was first to open his mouth.
“What do you mean, half-elf?” I tried to see any sign of treacherousness in his expression but didn’t find any. Maybe he didn’t know what the word Sihedron meant. His ignorance, if real, was not however an excuse.
“I mean that little, obscure seven-pointed star on your back.” My hands never left the pommels my gladii. “That is the mark of the enemy, of the mistress Xanesha who we hunted down and killed in Magnimar, and Lucrezia, mistress of the sailing bordello of Turtleback Ferry. The latter marked his regular customers with the tattoo, but we don’t know the ultimate reason why she-” I was about to ask it from Drake but he stopped me with a laugh.
“My friend, I haven’t been frequenting that whorehouse”, he started, flapping his hand once at my direction, gesturing I was being ridiculous. Still, I noted a slight edge on his voice, and felt the tension build up. I frowned and lowered mine. “How did you get that tattoo? It is the sign of the enemy that threatens Varisia. It shows you’ve been in close contact with them.” I chose my words carefully, but only to keep things from escalating too fast. I didn’t care if I had to hurt Drake eventually. I wanted information when he could still speak.
Drake matched my gaze with a smile but I could see the hostility in his eyes. “The enemy that threatens Varisia.. you sound so dramatic. This is nothing, a fancy symbol I thought nice when I got this as a young boy”, he explained, lifting his shoulder and turning his back for everyone to see the tattoo in the pale light of the ending day. Harsk and Alfred both narrowed their eyes, recognizing the mark as I had. At least they understood what was going on, I thought to myself.
“Horsecrap”, I bluntly vocalized my incredulity, “too convenient.” From Simmon, the blacksmith back at Turtleback Ferry I remembered hearing that many of the Black Arrows had come and visited Lucrezia’s ship in the past months, years even. I was about to make my point when Vale, the dark-skinned brute of a ranger stepped to me with no friendliness in his manner, gripping his newly-returned pair of sharp axes. To my benefit, I did not flinch nor back down.
“Tread lightly, you’re making dangerous claims about my good friend”, he warned me with his deep, rumbling voice and pointed me with the shaft of Father’s Peace. Unsurprisingly he was being utterly loyal to his brother-at-arms, but a quick glance at Jakardros revealed a spark of doubt in the hunt leader’s mind. While Vale had shown disdain when I had first talked about the possibility of treachery among the Black Arrows as the reason for fall of Fort Rannick, Jakardros had not dismissed the idea.
But we didn’t know what powers Lucrezia had over the men she had marked. I couldn’t not say with any certainty what it meant to have a Sihedron tattoo on one’s back. Maybe they were under an enchantment spell? Maybe Lucrezia could draw their souls out and kill them with a single word? Maybe she could immolate them with a thought? Perhaps they were all guilty of lust and greed only, but innocent otherwise? I didn’t know, so my case was falling flat. No-one else was pursuing the lead of the Sihedron tattoo. Vale was not helping.
“I’ve known Drake for seven years”, he continued, “he is a good and trustworthy brother, who has been with us since his childhood home burned.” Jakardros was nodding, considering the possibilities, and I knew then I had lost him. But my suspicions lingered. There was something horribly wrong, and my gut told me not to trust Drake for a damn. I was unsure I could trust any of the Black Arrows. Who knew if they all carried the Sihedron star?
I was exasperated. “All we know is that star beckons evil and misery. It is their symbol.” I did not bring up how Xanesha’s sibling had mentioned in her letter an elonquent way of marking her victims which I believed the tattoos to be, but I let go of my gladii and pointed an accusing finger at Drake. “I’ll keep my eye on you.” Vale frowned but Drake just let out a light laugh. “Sure, you do that. I’ll sleep my nights better knowing I’ll be watched over.”
Not eager to start another fight and with none of my companions wanting to support me in my case against Drake, I let the matter be and the tension gradually eroded. Vale backed down, as did I. The Black Arrows with their mountain lion gathered close together and exchanged hushed words before starting a fire next to the barn door from loose, dry planks of wood they collected from around the barn. Shalelu chose to sit with them, which irritated me greatly. Alfred, Alice and Harsk huddled together and continued to mend their wounds. I looked for a quiet corner in the barn where I could watch the Black Arrows, sat down on the dirt floor and took an apple from my backpack. Drake turned to see me every now and then and found me sternly gazing at him every time. Few people liked me but I was a man of my word.
With the flame of general hostilities put out, for now, Alfred asked Jakardros to tell us more about the ogre attack against Fort Rannick. I still sat in a dark corner, not willing to participate, but I listened with interest. Jakardros rubbed his eyes, in visible physical pain by just remembering the past days, before beginning. The attackers called ogres of Kreeg were a particularly nasty and large group of ogres that lived in the caves of the nearby Hook Mountains. There had been dozens of them, and while the first battle and Jakardros’ futile attempt at retaking the fort had presumably taken its toll and diminished their numbers, there had to be many still remaining. But what Jakardros was keen to know was if there were any other Black Arrows alive – and were they being kept as prisoners within the walls of the fort. He wanted to find out and if possible, save them from the Kreeg. The notion of ending up as a prisoner of the Kreeg sent shivers down my spine. My mind wandered back to the Graul kitchen and I remembered the half-eaten corpse. Anger and hatred for the ogres and their perverse cousins the ogrekin flared within me. I would die before being taken as prisoner.
Alfred told them about our mission to come to Fort Rannick and investigate why it had fallen silent. While I personally felt our original mission accomplished, I was with Alfred and the others that we ought to pursue further with the remaining rangers. I was after Lucrezia’s head who I increasingly felt was the sibling of Xanesha – with a lower body of a snake or not. And I really relished the chance to rid Varisia of some of the cruel, malicious man-eaters. Alfred and Jakardros both thought our next step was to try to get inside the fort and search for imprisoned rangers. I could see Harsk and Alice agreeing, and Alfred looked around to where I was sitting. Our eyes met and I indicated my approval with a nod.
The hunt leader produced a thin stick of wood and started to draw something in the dirt before him. I was unable to see, and with my interest piqued, I silently rose from my place in the corner and approached the fire and the others.
“This is”, Jakardros began, “a rough map of Fort Rannick. North is this way.” A sector of a circle with a 90 degree corner opening towards south-east resembled the fort and its outer walls, while mountains covered the two sides of the sector to north and west. A river wormed around the walls from one side to another. “There are two bridges and with a gate for each”, Jakardros explained and drew lines across the river at two points, north-east and south-west where the man-made wall ended and natural walls of the Hook Mountains began. “The southern gate was intact but already broken open when we made our attempt to re-seize Rannick. The northern bridge is intact, but the gate itself is unusable. Parts of the walls around it have fallen and blocked it.” As he was explaining, he drew two boxes to indicate the gates and crossed the other. Then he drew a small circle on the wall next to the southern gate. “There is a small entryway into the fort here, basically a ditch of water that runs under the walls. Passable by swimming.” Then he poked at the northern side of the 90-degree sector. “There is a route from the mountains down to the yard of the fort.” He drew a long breath and looked particularly stricken. “It leads to the nesting ground of the giant eagles. Intelligent animals they are, and they have helped us many times in the past. I would dare to call them our allies.” Harsk stroke his long brown beard, lost in his thoughts. “Could we get any help from them?” Jakardros merely shook his head. “I thought about it myself, but during our attempt to take back the fort I saw a score of the magnificient beasts lying low among my dead brothers. I hate to say this but I’m afraid they are all gone.” Vale looked down and shook his head in regret equal to the hunt leader’s as Jakardros shared what he had witnessed.
Alfred pointed with his finger at the different locations in the crude dirt map. “So barring an approach over the mountains, our options are the two gates, and the ditch running under the wall?” A faint smile came and went across the old hunt leader’s face. “No. There is one more route in.” He scratched at the south-western corner of the sector with the tip of the stick. “Here is a waterfall, a rather large one.” Explains the river, I thought to myself. “Choice veterans and commanders of the brotherhood know of a secret passage beyond the waterfall than runs deep in the mountains and into the keep itself.” Only then I noted a box within the sector describing Fort Rannick, in the north-western corner, covering a good quarter of the sector. The keep.
The sellsword chuckled. “A good option. I doubt the stupid ogres know of that.” Jakardros nodded in agreement.
Frowning, I stepped in from the darkness. “Unless whoever handed them the fort told them about it.” I tried to sound reasonable but Drake and Vale looked at me venomously. A shot back a dark glance. Doubt and suspicion were in my blood – and I wasn’t going to drop the matter of possible treachery. I went on. “I think it’s the worst option. I’m betting the ogres, and their possible allies, used that very route in their original attack. If I were they, I’d guard that route the heaviest, or barring a guard, I would fill it with traps.” Jakardros sighed, I didn’t knew whether from irritation or simple tiredness, but I was happy to see healthy doubt in Alice’s, Harsk’s and Alfred’s faces. Jakardros noted as much and didn’t argue, commenting only that the ogres themselves were hardly cunning nor patient enough to utilize such secret passages.
The sellsword took over. “How tall are the outer walls?” Jakardros thought about it for a moment, then answered. “Fifteen to twenty feet.” Not much, easily scalable, I thought but said nothing. “How about the river, how wide and deep is it?” Again, the hunt leader considered before replying. “It’s twenty or so feet wide.. but the current is quite strong.” I heard Alice mutter something under her breath, about her swimming skills I guess. Harsk didn’t look pleased either. “Right. Taking everything in consideration”, Alfred had a look at me and Jakardros, “I suggest we approach the fort from the east, cross the north-eastern bridge and scale the wall at the foot of the mountain.” I liked the idea. “At night?” I asked. “No, it serves no purpose. They have better night vision than any of us, excluding good master Harsk here of course”, Jakardros explained, gesturing towards the dwarf who beamed proudly. “How about at dawn then, with the morning sun at our backs, blinding them?” I suggested in return. That made the old hunt leader smile. “I like how you think.”
We agreed to have a good night’s sleep, scout the area around the fort the next day and make our surprise attack on the dawn of the day after. The rangers offered to have the watch for the night, a small token of gratitude for saving them, which suited our wounded companions more than well. Having spent time with magic-wielders I had also come to understand they rather enjoyed a good night’s sleep to recharge their spells.
As I sat down to stretch my legs and arms, I overheard Shalelu and Jakardros discussing something across the campfire. “..I promise I’ll never leave you again”, Jakardros said to her ear. My interested piqued, I concentrated but didn’t catch what the elven ranger responded. This was obviously a personal exchange but I couldn’t help myself, so I tried eavesdropping. Shalelu had been acting oddly in the past day, so I was eager to know what was possibly behind it. I didn’t want to consider her a liability. The old man continued. “I’m so sorry what happened to your mother.” He knows her mother? Is Shalelu from around here? Questions formed in my head but were left unanswered. They stopped talking and I saw Jakardros hold her hand tightly.
Evening started to fall in earnest. Alfred, ever eager to have a drink of anything resembling alcohol, had a closer look at the still functioning moonshine distillery at the back of the barn. Thankfully Harsk, our brewery apprentice, noted that the booze the ogrekin had been preparing was so potent and poisonous that it would have blinded the sellsword had he taken a single sip. Appalled, Alfred kicked the machinery and retreated in regret and anger. However, being the good person he was, the dwarf offered him a drink from his bottomless tankard of ale as amends. They both got quite drunk soon after.
Alice the magus had her magical scimitar mended by Harsk and examined and identified the different weapons and artifacts we had gathered from the dead Grauls. From the loot, I took a ring of protection like my own which I tied into Dûath’s collar. I hoped it would serve my bold panther well in the coming battle.
Still wary of Drake I was planning to sleep with one eye open, but the day had been too eventful by half and my body was exhausted. With Dûath snoring and purring next to me, I wearily thought about my brother I was now certain was still alive. The campfire crackled peacefully, lighting faintly the interior of the barn and I eventually lulled into deeper slumber than I wanted.
**
The cart jolts, making them stagger. The road is rough, and will get rougher. Two boys, no older than eight, sit on in a small locked cage that the cart carries. Their arms and legs are chained together for the first time in their lives. The other, of jet-black hair and dark brown eyes, looks out into the forest they are crossing. The forest is familiar to the boy, but as they slowly trudge down the road the trees feel so distant and unknown to him. Standing there unmoving, to his tear-filled eyes they resemble people he has known for his entire life but have now turned their backs to the plight and fate of the young brothers. He wants to scream and shout at the forest, beg for its denizens to come and save them but the woods offer no solace, no compassion, and the boy believes he will not see his familiar green ever again. He turns to his brother of silver hair and shining blue eyes. He sits his head beneath his knees, and sobs silently. Their grandfather has told them that they are so alike that it is if they were looking at a mirror when facing each other. The boy does not know what a mirror is but a clear surface of a lake near their home has proven their grandfather true. But their grandfather has also told them that they are not alike. The boy with the jet-black hair is quieter, reserved, angry, smarter. The other, with the silver hair, is out-spoken, stronger, livelier and more sure of himself. Their mother calls them her silver sun and dark moon, and she loves them both equally and dearly. Their mother called them that, the jet-black-haired boy remembers, and in his sorrow he reaches to take his brother’s hand. The cart and the cage they are in jolts and trembles as it passes over the rough road.
**
My doubts were vindicated the next morning, of course.
The sun was already up behind the grey clouds of rain when Jakardros woke up with a startle. He realized quickly what had happened and cursed angrily. “That little c*nt! He was supposed to wake me up!” Our campfire, covered by the canopy of the barn, was just a pile of smoking ash and Drake was nowhere to be seen. I repressed the urge to grin and say I told you so. Despite everything, I liked being right. I added Drake the betrayer to my mental list of people I would hunt down and kill, even though I knew well enough that Vale and Jakardros would personally lead the chase and exact justice when we’d found him.
Jakardros had slept in his armor like a proper ranger and took of running into the rain, leaving us without a word, Kibb the mountain lion at his heels. “What the devils”, Harsk spat and rose to a sitting position drowsily. I chuckled, still enjoying my vindication. “He ran after Drake who apparently has left us during his watch.” Then a cold shiver went through me and my smile died a quick death. Why did not he kill us while we slept? I imagined myself in his position, silently closing our mouths and slicing open our throats, one by one. It had to be the animals, he didn’t want to risk waking them up, I thought and with a pat offered a silent thank you to my panther.
Vale was furious. I thought it wiser not to gloat when the 250-pound bear of a man thrashed and cursed around the campfire of embers. The others were indifferent about Drake’s sudden departure, which frankly surprised and disconcerted me. I found myself feeling increasingly uncertain about my ad hoc companions – were they so confident of our ability to infiltrate the fort or were they shortsighted and plain dumb? Alone with my thoughts, I started to pack my few belongings and took a bite to eat from my trail rations.
After a while Vale finally calmed down and acquiesced to simply seethe in anger. Not before long the rough-edged hunt leader finally returned, soaked and disappointed. “I can’t find his tracks", he reported crestfallen. In my corner I was counting my arrows, getting ready to move out and raised my voice. “If he’s half the ranger you speak of him, he knows how to hide them.” Jakardros nodded, agreeing. “Anyway”, I went on, “we have to assume we’ve now lost our element of surprise. That means that we have to alter our plan of attack.”
Jakardros looked at me with his one good eye. “What do you suggest, bounty hunter?” I saw no other way. “I’m assuming your friend has run off to warn Lucrezia, quite likely to the fort. He knows where we will attack. He also knows what route we’re not even considering. “Or I wasn’t considering, a bit self-centered trail of thought I admitted but not aloud. “The waterfall”, Harsk said, rubbing his chin and beard. "And we need to push the attack today”, Alfred added and I nodded. “Hear hear”, Vale grunted with palpable eagerness, his mouth full of bread Alfred and Shalelu had shared with him. Another man eager to die, I mused inwardly, taking note of another similarity between our sellsword and the brute ranger other than the love of axes.
So it was decided then. We left after a modest, quick trail breakfast. The rain paused for a moment – a lucky break if any – and we made straightest possible way towards our destination. Fort Rannick was only some four miles away and as Jakardros was explaining me the route, I had a curious realization. How had the Black Arrows suffered the presence of the Graul so close to them for months, years even? The rangers had had to know the forest and mountains around their little castle like the back of their hands. So why had they not burned the farmstead and its sick, twisted inhabitants to the ground earlier? It was not like the ogrekin had only recently moved to the place. Either the rangers lacked the courage or they really weren’t that professional. Or they were lax – and that same laxity had allowed treachery to take root within their numbers and ultimately doomed them. I did not know which was worst. And that Macharius had spent time with them.. Beneath my hood I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. But it was done now. The Graul would not slaughter one man, woman or child for their sick pleasure and hunger. Pacing through the rainswept forest behind the Black Arrows I felt oddly motivated about facing the Kreeg. Alfred, Alice, Harsk, Shalelu and I would finish the job the entire brotherhood of Black Arrows had never been able to.
**
A few hours of careful approach later we made way to an edge of forest and the stronghold came to our view in full. Lying prone side by side we assessed what we were seeing. There were no guards at the walls nor at the towers. the only ogres we could see were two smaller ogres armed with clubs and wearing nothing but rags, and one larger, fiercer armed with a nasty looking ogre hook and wearing thick hide armor. Alfred and I dubbed the big one instantly as a sergeant, a title to which Jakardros shrugged, finding it descriptive and true enough. They were all near the broken-open southern gate but well inside the fort itself and the sergeant was yelling at the other two in the language of ogres, clearly displeased with them. What mattered was that no-one was actively keeping an eye on the outside of the fort. This is even worse than in Thistletop, I smiled with satisfaction, remembering the drunk, undisciplined goblins there. Using the carelessness of the ogres to our advantage, we rapidly crossed the open plains across the southern side of the walls and regrouped near the waterfall under the protection of the foot of the mountain. Jakardros wanted to go have a look at the mouth of the cave hidden behind the falling water, and I volunteered to join him.
We circled the foot of the mountain to the waterfall and the pond beneath it. A narrow ledge of rock led along the side of the mountain, offering us a route to the storming waters. Secured to me with a thick rope, Jakardros dove first through them and into the beyond. I felt a tug and followed suit. Dripping with water I found myself in a dark cave. Thanks to my elven eyes I could see the old ranger smile contended. “What’s the matter?” I asked over the roar of the water. “Hmmh? Nothing. It’s just that I’ve never had to use this passage. I’m appreciating the irony that I’m here skulking like a stranger.” Quick to focus on the task at hand, he turned back to the waterfall. “Wait here, I’ll go get the others.”
The cave beyond the waterfall narrowed to a five-ten feet wide tunnel. I could not say whether it was purposefully dug or natural, but it appeared to be as hidden and seldom used as Jakardros had said. There were no lights or sconces for torches on the walls. It was completely dark save for some Alice’s rudimentary light magic shining off Alfred’s shield and my everburning torch. In the shield’s and the torch’s glow we walked down into the mountains expecting a trap or an ambush behind every corner.
Though nervewrecking, we found nothing at first. We had made perhaps a hundred feet in the twisting and turning tunnel when Harsk spotted something in the wall next to him.
“Sweet goddess”, he exclaimed in surprise. I turned around to see him feel and push the solid-looking rock and to my astonishment the stone gave way and parted a bit. Shreds of daylight flooded the dark passage. Jakardros chuckled, a dry, near-empty laugh of a man who has lost nearly everything precious to him. “I thought I remembered hearing about the path having multiple exit points..” Harsk pushed the stone further and peered out through the opening. “There is a wooden building right before us, worn-out, hardly maintained. I think this is the inner yard between the walls and the keep”, the dwarf explained, keeping his voice down. From his position at the point of our sneaky procession, Jakardros shook his head. “You’re right. The building is our old barracks, one we were planning to replace due to its condition. Simply put, it is a death-trap waiting to happen.” You don’t say, I grinned. I moved next to Harsk and matter-of-factly told everyone I’d have a look outside. Hearing no protests, I pulled my cloak of elvenkind fully over me and pushed myself through the gap between stones.
I dropped a feet or so and immediately browsed my surroundings. I was in a narrow space between the sharply rising mountain foot and and the barracks. The building itself was elevated, supported by several wooden beams that lifted the bottom of the house three feet off the ground. I crouched down and had a look of the yard. There were no other ogres present but the three guarding the southern gate. The sergeant was still lecturing and beating the other two ogres, so they did not see me crouching in the shadows only fifty or so feet away. Up that close I took my time assessing our enemies. They were easily taller and more massive than the ogrekin we had ran into earlier, a good ten feet tall every one of them. They were ugly and hideous, and managed to look dumb as nails and deadly to boot at the same time. From Jakardros I had heard that the ogres, while undisciplined, still had a rigid caste-hierarchy based on physical strength and martial prowess. Given that the other ogres where hardly armed and equipped, I surmised that the sergeant ogre was the threat – and what ever stood above it in the hierarchy. I clenched my fists in anticipation. I would enjoy learning to hunt and kill them as efficiently as possible.
I had never been in an army, but the empty yard surprised me. There were a few small buildings at the sides of the walls, but nothing else. No tents in rows. No scores of ogres. That meant a few things. First, ogres did not seem to like the rain as little as we did. Second, their numbers were limited. The keep and buildings, built for men, could house only that many ogres.
Cussing and laughter brought me from my thoughts. The sounds were coming from the barracks so I raised my hands and willed my strange leather gloves to let me see inside. The wall disappeared before my eyes and the sounds became clear. Four ogres, all armed with crude wooden clubs and mauls were sitting on a bloodied floor, talking in their ugly language. Two of them were chewing on long bones with raw meat still clinging to them. I immediately identified them as human thigh bones. In disgust, I let my palms off the board wall and moved further along it. After a few magical peeks I estimated that there were at least ten of the brutes inside in different dormitories. The barracks itself was indeed in lousy condition, ripe for demolition. And a death trap, with windows too small for ogres and as far as I could see only one exit.
I squeezed back into the mountain and made my report. Alfred was first to suggest burning the barracks and the enemies within. “What would you use to light the fire”, I asked the sellsword. The fire would need to be powerful to have the desired effect, and there were still ogres nearby, deeming setting the house on fire from multiple points too risky. “My everburning torch and arrows would not work”, I added. “The wood used in the barracks is quite flammamble”, Jakardros noted us. Alfred shrugged. “I have normal torches, let’s use them”, he said simply as if that settled it. Knowing full well that it would fall to me to perform the arseny, I was yet not satisfied. “You think that’s enough? I can light the place up from one side only, given the guards. The fire will spread slowly and if the ogres smell trouble, then they’ll just get out.” Alfred gestured dismissal. “The man said it’s rotten and flammable.” But I was still uncertain. We knew there was a considerable number of ogres still alive. I wanted to maximize the casualties if were we to give up our element of surprise. “Is it even wise to give up our position by torching it, I-“, but I never got to finish when Alice snapped, her tone dripping frustration. “Just get the damn house on fire and we’ll continue in the mountain!” I turned to her and narrowed my eyes. So Garnet’s lapdog has some character, I thought. She had been quiet all the way from Magnimar, content with our progress undoubtedly. But I hated being pushed. She’d been force-fed to us in Magnimar, and she had been prodding us to leave ever since she had joined. But meeting her angry gaze, I realized this was something different. Was she nervous?
I opened my mouth to say something but decided it was not worth it. I turned around, took two lit torches from Alfred and returned out between the rocks.
The ogres outside were completely oblivious to my fireplay. I could have quite possibly sneaked to them and lighted their rags. Like Jakardros had promised, the underside of the barracks quickly caught fire and I disappeared from sight.
Hurrying, we pushed forward into the bowels of the mountain. We didn’t get far before we made contact with something. “Movement!” Alfred half-whispered, half-shouted. We halted in unison. “Stand down”, Jakardros told us and shook his head, “they’re just shocker lizards. There’s bound to be a colony of them before us.” The mercenary went wide-eyed. “A what?” Jakardros briefly told us that long time ago a pet lizard or two of some nameless ranger had fled into the caves, and multiplied. Something in their environment had turned them into shock lizards, making them electric and giving them the ability to shock anyone threatening with their tails. “They rarely venture from their caves, and generally are not hostile”, he added. “Lovely”, I muttered and we crept forward, letting the weird things size of a dog scuttle away from us.
The passage soon separarated into many and we found ourselves in the middle of their colony. The lizards had nowhere to retreat anymore. There were so many of them around us in the caverns that instead of scurrying away, they became warier. I saw piles of eggs lying here and there. “Don’t get too close to the nests, and don’t get between the females and the nests either”, Jakardros warned us softly as he took a careful step. Great, how the hell could I recognize a female, I cursed to myself, minding my steps. Our progress slowed to a crawl as everyone followed the old ranger and tried their best not to disturb the lizards. Ultimately Alfred sighed and came to the conclusion I had been pondering as well. “I can’t see a way out that doesn’t take us next to a nest”, he whispered aloud and looked around one final time. “It’s a fight or we find another route into the keep.”
Everybody looked around mimicking the sellsword – a humorous sight – and personally assessed the challenge. It was Harsk who came up with an idea. A really weird idea. That sort of idea that one always comes to regret. A type of idea that started one of the strangest trail of events I had ever seen in my young life.
“What if we flood the caverns”, he suggested.
My face formed a large what-question and I turned to the cleric to see whether he was serious or not. Alfred guffawed irritably like he always did.
Harsk was being serious. “I could try a spell, but we’d have to get out naturally”, the bearded holy man was explaining with a playful smile on an otherwise straight face. I started to form a question and opened my mouth to voice it but Alfred was first, guffawing. “You’d drown the shocker lizards?”
Harsk nodded. Alice was absentmindedly examining the blade of her scimitar I had seen burst with the energies of lightning. “I wonder what a massive amount of water would do to them and their electric skins”, she muttered aloud. Jakardros, Vale and Shalelu all made a kind of an collective shrug, so no-one was really objecting his idea. Jakardros in particular seemed at that point content in acting as our guide into the keep rather than taking command of the infiltration.
I was still too baffled to say anything. I closed my mouth. It was settled.
We turned at our heels and made our way back all the to the waterfall and out of it. Outside, we could see a plume of smoke rising over the outer wall. The old barracks had caught fire, it seemed, and was burning fiercely. The ogres were shouting and grunting, and based on the commotion there was know a much larger number of their kind at the inner yard. There was no turning back any more.
But the burning barracks offered Harsk a distraction he needed to perform his trick. He exited the cave last through the storming waters, got to a safe distance and turned to face the waterfall. Closing his eyes, he murmured a few words and gestured with his hand. The surface of the pond where the falling waters hit started to rise slowly first, then faster. It was like someone had placed a ten feet wide disc right beneath the surface. All the water flowed into the pond, but when the magically rising water reached the level of the cave mouth, majority of it started to pour into the hidden cave. Barrels of it fell every second but it was obvious too little to quickly fill the caverns.
Finally I willed myself to say something – the obvious. “It’ll take too long.”
Harsk furrowed, clearly displeased. “I don’t know what we’re aiming to achieve here”, I added the half-statement-half-question. I was coming to my senses, trying to think of a new plan now that the secret cavern passages had been denied to us. Alfred said something to Harsk, I didn’t hear what, and got an irritated response from Alice. She was anxious for us to advance.
Without consulting anyone and continuing his line of befuddling, reckless moves, Harsk suddenly lifted from the ground and started to hover towards the wall. “Harsk!” Alfred called at the dwarf, not angrily really but with the tone one uses to ask someone to wait up. Perplexed, I found myself unable to talk again. What was wrong with the dwarf, I wondered. Was someone playing tricks with the cleric’s head, just like at the Foxglove Mansion?
“I’m getting over that wall!” Harsk yelled back at us, completely unconcerned about the fact there was a band of murderous ogres at the other side. I prayed he wouldn’t hover over the wall close to the southern gate and reveal our position. But he didn’t – apparently he had that much sense left in him. Keeping his head under the edge, he flew along the wall north-east. Alfred took of running along the river that had lost a lot of its current. The rangers followed him. Alice shrugged, gestured and murmured something and took off hovering as well.
I just watched them all flying and sprinting behind the little hovering cleric. At the other side of the wall the fire grew hungrier, and the hooting and yelling of the ogres was mixed with cries of pain.
We’re all going to die today, I thought, took a firmer grip of the Carmine Avenger, and ran after them with Dûath.
**
Eventually, Harsk and Alice led us to the north-eastern corner of the wall which we were supposed to use originally. With the ogres, a more than a dozen or so, all concentrated on the burning barracks, we got over the broken wall and gate without been seen. We approached the keep house by house, staying behind storagerooms, a stable and a building according to Jakardros was the new barracks. Reaching the keep and scaling its 30-feet walls was child’s play. Our arseny proved to be a wonderful distraction, and I could even see ogres trying to get out of the small windows, ending up stuck and burning alive. The sight made me smile.
Up at the keep walls we were presented with options how to proceed. The walls themselves were too narrow for ogres to traverse, so we could safefully walk between towers and climb down from each if we wanted. Dropping down from the wall was an option – but we did not see any means to exit the roof, though Vale mentioned a door behind the main tower that would lead out of the roof. There was a large circular main tower at the center of the keep, and on its side, an even higher lookout tower. A dead ogre soldier was hung with a hook from its side as a warning, to either hinder any invaders or maintain the discipline of the ogres.
Deciding it was my time to show some ballsy initiative without asking anyone’s opinion, I leaped from the wall to the side of the lookout tower and pulled myself up. That drew a mutter of complaints from the dwarf who I knew was not nimble and acrobatic. Unless he was falling down and performing three-point landings, that is. Or magically flying. Dûath regarded me curiously, a surprisingly human expression, and leaped after me, easily making the ten feet high jump with his powerful hind-legs.
After everyone had got up to the top of the lookout tower, Jakardros went to a latch, opened it and told us what to expect beneath.
“The main tower beneath us has one floor and five rooms – we’ll enter a storage room, then move to a tribunal. There we’ll find doors to a map room and to a corridor that leads to the Commander’s quarters, a chapel and to another staircase.” I nodded seriously. “We can expect anything then.” That made Alfred guffaw. “We can expect a fight!”
**
We ascended the circling stone staircase down two levels. Equipped with my magical fingerless gloves I was at point with the sellsword. As the old ranger had promised, we found a door and I had a look through. The small storage room beyond was empty save for broken, upside down crates and other junk. The ogres had been there rummaging. We entered silently and gathered around the second door that we knew led to the tribunal – a conference room for the Black Arrow officers. In the glow of a few burning torches on the walls, I could see everyone tightening and becoming more concentrated, even the jolly sellsword was looking serious. I had a look through and grimaced.
At the other side, two ogre warriors, the lowest kind, were driving nails and hooks through dead human bodies and hanging them up to the ceiling. The conference table at the middle of the room was covered in blood and more dripped down from numerous carcasses already in place. They were chatting idly in their ugly language as they worked, like the atrocity they were performing was a chore to them. I clenched my teeth in anger and felt Dûath hiss and growl in sympathethic rage behind me. I let go of the wall and told them what I had seen between my teeth. Vale almost exploded in violence right there, and Jakardros simply told us to kill them without mercy. Alfred kicked in the door and the bloodshed began in earnest.
Alfred was first to enter, and Vale was determined not to miss the party. Our surprise attack was only halfly successful as both of the ogres quickly turned from their bloody work to meet our blades and arrows. The sellsword chose the closest ogre as his prey while the dark-skinned brute stormed across the room towards the other. For his efforts he received a head of a wooden club to his jaw, while Alfred in his excitement managed to hack an innocent chair into splinters. The ogre had bought itself a second by pushing it to a slide towards the fighter, but Alfred recovered and slammed the beast with his spiky shield with unbelieavable momentum, taking its feet beneath it. The pale-faced magus was right behind him with the cleric, and they expediently stabbed and slashed the helpless prone ogre to death. The ogre that had been insolent enough to hurt Vale badly succumbed to Jakardros’ and my arrows and died without making a sound.
The tribunal was taken within seconds and no alarm was made. Harsk helped Vale reposition his dislocated jaw and with his healing magic closed any remaining wounds.
I had to admire Jakardros’s resolve as he paced through the room without looking up at the numerous corpses nailed into the ceiling. Undoubtedly he knew every one of the dead but he remained stoic and concentrated and did not linger to mourn them. When he approached me, I was in the adjacent map room, biding my time as Harsk mended Vale.
“You might find something on Macharius here, or in the Commander’s notebook, if you’re lucky”, he added the last when he saw the mess the ogres had created. Everywhere in the map room were shredded papers, torn from books and folders. I knew paper was expensive and the amount the ogres had ruined was bewildering. Jakardros sighed when he took in what he was seeing. I could only imagine the practical value of maps and notes that had been drawn and prepared over the years, now destroyed. I found some random maps, describing secret routes in Viperwall and Riddleport, two Varisian cities whose names I knew, and Lurkwood, a forest in north-western Varisia I remembered seeing in my map of the region. But it would take me hours, days to search the mess of papers for any documents or notes regarding my missing twin brother.
But before that, we had a fight to finish. No-one didn’t consider our operation as an infiltration or a rescue mission anymore. The horrors the ogres had unleashed, the hung corpses being possibly only the introduction, was something that required bloodshed in equal measure. The shedding of ogre blood. And Lucrezia’s, I reminded myself, and for a passing moment my mind recalled Ilori’s dead boy on the stairwell in the clocktower in Magnimar.
There was a double wooden door leading out from the tribunal to the corridors outside. We gathered once more behind the mass. I looked that everyone was ready, pressed my palms on the door.
The corridor beyond was empty, eerily so. I couldn’t first hear a thing, but then my ears caught something approaching. Slow, determined steps, coming from the right, outside my field of vision. I had to let go but my picked up a voice of a woman calling for someone. She was just outside, banging with her fist on the door of the room Jakardros had informed was the chapel. She was talking in the language of the giants. Jakardros translated what she was saying in his low voice. She complaining to Jaagrath about massive amounts of water pouring into her chambers and of all the damage his underlings had done, the old ranger said, and the response boomed through the walls. Vale shivered when he heard the name and the voice of the ogre. “It’s the leader of the tribe”, he whispered to us. For all his bravado, courage and strength the immincence of facing the head of the ogre tribe made him pause. Alfred smiled at that. “Cut of the head and all that nonsense”, he said and winked to the brute. I was still contemplating the woman. “What kind of a woman could be running with the ogres”, I said aloud, but the answer was obvious of course. It was Lucrezia. It had to be. Kill first ask questions later, I mused to myself. It had worked well enough with Tsuto Kaijitsu.
“Let’s get this over with then”, Alfred stated matter-of-factly and kicked open the door beside him. Alice was next to him, brandishing her scimitar, and shouldered the other door open.
.... to be continued....
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As they emerged into the corridor, they were faced with a beautiful, mysterious woman. No serpent’s tail then, I thought to myself as I followed right at their backs.
The woman, a lady really, given her exquisite clothing and regal manner, turned to see us rush in and smiled venomously. “Ah, what an handsome hero emerges. A delightful surprise!” She saw Alice behind Alfred. “And you brought a lady-friend with you!”
Alfred was quickly upon Lucrezia but his swing went wide. Alice gracefully stepped next to the mistress and her aim was true. The scimitar crackled with the powers of lightning and she cut our quarry. “I’m no-one’s lady-friend”, she spat.
The rest of us poured into the corridors. Harsk went in third and swooped between Alfred’s legs before driving his longword into the woman. Once more I had to admire his dexterity that defied all reason. Shalelu put three arrows into her body for emphasis. Unbelieavably, the lady merely snorted, but I could sense her brewing alarm at our ability to harm her. She stepped back from the onslaught, and began to whirl around unstoppably. In seconds, her form begun to change to something I, Alfred and Harsk recognized. So there’s the serpent’s tail, I cursed as I saw her legs magically curl around each other, stretch and change colour. It was Lucrezia, our target and the reason we had travelled across Varisia. My quarry. From my position at the doors, I pulled two arrows and nocked them.
**
The old peasant shooks his head and tells his grandson to be still. With loving patience, he urges him to draw a breath and hold it before letting go of the arrow, and not to wait too long. Be confident, he says. Be swift with you movements, he reminds him. Like he has done a hundred times before. The boy’s whole body shakes as he tries to pull back the 20 pound draw with his skinny arms and still remain balanced enough to shoot accurately.
**
This is for Ilori, I whispered and let go a duo of arrows. They covered the distance, 30 feet or so, faster than it takes to blink, but managed only to brush the skin of the whirling serpent woman before exploding with magical fire. I exclaimed in anger and automatically nocked a third arrow and wasting no time, like I had been trained, shot it. Fire blossomed like a beautiful flower at her center mass and she shrieked in pain.
The fight had barely started and the corridor had become awfully full. Jakardros ducked below my line of arrows and tried to add to the rain of arrows but missed badly. Lucrezia was quickly realizing the extent of the threat we presented, and with increased urgency, yelled for help in Giant while she fought to keep Alfred, Harsk and Alice off her.
Her calls were answered.
Next to Alice, a set of doubledoors that led to the chapel – the same Lucrezia had been slamming – were pulled open and the largest ogre I had ever seen stepped to the doorway. He, undoubtedly Jaagrath himself, was wearing only a loincloth and little in the way of an armor. His hair was jet-black, just like mine, and his beady red eyes stared with an everhunger for battle and cruelty. His hands and mouth were covered in blood, but it was not his – apparently we had interrupted his breakfast. When I saw what he was brandishing in a fist that was the size of a human head, I was about to shout a warning to Alice but the hulking monster was quicker.
He slashed with a massive ogre hook at Alice and almost took her head off right there. As it cut air and Alice I heard the hook wail with the sound of hundreds of dying humans. I was shocked. What kind of weapon is that?
The force of the blow threw the pale-faced magus to the ground like a sack of meat. Next to me, the old ranger roared the ogre leader’s name. Looking down at us like we were interesting ants, the hulking beast stepped forward and issued a command in Giant. A coarse laughter boomed in the corridors and a second door opened behind us. From the Commander’s quarter, another ogre appeared at a doorway, this one somewhat smaller than Jaagrath but as fierce. Instead of having a normal jaws, this one sported an leather harness with iron jaws that clacked when they opened and closed.
He had a fitting if unimaginary name. “Hookmaw!” Jakardros exclaimed again as a way of warning before the second ogre’s hook shredded the front of his leather armor and bit into his chest. He took a hasty step back in pain and commanded his mountain lion to challenge Hookmaw. I did the same with Dûath and the ogre found himself unable to join the fight as two growling and clawing big cats barred his way.
Vale had bid his time but he finally left the tribunal. Gripping Peace and Love, the brute of a ranger stormed directly at Jaagrath. Before the gigantic ogre he looked like a small boy but by Starfall he was fearless. Peace hacked at the ogre but the monstrosity easily parried with his magical hook. Unnatural cries of people filled the corridor when the two weapons connected.
With Jaagrath’s attention at Vale, Alice pulled herself out of harm’s way, but not before inflicting a serious wound onto the ogre leader’s thigh with her crackling scimitar. But it was too little – I realized the ogre could end us all with a few of such strikes before we managed to bring him down. Harsk and Alfred were still locked in melee with Lucrezia, but Shalelu concentrated on Jaagrath. Her aim was true and over the commotion of battle she yelled to me to focus on the ogre leader. But he was not my target, I thought, drawing back the bow. Time seemed to slow down as I frantically considered my options. In my grip the Carmine Avenger glowed like it had never glowed before, a bright carmine red as was its name. I felt it almost tremble, a suppressed scream demanding us to slay the serpent woman and exact vengeance.
I resisted its call and I turned my aim slightly to the left before letting my arrows fly at Jaagrath. They exploded on the monster’s chest right above Vale’s head. The dark-skinned ranger flinched and covered his face, but Jaagrath threw his hands wide apart and bellowed in rage. My arrows had hurt him but also made him that more furious. Alice had wisely stepped aside but that left Alfred’s flank exposed. The leader of the ogre clan let out a second bellow and slammed down with his mighty fist. It connected with Alfred’s heavy mithral armor and pushed the sellsword to his knees with a toll that reminded me of the bells in Magnimar. Alfred, violently drawn away from close combat with Lucrezia, had the reflexes to bring his shield up but it was a futile effort. Undercutting with his nightmarish hook, Jaagrath brought the hook up. It’s tip brushed the shield aside and dug deep into Alfred’s abdomen. But it did not stop there. The momentum of the hook was such that it ripped all the way up into his chest. Blood and intestines showered from the poor man and his roar of pain joined the wail of the hundreds the hook had killed before. His axe slipped from his fingers and clanged down to the floor. The sellsword was hanging from the hook like a piece of meat and Jaagrath lifted him up like he weighed nothing, bringing his head right to his own face. The ogre leader smiled as he examined his latest kill. “I can smell your pain little one. I’ll add it to my collection”, he told the sellsword who was wriggling like a fish in a hook, coughing blood and literally leaking his shredded guts out.
But he never got to finish the sellsword. Instead, Vale doubled his efforts and leaped on the monstrosity. His axes hacked and slashed. Bits of ogre meat and blood flew everywhere and Jaagrath was forced to let go off his prize. Alfred fell to the floor onto a pool of his own blood, lifeless.
Vale gave Alice an opening to act, again. But this time the pale-faced magus did not retreat. Horrified at Alfred’s fate, she summoned whatever fatal magics she commanded into her scimitar, stepped toward Jaagrath and executed a single swing. I hate to admit it but it was almost perfect. I don’t think the lumbering ogre even saw it coming but as it struck, my ears buzzed, the hair on my neck stood up and I smelled a weird odour in the air. Then, fast as a beam of light, a pop, then a thunder that deafened us all momentarily. I blinked my eyes to see and as I did, I saw a huge steaming rent across the ogre’s side.
His hook slipped from his fist, and with that, the cacophony of dying, terrified humans ended. The ogre leader fell down backwards like an oak and remained there on the floor unmoving.
Seeing his ally perish, Lucrezia sneered in disgust, unbelief and panic and started to slither away. Harsk was the only one remaining in combat with her, and I shouted the cleric to stay with her, to bring her down, anything. But Harsk never did like to see his companions bleed to death. Instead of heeding my commands, he let the serpent woman go and kneeled next to Alfred.
The sellsword had stopped breathing. His mouth was lolling, and there was an empty stare in his eyes. The little cleric closed his, muttered a short prayer and lowered his palms on the mercenary veteran’s ruined torso. The dance of Harsk’s healing powers was as beautiful as ever, but I had to time to enjoy it. Our quarry was running away from us, and I was the only one unwilling to let her go.
As the combat still raged with Hookmaw, I ran down the hallway to the mouth of a staircase where Lucrezia had escaped. But the staircase – a straight, narrow path down – was empty. She was already within the bowels of the keep and I didn’t want to risk running after her alone. F*cking f*ck. Our commotion was surely drawing the rest of the ogres to our location, I thought, turned and sank one arrow at Hookmaw across the hallway as an afterthought. Dûath finished the beast with leaping and catching his open throat. The panther thrashed with force equal to the ogre’s and almost ripped the ogre’s head off its shoulders.
Jaagrath and Hookmaw put out of their misery, there was one more ogre remaining. She, called Dorella, was a magic-wielder and seer, and a mother figure to the Kreeg clan.
Alone and cornered in the Commander’s quarters, she quickly met the violent, bloody fate she had evaded too long.
As she was being killed, I heard Lucrezia yell at the remaining ogres downstairs with an authoritative voice. Harsk was still mending Alfred, who had come back to us and was cursing and spitting blood in equal measure. I kept an eye on the stairs. “They’ll be here soon”, I stated, hearing the bellows of the ogres nearing. Alfred pushed the cleric aside and got to his feet, telling him he was fine. “Let’s kill them then”, he responded as matter-of-factly and grimaced in pain. He was still hurt but I had to admire his perseverance and the fact that he so undauntedly prepared for another fight right after being almost killed.
Harsk shook his head at Alfred and behind us, Dorella let out her last dying scream. As if following a cue, the first ugly ogre head appeared around the corner downstairs. I welcomed it with an arrow to the face. “They’re here”, I reported and nocked another arrow nonchalantly. Alfred moved in front of me and brandished his axe and shield. “Come on then!” He taunted, and spat a gobbet of blood to his feet.
The ogre, a mere foot soldier of the clan, pushed itself into the staircase. Designed for man-sized creatures, it was all too narrow for its hulking form but still it came up, keeping its shoulders low and sideways to us. Alfred laughed at its attempt to challenge us, a feeble swing of a wooden club that struck Alfred’s shield, and hacked twice with his battle-axe in return. The other hit the lumbering beast nicely on the neck and its severed head bounced down the stairs. I thought it an apt warning sign for the others waiting below, but the ogres were a dumb and thickheaded folk and more came at us. Alfred kept guffawing. “Welcome”, he taunted and turned his head to me and winked. “There’s more traffic here than in a whorehouse!” Despite being vexed about Lucrezia’s escape, I had to smile. Not at his quirky remark, but the ironic fact that his mouth and gums were bloody, just like Jaagrath’s had been.
At the hallway, Jakardros emerged from the Commander’s quarters. “We’ve killed almost all of the leading ogres of the Kreeg clan”, he exclaimed and could not hide the pride in his tone. “The fight’s not over!” Alfred yelled back. Harsk had joined us at the line at the top of the staircase. Between us three, we barred the staircase and formed a deadly bottleneck. “They’d run if they wouldn’t be so stubborn”, Jakardros added. “Let’s cut the big one’s head and throw it down the stairs”, I suggested and killed another ogre at the foot of the stairs with a duo of arrows to its thick head. Lucrezia could have escaped but gods I relished killing the hideous man-eaters. I started to understand why Macharius had spent time with the Black Arrows, despite their obvious lack of professionalism.
I was nocking yet another pair of arrows when we heard a particularly blood-chilling roar from downstairs and a rugged ogre as large as Hookmaw appeared and pushed himself through the mass of dead ogres up towards us. I say rugged but that is an understatement. Half of the ogre’s face was free of skin, and the raw meat and bone was visible. Why was half of his face shaven clean off, I wondered and took aim. The half-face ogre ducked right on time and my arrows flew right above it, hitting an ogre soldier behind it. It followed its evasion with a powerful sideways swing of a hook that hit both Harsk and Alfred. The blade of the hook hit Harsk in his helmet and accidentally shoved it so low that it covered the dwarf’s entire field of vision. “Not again!”, Harsk cursed and tried to pull the helmet off his eyes. The hook also hit Alfred past his stout defences and into his side. He roared in pain and irritation. “Gah, the only place I haven’t been struck today!”
The forward momentum and brute strength of the half-faced ogre was such that it was almost crashing through our wall. Vale and Shalelu both sprinted to our aid, Vale filling the hole blind Harsk had left and Shalelu joining me behind the close-quarters fighters. The sellsword gathered himself and rampaged into a series of wild axe swings and shield slams, and was able to trip the 500 pound monstrosity of its feet. The stairs made slick by ogre blood and entrails did help, naturally. It rolled out of Alfred’s reach and stood up, furious but reeling. It’s end was near but it was not backing down.
“Five gold pieces that you can’t finish it”, I said to Shalelu who took aim beside me. She shook her head seriously and shot it, a beautiful hit that pierced the ogre’s right eye and burrowed into its head. But it did not die.
I snorted and put another arrow through its left eye. Finally it had the decency to fall over and leave this world for good.
**
The fighting ended suddenly and there were no other ogres trying their luck. We let our guard down a bit, and I left the bottleneck.
As I pulled my arrows off Jaagrath’s dead body, I surveyed the ranger’s chapel. I was not a religious type so I could not recognize the symbols of different deities (except for Iomedae’s which I knew was the longsword, thanks to my time with Harsk). But the chapel was free of any symbols. Or instead, all were ruined or covered with torn or cut pieces of humans, giant eagles and horses. On the walls Jaagrath and his clan had hung human and animal heads. There was even a statue of a deity with its head struck off, and on its stead was a half-rotten human head. Venting my hatred, I spat on Jaagrath’s body and cursed his soul and all of his kin.
The commotion had moved outside of the keep. Either Lucrezia was leading them out of the fort in retreat or they were reforming at the courtyard for another go. I listened more closely and it sounded more like a panic, I had to admit.
Alice walked to us at the hallway and I realized I had not seen her during the last combat. She was still hurt from the vicious blow courtesy of Jaagrath, and she had probably been healing herself while we finished the fight. I was about to comment when she approached with a sneer. “How long are you cleaning up the staircase”, she asked, quirkily. Alfred guffawed and retorted. “What, did the pretty girl lose her wits? We’ve been working our butts off like a team of lumberjacks, right Vale? Harsk?” Vale let out a rumble – a joyless laugh – while Harsk just shook his head and brushed ogre blood off his beard. The pale-faced magus stuck out her tongue at Alfred.
Shalelu was still at the top of the stairs and sighed overtly, and went to Alice to take her away by the arm. “There’s too much manly energies here, let’s go somewhere to get you properly healed.”
The comment made Alfred snort. “Anyone willing to get back up the lookout tower to see what’s happening outside”, he asked no-one in particular after a moment. I was examining the death blow Alice had dealt to Jaagrath, and nodded, though the sellsword didn’t see it. “I’ll go”, I said simply and walked away. As I went through where we had come, I saw Jakardros examine the rooms and the dead human bodies, probably looking for his commander.
I paced up to the top of the tower. It was well past midday and the sun was at its apex. Lucrezia was nowhere to be seen. The old barracks still burned, but there was no more movement inside. Instead, a dozen or so ogres, soldier- and sergeant types from the look of theirs, were still present at the courtyard. They weren’t mustering or reforming – they lacked the discipline for that even though the sergeants were smacking and yelling at the more numerous soldiers – but they weren’t loitering either. They were uncertain, and I decided to fuel that uncertainty.
The closest ogre was a hundred and fifty feet away or so, but I felt confident. I nocked an arrow, aimed and let it fly. Over the yard I heard the grunt of pain and the ogre stumbled to its knees, a smoking, gaping wound on its back. A few of the ogre soldiers flinched and made a hasty retreat away from their fallen brother, only to be violently disciplined by the sergeants for their lack of bravery. One of the sergeants lifted its beady eyes and spotted me at the lookout tower. It lifted its meaty fist and gestured at me angrily. I replied with a throat-cutting gesture and left the lookout tower, quite pleased with myself.
At the main tower, Vale and Jakardros were still going through the remains of their brothers-in-arms. The rest were looting the dead ogres for anything valuable. I told them what I had seen – no further fight was to be expected.
Something drew my eyes as I passed the door leading to the Commander’s chambers and went in. Alice was examining the equipment Dorella had been gathering and evidently had not spotted what I had seen. An open lead box hidden under a pile of books and fallen shelves. It was a deposit box with a lock, but its contents were almost spilling out.
I lowered to one knee and pushed the junk off it, and making sure Alice wasn’t looking, searched the box.
Inside there were unsigned letters – love letters, actually – to someone called Myriana. I randomly chose one and read a passage.
“Blinded when it spied her dancing on the tarn, the truest grace to know Whitewillow’s soft embrace”.
Ugh, so awful and cheesy, I furrowed and stopped reading. Apparently the Commander was a moon-lighting poet. But who was this Myriana? Just an innocent woman, or perhaps an agent of Lucrezia? A lover sent to charm and spy on the Commander? Maybe she had been a part of the surprise attack against Fort Rannick? Questions reeled in my head as I put down the letters and examined the next item, a silver jewel box. Inside there was a silver circlet with a tuft of remarkably smooth golden hair on it. Fey hair, I suddenly realized, having seen some in my earlier trips around Lake Encarthan. Hadn’t the halfling brothers told us about feys living in nearby Sanos forest when we had sailed up river Yondabakari? Maybe the hair was Myriana’s? I secreted the circlet and the hair to my pockets, kept one of the letters in my hand and got up.
Jakardros and Vale returned and they looked grim. “There’s no sign of the Commander”, Jakardros reported. The news was neither good or bad, I surmised. I showed them the letter, and asked what was Whitewillow and if Myriana was a familiar name. The latter was unknown to them, but Vale told me former was a location in the middle of a notable swamp west of Turtleback Ferry, called Shimmerglens, at the border of Sanos forest. I told them about my suspicion that Myriana was a fey. Neither of them were willing to speculate, and Jakardros only confirmed that Shimmerglens was known to be populated by the fey.
With the main tower searched, we ventured down the stairs over the bodies of ogres. The sight was not likeable. There were dead rangers lying along the corridors, in the rooms. Some were stuffed into barrels. All were mutilated. It was a charnel house, and it reminded me of Graul farmstead, sans the everpresent stench of s+&!. We went room by room. One, a blacksmith’s workshop by the look of it, was completely stormed. A head of a man sat on the middle of the room, and it had been used as a paint brush. One of the ogres apparently knew how to write, as the walls of the workshop were adorned with texts written with blood.
In another room, an armory, I refilled by arrow vine and stuffed a fur to my backpack. “It’ll be winter soon”, I said in a way of explanation to Harsk, two regarded a set of longswords fastened to a sword rack. He chose one and lifted it away. “I don’t think the rangers won’t mind me taking one back to the boys at my temple in Sandpoint”, he said too, in a way of explanation. I shrugged, and took with me half a dozen of arrows that had been specifically marked.
Shouting from the staircase interrupted our looting and we made quick way back. The Black Arrows had found something.
“The dungeons, they’re flooded”, Vale exclaimed and pointed to a storage room adjacent to the staircase. Within, there was another set of stairs that led underground. But they were now impassable as they were full of water.
It didn’t take a smart person to understand what had happened here and where the water was from. “What was in there”, I asked Vale. He shook his head sadly. “The dungeons. We were hoping some of our brothers were held in there but..” He left the obvious unsaid.
“Oh no, sweet goddess Iomedae I am so sorry”, Harsk whispered and covered his mouth with his hands. The water Harsk had directed into the mountain had chased Lucrezia out of her temporary chambers, but it had also filled the dungeons. Any documents or clues to Lucrezia’s motives, about her soul stealing, were ruined and drowned, as were any Black Arrows who had been imprisoned. It left us all speechless. A dark shroud of sorrow fell upon us.
I turned and left without saying a word. I made my way through the lower level to the main entrance.
Outside, it had started to rain again, and the raindrops were slowly putting out the fire of the old barracks. The ogres had left, their trails clearly visible in the sand. I spotted Lucrezia’s serpent’s tail’s marks on the sand as well. She had made her way to the southern gate. We would have to hunt her, and to finish what we had started.
I returned inside, and found the others sitting silently in a mess hall. It had been cleaned of human remains, but there was still blood everywhere. Some where having, or tried to have, something to eat. At the doorway, I cleared my throat. “We’ve taken Fort Rannick”, I informed the sullen, silent crowd. Noting that no-one really gave a damn, I took a seat on one of the tables next to Alfred and the rangers.
“Now what”, I asked everyone. I might have been blatantly disrespectful of their loss, but godsdammit, we had a hunt still unresolved. As a response, Jakardros produced a small notebook from under his cloak and pushed it across the table to me.
“There’s the Commander’s notebook. It has a passage on every ranger that has served in the Brotherhood. You’ll find one on Macharius there”, he explained. I went wide-eyed in utter amazement. I forgot everything else and with a hand that shook discernibly, I lifted the book.
I remembered why I had escaped the clutches of slavery and why I had travelled across Golarion.
I remembered a promise I had made to a beautiful girl, hanging by her window’s edge, on the midnight I had to leave her.
I was filled with such anticipation that I didn’t notice Harsk was nowhere to be seen.
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These are just getting better and better and better...
...and I just had to make a massive Will save to avoid any spoilers at all...
Do I have to roll reflex save to avoid the hammer of wonder what you are referring to? Have I miss played something? I noticed more than a few factual errors in Tomi's text, but nothing major I'd bother to correct.. These events took place more than a month ago :)
Mistakes and things I left out intentionally and unintentionally:
- finding the boots of mire among the commander's safety deposit box (went to Alice, a semi important little detail for the coming trip to the swamp)
- mistaking the other barracks as "new"
- mistaking the lookout tower as being open-topped rather than an actual chamber ( though I think Riding Bull already changed this in-game..?)
- the trouble Dorella caused to us (putting Vale and Kibb to sleep and evading our blows that actually drew Alpharius to the fight with her). But she was an easy kill ultimately, so I cut some corners there
- we actually throwing Jaagrath's head down the stairs, and the guys dragging his body up to the lookout tower for hanging by a hook and display as a warning
- Vale being the one doing all the drawing and combat planning with you guys. Easy to miss when propably mentioned once.
- Shocker Lizards odd background story sounded a little off as they always were shocker lizzards, but might have been just me rambling.
- New Barracks being actually the one you burned.
Small details that matter very little for the overall arch of things.
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Ah. Well in this alternate universe Vale is the Michael Clarke Duncan who kills first and never asks questions :D (i.e. is the Sarge to Jakardros's Lieutenant)
This is for Ilori
I cheered when I read that. Confused the heck out of the people in the lobby here at work. :P
And damn that Lucrezia for escaping for you as well.
These are just getting better and better and better...
...and I just had to make a massive Will save to avoid any spoilers at all...
They've officially caught up to where our campaign is semi-stalled(I'm this >| |< close to hiding the GM's PS Vita until he runs another adventure). So now I get to make daily will saves not to read further.
*casts and enchantment spell on Poldaran*
.. you must read all that I post... You must....
Also, re-reading the above chapter for perhaps the 67th time I realize how I keep dramatizing Alfred the reckless, guffawing drunk as this real bold badass..
*writes note to self: example of multidimensional character*
Though in a coming chapter he kind of blows the bank of badassery with a certain stone giant. You'd enjoy reading that Poldaran *winkwink*
Do I have to roll reflex save to avoid the hammer of wonder what you are referring to? Have I miss played something? I noticed more than a few factual errors in Tomi's text, but nothing major I'd bother to correct.. These events took place more than a month ago :)
EDIT: Honestly I find that my group (and I) reacted FAR more strongly to that entire section than most, but I still really look forward to seeing how you run it, and how Alpharius reacts to it.
Oh we are quite well beyond her, already starting book 4. I recalled your version while we were at it, but at the time the game felt more of a burden than I'd like to admit (shown also in death of my own thread) and I feel I quite didn't deliver all that experience to players well enough.
I'd go as far as saying that despite the gore (or because of it?), book 3 for me was hollow experience to GM.
EDIT: In response to your edit, a spoiler: I failed to deliver any of the backstory of those events to players and I feel bad about it :(
Now back on topic! ;)
*casts and enchantment spell on Poldaran*
.. you must read all that I post... You must....
Of course I'll read more of your story posts.
Starting right after my next two adventures(since the next one is supposed to be a side quest, which is what has held up progress since the GM has to do actual prep and is too easily distracted to do so). Until then...I'll just have to wait.