"St. Oliver's, brother" Noticing the monks look at Yvera. He leans in and whispers to the monk " My Lord married against his parents wishes. As penance they are on a pilgrimage to bring the light of the Flame to the people of Westamar. I'm too chronicle their deeds." Winking at the monk. He leans back and raises his arm "A round for the table!"
"Tell me my friend, what are you doing here. I never seen so many men assembled. How much grain must be needed to feed so many....."
Roman will try and figure out the rough amount of men who are marching. He will do this by talking more about logistics with the monks.
"Ah, Saint Oliver's! That's a fine scriptorium indeed. How is the good Abbot Perrian? You are less far from home than we, although I daresay you'll go farther. Westemar---it needs the Light." Brother Edbert chuckles. "You must be the cellarer. A great sacrifice to have to leave the contemplation of the Divine to concern yourself with such mundane things. But, someone has to do it." He gestures to Brother Maximus. "You were a soldier once, Maximus, what does it take to feed an army this size?"
Brother Maximus smiles. "The Church is paying for a steady stream of supply wagons. The Silver Order will feed its own, and not put the pressure on Westemar to feed a few hundred knights and all their retinue. There's been so many donations pouring in since the Divine Matriarch called for this crusade." He shakes his head. "I'm grateful to the Flame that I've left that life behind... but to test the fire in their hearts it is a great pilgrimage and penance for those fit for it." He nods respectfully to Lando.
Brother Edbert nods. "As for us, we're here on pilgrimage ourselves, as well as a bit of reconnaissance, come to see off the Silver Order. We've been keeping a log of all the shipments of delerium that have been intercepted at the port, and the numbers are concerning. We took this information to Lumen, but news of the muster was already out, and we came the rest of the way here. We've gathered a lot of information about delerium--Michael's Gate has been a hotbed of news. We have many blessings to bring back to Lucant's Vigil, and some new precautions that House Eden can take in dealing with these smugglers."
A young boy with a serving tray sees Roman's gesture and nods, disappearing into the alehouse. Notably, there's nothing so debauched as serving wenches in the alehouses here in Michael's Gate. He returns soon with a round of ales, setting out six drinks around the table.
Moksad does indeed know of the Faith of the Sacred Flame. His elders tell tales of it as a consuming fire, a powerful religion that swept centuries ago across the continent, spreading like the light of a torch brought into a dark room, like a wildfire consuming a dark and twisted wood. No doubt, his elders said, that Tarna was an incredible woman with divine powers, sent on a holy mission, who freed the populace from the tyranny of the sorcerer-kings. But the fire burned out of control, the shrines and statues of the old gods were toppled, burned down, and stamped out. Now the followers of the old gods must worship in hiding, keeping their ways and traditions hidden, lest they too be burnt away to nothing. Moksad knows well that this is why his village lives deep in the Achtungwald and does not come out of it, for their ways would not be accepted in many places in Westemar.
Jarlen grunts in response. "The Sacred Flame isn't the sun. It's the Divine force that is the source of all things, transcending all the lights and goods of the world with a Light that can outshine all the darkness and evil of the world, the way not even the sun can, because it sets, and there is night. Your old pagan religions are superstition, looking for the Light, but haven't found it. No one in the world found it before the Archangels brought it to Saint Tarna. In a time of the worst darkness the world had seen, the Sacred Flame intervened and gave its followers the power to throw down the evil of the sorcerer-kings. Your old gods couldn't do that. We owe everything to the Flame, that it brought us out of heathen sacrifices and demon worship, out of greed and lust for power that brought misery and blood and oppression to the continent. Out of the slavery to magic."
"I bet he never saw a monster,"Ben mumbles to himself.
Ive heard much of Delirium through the passing towns (deception check) how would we get our hands on some? A small amount would do, surely you devoted monks must know where its coming from. (Persuasion checks)
Elena is doubtful that Ben and Jarlen would not give in and risk a journey into Drakkenheim. She, of all people, knows that circumstances can force undesired decisions. She briefly tunes out their discussion with Moksad about the Sacred Flame. Elena believes in the same way the vast majority of Liberians believes, a very relaxed and almost perfunctory approach. She does frown mentally at the thought that the delerium could be responsible for the mutations and corruption. While she doesn’t imagine that her quest would end with her carrying a bunch of delerium on her back to Liberio, she finds handling it much more displeasing. Her frown becomes more visible at Ben’s and Jarlen’s dismissiveness towards her new companion, feeling that they, petty merchants from a stunted village in a decaying country, barely had any room to look down on anyone. She is fully prepared to believe Moksad’s story about the mutated dogs.
“If this crystal can poison fields and water and make men ill,” Elena says. “Who’s to say it could not also corrupt and mutate them?” All the more reason for her to abandon this foolish quest, she thinks for a brief second before quickly dismissing her thoughts.
" The is Abbott is well, thank the Flame, in his wisdom he felt that I needed to see more of the world to understand the Flame, He said: "It is the sacrifice of the faithful that feeds the Flame". And so here I am." drinking his his ale as Lando asks after Delirium. " I had not realized that the this crystal was being trafficked so widely across the continent. M'Lord is just curious to know what it looks like should we encounter it, I hear that it is only found in Drakkenheim."
Looking up to the sky. "It grows late, and we still have to find lodgings for the night. We have an early start in the morning. Flame be with you brothers" Pulling out a few coins and putting them down "Another round for my fellow scribes, "The pen is mightier than the sword" He says with a wink .(An inside joke among scribes and clerks of the Scared Order.)
Persuasion: 1+6=7 use Inspiration to reroll: 16+6=22
The brothers all pick up their ale mugs and drink deeply and gratefully. "To the Flame!" They are all still standing.
Puzzlement crosses Brother Edbert's face at Lando's question, a kind of incredulous confusion, but his countenance relaxes with understanding at Roman's explanation. "Ah, I see. Yes, we're only just beginning to realize the unfortunate extent of its travel... that was our reason for coming here, and I don't doubt, influenced the decision of the Divine Matriarch to issue her command to the Silver Order. These remnants of chaotic magic are becoming... a worldwide threat. I can tell you what it looks like, m'lord," he nods to Lando. "It's a violet crystal that grows in geode clusters, and it reflects a kind of octarine light. There's no stone in this world that it resembles, and it glows at night, and it has a unique vibration, almost like a hum. But you do not want to touch it. Or be around it for long periods of time. It causes an uncurable kind of illness, a contamination, that when the load becomes too high cause madness and hideous mutations... unless you fancy yourself sporting an extra arm or eyeball or tentacle, m'lord, please don't think there is anything innocent or harmless about these stones. Certainly, Drakkenheim has the worst concentration of it, it comes from the meteor that hit the city. It has so poisoned the land that nothing will grow within a hundred miles of the city now. Truly, it is a calamity and a judgment on this world, and as Saint Tarna led us out of the darkness of the uncontrolled tyranny of the sorcerer-kings, now only the Sacred Flame will lead us out of the darkness of this magical contamination... it contaminates not only the body, but the mind and soul with lust for magical power and greed for the price it fetches. How debauched an age we live in, that it is spreading so far throughout the world with such eager customers."
"Of course... rest you well, Brother, and may the Flame guide and guard you on your journey. For us monks, common lodgings in one of the many monasteries in the city is quite sufficient, but your lord and his lady may wish finer accommodations. The hospitality of the Silver Order's fortress may be more to your liking; if you present yourselves to Griffonrest Tower, I am sure you will be well hosted." Brother Edbert smiles and raises his mug. "A toast to m'lord paladin and his lady on their pilgrimage!" All three monks drink deeply again. He chuckles. "The pen writes in ink of the ages while the writ of blood spilled is forgotten by the earth. May your chronicle adorn your lord's deeds with Divine inspiration!"
"I suppose you've got a point there,"Ben says to Elena. "What kills plants will surely kill men and beasts if at a slower pace... but if they really are turning into monsters, there's magic afoot, terrible magic."He shakes his head regretfully.
Jarlen's grunts at Moksad's comments. "Maybe it will, then. The larger the log, the slower the fire makes it all glow. You'll get your chance, like everyone will, to choose the Light. Some don't make the choice until the moment of death. But some get to make it sooner."
The evening sun sinks low in the sky ahead of the travelers, its light dimmed through the clouds and rain. "Where's our inn?"Ben asks. "Shouldn't we be coming to it soon?"
The high excitement of the city as the armies of the Silver Order prepare to depart on their long journey is very catching, and even though Lando, Yvara, and Roman's pilgrimage has a quite different motive and philosophy, the prospect of shared hardship and the same destination of Drakkenheim gets them quite a lot of attention, as long as they stay reasonably quiet about their interest in the Falling Fire. Saint Vicent's Day, about a week away, is, from what they hear, the planned departure date for the Silver Order. Good hospitality and a warm meal at one of the monasteries near the city square follows a ceremony in the Cathedral of Swords, packed to the brim with paladins and Flamekeepers in full regalia, all perspiring in the heat of the great brazier that illuminates the altar of the great, magnificent church.
None of the party has ever been out of Elyria before... it will be a different world that they enter, a world where the Flame burns far less bright and hot, a world of kingless chaos, rather than Divine order. It is, most succintly, a pilgrimage into the darkness in pursuit of what, they hope, will be a greater Light for all people.
They depart the next day, astride their steeds, to the blessings and farewells of all the monks, paladins, and passersby who take their leave, and they pass through the great walls of Michael's Gate... and out of Elyria.
Though the main road leads through Liberio, they pick a shortcut, a less well-traveled dirt road that cuts more directly north towards Westemar. Lando is quite confident that he will be able to deal with any bandits along the way, and though the camping is rough, something about the party's presence and drive keeps anyone from messing with them... or even coming into sight. It's rather a lonely trek, which they fill with songs and hymns to the Sacred Flame, stories told and dreams imagined of the dark lands of Westemar.
When they find the main road again, they join several merchant caravans traveling from Liberio, Caspia, and Elyria, and are waved through the imposing gates of Leuchten with the gate porter barely giving a glance to Roman's letter of introduction from his abbot. He sees the signet ring that Lando still wears---not knowing, of course, that he's been disinherited---and seems more than happy to let an Elyrian noble into Westemar. How will he feel when the marching ranks of the Silver Order seek entrance into the nation? Still, it's a rather surprising lack of attention to who is crossing the border of the walls, as if the baron stationed here cares little about who comes into Westemar now.
Used as they are to sunny plains, the sparkling Vita River, and majestic foothills topped by grand mountain ranges, the dark pine forest reaching high up above them, the dismal mists and showers, and the wet and mossy smelling wetlands south of the road are a plethora of new sights and sounds for the party. They gravitate to the almshouses and chapels of the Sacred Flame along the way, finding their accommodations quite reasonable. They pass through Schaffburg, and join the service at the Chapel of Saint Irene there, before heading on through to Todesfeld.
It's raining now, and the road is a quagmire of mud. The Elfmire River churns on its way west to the south of the road, flooding its banks every other day. Perhaps more than any other part of their journey which has stretched for many weeks now, are they looking forward to a brightly lit brazier in a warm and dry chapel. Todesfeld is ahead, and there the first large church in Westemar, according to their itinerary. Splashing through the endless marshlands, as evening draws near, they finally see it, on a plain of an enormous confluence of the two rivers joining. The Elfmire that they've been following runs into the larger Drann River here.
But something is terribly wrong with that river... and the ruined city that hunches over it, flooded around its ankles with water that the sight and smell of makes the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end, and sets their teeth on edge. The city is scattered about as if it were struck; torches and furnace flames, scaffolds of collieries, workshops and forges churn out smoke and flame but fail to dry its sodden bed. The wide bed of the river here is too wide---as if the city was built right in its path, inevitably to be drowned. As they travel a little closer they can see why---there was a dam that held back the river, but it is in ruins, and no one has repaired it. A quick look around shows at least a few recognizable landmarks of what should have been a city... and perhaps once was. A manor castle sits looking like it might lean over into the swamp at any moment. Newer construction of homes, workshops, and inns all raised up on stilts, and concrete poured into the foundations of the older. But on a prominent hill amidst the sprawl of the rotting downtown... rises the triumphant steeple of the Cathedral of Saint Rosalind. Alone does the church seem untouched in the brackish and threatening floodwaters.
The journey from Elyria to Todesfeld has been eye opening experience to Roman. The first part of the adventure is new and exciting for Roman. He had only read about the outside world in his books, now seeing it for the first time leaves him speechless. While they never were never able to enter Liberio, one afternoon, on a high hill they watched the the sun set over the city of Liberio. The sighting sun's rays turned the cities canals into rivers of gold. The bright red roofs and white walls of it's homes shining in the dying rays. High above the ever shifting Enigma Ziggurat scattering the light into small prismatic sprays. Never would he forget it.
It was shortly after Leuchten that Roman saw the darker side of adventure. In some unnamed tavern in some unnamed village. Some ruffain overheard Roman and Yvera talking of the Falling Fire. The man pretended to be a fellow believer and got them to come out back, planning to rob them or worse. There was another man there. He grabbed Yvera, Roman tried to stop him, it was a strange feeling as the first man slipped his knife brtween Roman's rib.He fell to the ground, Yvera screamed and then Lando was there sword in hand. There was a flash of steel and blood and the first man stumbled back clutching his wrist. The two men took one look at the fearsome paladin and fled. Roman could only lie there helpless and watching.
All through the journey the dreams come. So many flashes and images of past, present and future? But always the meteor and it's descent to this world. It was a few weeks into the journey that one evening at the campfire Yvera asked about Roman's restless sleep. Tossing in a few log into the flames, Roman stared into the dancing flames for a moment and then told the pair of his dreams and visions, how they spoke to him and guided him. He told them them how his mother died giving birth to him and he was given to the abbey, how his mother was said to be touched by visions too. He speaks how he feels a flame awakening in him, it's power speaks to him, intrigues him.... and it scares him.
Roman's first thoughts as he looked on Todesfeld is that it stinks. He had read once that the city was a great center of industry, but was shocked to see it's current state. Ash and soot cover everything in a thin dust. Looking around Roman sees the Cathedral of St. Rosalind's high on a hill overlooking the city like a beacon. It was just like in his vision. Lando had asked him to check the abbey's library for any maps of Westemar. He had found one and had it rolled out on a table in front of them. He was tracing his finger along the route making notes, when his finger got to where the road forked to Todesfeld or Geldstadt. His finger moved as if on its own and followed the road up to Todesfeld. When his finger reached the city on the map the vision happened, he saw the Cathedral shinning high on it's hill, the grand pyre burning bright, a shadowy shape, and then a flap of wings and it was over,
Now as he sat astride looking up at St Rosalind he thought he heard a flap of wings again. Looking to Lando "Thank you M'lord for believing in me, I believe that the Flame is guiding us here for a purpose. Shall we see what it is" He nudges his horse forward into the flooded streets towards the Cathedral in the sky.
Although the joirney was steady it was not without its challenges. Lando had never seen much past his home country, taking in the sights, he was careful to keep his guard and not get too distracted on the road. With his beloved and rightly guided companion he knew he would through himself between them and any danger that may approach.
However, in and unnamed tavern, in an unnamed village, while Lando was getting a round for some new found believers of the falling fire. He turned his back think his party to be in good company while he brough mugs and food to the table. Turned around much to his surprise to see them all gone from their original places. *Thud* a commotion outside gets his attention, sprinting to the door nose filled with the smell or ale, roasting bread and now blood. He blade almost jumps from its sheath into his hands. Heart beating wildly bursting through the back door of the tavern. To see a glimpse of the scene. He beloved held with dagger to neck and his companion on the ground. Lando’s body moved on its own, cutting the wrist deeply of the man holding Yvara. Making eye contact with both men but not uttering a word as they released her. Lando’s body was physically hot with rage and blood lust as he stared the men down. They fled and he picked up Silverstar walking them back to their temporary accommodations.
This event plagued Lando later that night, blaming himself for the situation they found themselves in. In his prayers he for the first time, cursed those men, in the name of the falling fire, wish despair and death on them while Yvara tending to Silverstar’s wounds. Lando felt an awkward power from doing this but decides to keep this to himself for the time being, to not change the perception of himself.
As they journeyed closer to Todsfeld, Roman opens up to the loving pair about his visions and his family history. Lando listens in admiration and is truly blessed to have found another person with such a strong connection to the flame he thought. He knew his choice to have Silverstar along was the best option, and that he must be protected until the flame within him burns bright.
Approaching Todesfeld, the humidity was high, the ground was soft, Lando thought of the silver Order Marching this way, “they would surely have a hard time and be slowed down marching through here with plate armor.” As they continued forward, trusting Silverstar’s guidance they come upon a near ruined city of Todesfeld. It appears a nearby dam had broken and partially washed the city down stream. The only thing that remained untouched was the cathedral. A sign to Lando their path was righteous and they were heading the right way.
Responding to Silverstar: Absolutely, the path ahead will look worse than this, we must be the ones to champion the light of understanding to places such as this. May the wisdom of the falling fire rain down on the lords of these lands. Let us see what awaits us ahead. Follow your calling to the flame unhindered, Ill be by your side to deal with whatever stands in your way friend. Beloved! *Turning to Yvara* ready a small donation of 10 silver pieces and 5 gold. We must come resolute. Sure the Cathedral will appreciate our offering.
Arriving at the Cathedral the trio hand their reins over to a stable hand and they enter through the great doors. There a few dozen supplicants inside seeking the guidance of the Flame. An elderly Flamekeeper tends to great pyre, while younger Flamekeepers and monks can be seen moving around at various duties. Roman walks down the aisle to the great pyre burning under the dome of the cathedral, it's flicking flames illuminating the fresco and murals depicting St Rosalind's miracles and acts of faith. A throng of people knee around the Flame whispering their prayers. Roman quickly takes his place among them whispering his own prayers for guidance. Taking his crystal amulet off he wraps it around his hands and touches to his forehead.
"By the Flame I ask for guidance." Looking into the heart of Flame he address as if talking to someone unseen " I have followed your guidance. I wish to seek the truth. The truth of my visions, the truth of the Falling Fire, the truth of the Flame, the truth of me." Touching his forehead again " Flame guide me, show me the path."(Cast Guidance on self)
As he finishes his prayers and stands someone passes him a book a hymns. The elderly Flamekeeper raises her hands and the group start singing a hymn to the Flame. Roman quickly joins in.
Lando walks in with Roman and Yvara, he takes a look around. See the architecture, the books, the high walls, and the monks and flame keepers running about. It reminded him of the days training with the silver order, how they would go to their local cathedral to pray shortly at the end of each week to keep their spirits high.
Being here now brings lando an uneasy feeling, he turns to look at Yvara and she feels similarly. Her face scrunched up slightly as if she is disgusted. “Steady yourself my sweet, we don’t want to offend, stay silent and allow me to speak for you, we shan’t be here long” I make eye contact with the elderly flame keeper and shake my coin purse of donations at her gently. She eyes the purse and raises a book of hymns. As if she is saying, “first we sing, then Ill be with you”. She motions me towards the gathering monks and flame keepers, offers Silverstar a book and they all begin singing leaving room for more to join.
I look at Yvara and motion her to join in. “We have to keep cover and play nice” whispers Lando.
Yvara readies the donation and nods in obedience to her husband, though her gaze on the great brazier is filled with sadness and longing. Of course she has told her feelings to Lando before---though the Church worships the Sacred Flame, they do so in ignorance of the Flame's revelations, and so miss out on what they could achieve. How she hopes to bring the truth of the Sacred Flame's purpose to the world and share it with as many as she can. But that time will come. She carries the ten silver pieces and five gold pieces, and as the three enter the Cathedral she places them in the alms box by the door with a soft clink, and bows her head quietly underneath her grey pilgrim's hood as she stands behind her husband.
Lando and Roman sing boldly the hymns as the worshippers lift their voices in song and chant, glorifying the Sacred Flame and its truth, wisdom, and the beauty of its light that illuminates all creation. Yvara joins in with Lando on the hymns that she knows, even blending her voice in harmony at times.
The elderly High Flamekeeper, as the style of her white and gold vestments marks her to be, lifts a golden thurible, and with a long pair of tongs, takes a coal from the burning brazier to place inside of it. Plumes of smoke from the censer billow out as the heat touches the incense inside, and she circumambulates the brazier, swinging the thurible rhythmically as she incenses each of the singers and worshippers, the statues, mosaics, and paintings that decorate the walls of the cathedral, their inlaid gold catching the light of the flames and flickering with an otherworldly light.
"Act with Truth in all things, to do so is to Follow the Flame. Act with Compassion in all things, to do so is to Keep the Flame. Act with Righteousness in all things, to do so is to Spread the Flame."
She finishes her circle, and standing in front of the brazier, she bows deeply, incensing the continual flame that burns hotly in it. She begins to chant in a call and response common to the evening service. Lando, Yvara, and Roman all have these responses memorized, and sing them back with great fervor. The Flamekeeper bows once more and hands her thurible to an acolyte, and, the service finished, several of the evening suppliants begin to file quietly out of the church.
Her kindly old eyes turning then to rest on the three newcomers, the High Flamekeeper smiles warmly, and approaching, she says in a whisper as she leans forward, placing a hand on Roman's shoulder. "Dear brother, you sing like an angel! It is so good to have you here." And she turns and reaches a hand out to Lando and Yvara. "My dear ones, welcome to the Cathedral of Saint Rosalind. I am High Flamekeeper Irma. You look like you have traveled far. I would recognize that Elyrian style anywhere."She pats Lando's arm like an affectionate grandmother. "What brings you to Westemar?"
A few curious glances wander their way from the suppliants as they shuffle out, but the locals seem content, for now, to let Flamekeeper Irma handle greeting the travelers.
"Flame be with you High Flamekeeper. Thank you for your kind words, "Great are Thy Faithfull" was always one of my favorite hymns." Bowing to the elderly lady "You have an excellent eye we are indeed pilgrims from Elyria, come to bring the truth of the Flame to the people" Gesturing around him at the cathedral "I convinced my companions to detour here." Sighing he looks arounds at the architecture of the cathedral. "I have read of it's beauty many times, and have always wanted to see it." Pausing to take in the building "Truly one of the great Cathedrals of the north."
Turning back to the High Flamekeeper "My apologizes your holiness, I forgot myself. I am Brother Roman of St. Oliver's Abbey in Elyria, it is an honor to meet you."
The outskirts of the little village finally come into view with their twinkling lamps, and the inn here is indeed of an appreciable size. The hour is late due to the struggle through the mud, and the tired horses are very excited to go into the stables and gobble up their feed. True to her promise, Elena buys meals and a room for Ben and Jarlen, who thank her profusely before retiring. Elena offsets the cost of her and Moksad's bed and board a bit by playing her viol, but few travelers are up late on this weary road. Many of them are up early, though, and it seems that Ben and Jarlen have slept in, for there is no sign of them, and their horses are still in the stable when Elena goes to saddle Cassa up for the next day's journey.
And the two press on, through mist and rain. As the days crawl by, a good stretch of fine weather comes about, but not quite enough to dry out the road, and Moksad, on foot again, shows his endurance as a man of the woods, unused to muddy roads as he is, having more experience with well-foliaged game trails where roots and ferns underfoot hold the soil in suspension, and the only real quagmires one might find are on the banks of creeks.
The road curves near the Elfmire, and they see the sparkling center current of it dressing the green, algae-filled banks of the swamplands. The sun gradually begins to dry out the road. There's still no sign of Ben or Jarlen---perhaps they were able to find some spring work in the fields before continuing their trek.
And then the day comes, where the great rivers combine, the mighty Drann floods into the marsh of the Elfmire, and with it, an unnameable feeling of horror. First Moksad spies a fish with legs, and something like a snake with far too many tails. As evening falls and they approach the confluence that these strange sights and abominable smells have portented, they see the lights of the city of Todesfeld, with the sun setting behind it, crouched in the brackish water, buildings slumping over into the flood, the ruins of a crumbled dam that no one has bothered to repair overseeing the slow drowning of the city. Houses and taverns built up on stilts stretch themselves above the city, as making a futile attempt not to sink into the floodplains of the Drann. Even at this late hour, smoke trickles into the darkening sky from the glowing forges and the collieries clustered around the coal mines in the hills. Amidst the drowning slums of the downtown of the city rises a hill atop which perches a stone cathedral that looks relatively unscathed by the floods, the lonely light of its brazier flickering from inside through its stained glass windows.
They have arrived at Todesfeld... and it is a bustling and busy city, but so poisoned and dreary that the idea of spending the night here is revolting. But there is little other choice... they need rest, and short of climbing into the hills to camp to escape the treacherous water, some inn on stilts may be the best they can hope to find.
"Ah, yes, Saint Rosalind's is truly a gem we are lucky to shelter under the eaves of,"the Flamekeeper says warmly. "Though unfortunately little enough can be said of its surroundings. A great curse is on Todesfeld, which the Flame just barely has held at bay all these years, and even this hallowed place has not remained unscathed. But the brazier still burns, and here I still am." She smiles as she grasps one of Roman's hands in both of hers. "It's so good to meet you, Brother Roman. I am High Flamekeeper Irma, keeper of Saint Rosalind's for the past fifty years... oh, how times have changed."
"Todesfeld is blessed to have had you guide them for so long and in their current time of need. I had not realized that the city was still so flooded." Turning he gestures to Lando and Yvera " Allow me to introduce you to Lord Lando Spire and his lady wife Yvera. They have heard the call of the Flame and have answered it. My own Abbott felt that it would do me good to see the world so that I may better understand the Flame and it's truth, and so here I am." Turning back to the High Flamekeeper "Since the destruction of Drakkenheim, Westemar has needed the Light and the truth of the Flame more than ever"
"It is a true tragedy that the people of Todefeld suffer still from the civil war. These are truly troubling times. As I am sure you know, the Silver Order have assembled a force and are planning a crusade to Drakkkenheim. When we were passing through Michael's Gate we saw the host gathering. An impressive force, they are probably already on the march as we speak, how do you think they will be received by the remaining nobles I wonder?" Looking around the cathedral at the other people around them going about their business "Or by the common folk? We have heard tales on the road, that the Flame is not as bright in Westemar."
Shrugging his shoulders "They march for Drakkenheim, so they may bypass Todefeld. Does anyone control the city? Is there any organized effort to retake it? The news we hear in Elyria is vague and full of exaggeration," He turns to Lando "I am sure M'Lord has questions as well, but if you will indulge me one more question. The name of a good inn. We require a roof over our heads and M'lord and Lady wish their privacy."
Flame be with you high flame keeper Irma. *bowing his head* I have a question which is the quickest way to get to Drakkenhiem? I fear the march of the Silver Order may not be received well by the commin folk. As a noble myself no movement is successful without the support of the people. We wish to get out in front to pave the way of the flame. We all know the flame can destroy but it also warms and lights the way.
deception check: 5+6 = 11 rolled with inspiration.
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Roman Silverstar
"St. Oliver's, brother" Noticing the monks look at Yvera. He leans in and whispers to the monk " My Lord married against his parents wishes. As penance they are on a pilgrimage to bring the light of the Flame to the people of Westamar. I'm too chronicle their deeds." Winking at the monk. He leans back and raises his arm "A round for the table!"
"Tell me my friend, what are you doing here. I never seen so many men assembled. How much grain must be needed to feed so many....."
Roman will try and figure out the rough amount of men who are marching. He will do this by talking more about logistics with the monks.
Lando and Roman
"Ah, Saint Oliver's! That's a fine scriptorium indeed. How is the good Abbot Perrian? You are less far from home than we, although I daresay you'll go farther. Westemar---it needs the Light." Brother Edbert chuckles. "You must be the cellarer. A great sacrifice to have to leave the contemplation of the Divine to concern yourself with such mundane things. But, someone has to do it." He gestures to Brother Maximus. "You were a soldier once, Maximus, what does it take to feed an army this size?"
Brother Maximus smiles. "The Church is paying for a steady stream of supply wagons. The Silver Order will feed its own, and not put the pressure on Westemar to feed a few hundred knights and all their retinue. There's been so many donations pouring in since the Divine Matriarch called for this crusade." He shakes his head. "I'm grateful to the Flame that I've left that life behind... but to test the fire in their hearts it is a great pilgrimage and penance for those fit for it." He nods respectfully to Lando.
Brother Edbert nods. "As for us, we're here on pilgrimage ourselves, as well as a bit of reconnaissance, come to see off the Silver Order. We've been keeping a log of all the shipments of delerium that have been intercepted at the port, and the numbers are concerning. We took this information to Lumen, but news of the muster was already out, and we came the rest of the way here. We've gathered a lot of information about delerium--Michael's Gate has been a hotbed of news. We have many blessings to bring back to Lucant's Vigil, and some new precautions that House Eden can take in dealing with these smugglers."
A young boy with a serving tray sees Roman's gesture and nods, disappearing into the alehouse. Notably, there's nothing so debauched as serving wenches in the alehouses here in Michael's Gate. He returns soon with a round of ales, setting out six drinks around the table.
Elena and Moksad
Moksad does indeed know of the Faith of the Sacred Flame. His elders tell tales of it as a consuming fire, a powerful religion that swept centuries ago across the continent, spreading like the light of a torch brought into a dark room, like a wildfire consuming a dark and twisted wood. No doubt, his elders said, that Tarna was an incredible woman with divine powers, sent on a holy mission, who freed the populace from the tyranny of the sorcerer-kings. But the fire burned out of control, the shrines and statues of the old gods were toppled, burned down, and stamped out. Now the followers of the old gods must worship in hiding, keeping their ways and traditions hidden, lest they too be burnt away to nothing. Moksad knows well that this is why his village lives deep in the Achtungwald and does not come out of it, for their ways would not be accepted in many places in Westemar.
Jarlen grunts in response. "The Sacred Flame isn't the sun. It's the Divine force that is the source of all things, transcending all the lights and goods of the world with a Light that can outshine all the darkness and evil of the world, the way not even the sun can, because it sets, and there is night. Your old pagan religions are superstition, looking for the Light, but haven't found it. No one in the world found it before the Archangels brought it to Saint Tarna. In a time of the worst darkness the world had seen, the Sacred Flame intervened and gave its followers the power to throw down the evil of the sorcerer-kings. Your old gods couldn't do that. We owe everything to the Flame, that it brought us out of heathen sacrifices and demon worship, out of greed and lust for power that brought misery and blood and oppression to the continent. Out of the slavery to magic."
"I bet he never saw a monster," Ben mumbles to himself.
Ive heard much of Delirium through the passing towns (deception check) how would we get our hands on some? A small amount would do, surely you devoted monks must know where its coming from. (Persuasion checks)
Deception 2+6=8
Persuasion 5+6= 11
Elena Firavanti
Elena is doubtful that Ben and Jarlen would not give in and risk a journey into Drakkenheim. She, of all people, knows that circumstances can force undesired decisions. She briefly tunes out their discussion with Moksad about the Sacred Flame. Elena believes in the same way the vast majority of Liberians believes, a very relaxed and almost perfunctory approach. She does frown mentally at the thought that the delerium could be responsible for the mutations and corruption. While she doesn’t imagine that her quest would end with her carrying a bunch of delerium on her back to Liberio, she finds handling it much more displeasing. Her frown becomes more visible at Ben’s and Jarlen’s dismissiveness towards her new companion, feeling that they, petty merchants from a stunted village in a decaying country, barely had any room to look down on anyone. She is fully prepared to believe Moksad’s story about the mutated dogs.
“If this crystal can poison fields and water and make men ill,” Elena says. “Who’s to say it could not also corrupt and mutate them?” All the more reason for her to abandon this foolish quest, she thinks for a brief second before quickly dismissing her thoughts.
Roman Silverstar
" The is Abbott is well, thank the Flame, in his wisdom he felt that I needed to see more of the world to understand the Flame, He said: "It is the sacrifice of the faithful that feeds the Flame". And so here I am." drinking his his ale as Lando asks after Delirium. " I had not realized that the this crystal was being trafficked so widely across the continent. M'Lord is just curious to know what it looks like should we encounter it, I hear that it is only found in Drakkenheim."
Looking up to the sky. "It grows late, and we still have to find lodgings for the night. We have an early start in the morning. Flame be with you brothers" Pulling out a few coins and putting them down "Another round for my fellow scribes, "The pen is mightier than the sword" He says with a wink .(An inside joke among scribes and clerks of the Scared Order.)
Persuasion: 1+6=7 use Inspiration to reroll: 16+6=22
MOKSAD
" hahaha, All is well, good sirs; it matters not to me that you believe my tales and hypothesis."
" I am happy to spend this wonderful time amongst the greenery with strangers sharing my thoughts and drawing breath."
"Perhaps time may be a better truth teller than myself."
Lando and Roman
The brothers all pick up their ale mugs and drink deeply and gratefully. "To the Flame!" They are all still standing.
Puzzlement crosses Brother Edbert's face at Lando's question, a kind of incredulous confusion, but his countenance relaxes with understanding at Roman's explanation. "Ah, I see. Yes, we're only just beginning to realize the unfortunate extent of its travel... that was our reason for coming here, and I don't doubt, influenced the decision of the Divine Matriarch to issue her command to the Silver Order. These remnants of chaotic magic are becoming... a worldwide threat. I can tell you what it looks like, m'lord," he nods to Lando. "It's a violet crystal that grows in geode clusters, and it reflects a kind of octarine light. There's no stone in this world that it resembles, and it glows at night, and it has a unique vibration, almost like a hum. But you do not want to touch it. Or be around it for long periods of time. It causes an uncurable kind of illness, a contamination, that when the load becomes too high cause madness and hideous mutations... unless you fancy yourself sporting an extra arm or eyeball or tentacle, m'lord, please don't think there is anything innocent or harmless about these stones. Certainly, Drakkenheim has the worst concentration of it, it comes from the meteor that hit the city. It has so poisoned the land that nothing will grow within a hundred miles of the city now. Truly, it is a calamity and a judgment on this world, and as Saint Tarna led us out of the darkness of the uncontrolled tyranny of the sorcerer-kings, now only the Sacred Flame will lead us out of the darkness of this magical contamination... it contaminates not only the body, but the mind and soul with lust for magical power and greed for the price it fetches. How debauched an age we live in, that it is spreading so far throughout the world with such eager customers."
"Of course... rest you well, Brother, and may the Flame guide and guard you on your journey. For us monks, common lodgings in one of the many monasteries in the city is quite sufficient, but your lord and his lady may wish finer accommodations. The hospitality of the Silver Order's fortress may be more to your liking; if you present yourselves to Griffonrest Tower, I am sure you will be well hosted." Brother Edbert smiles and raises his mug. "A toast to m'lord paladin and his lady on their pilgrimage!" All three monks drink deeply again. He chuckles. "The pen writes in ink of the ages while the writ of blood spilled is forgotten by the earth. May your chronicle adorn your lord's deeds with Divine inspiration!"
Elena and Moksad
"I suppose you've got a point there," Ben says to Elena. "What kills plants will surely kill men and beasts if at a slower pace... but if they really are turning into monsters, there's magic afoot, terrible magic." He shakes his head regretfully.
Jarlen's grunts at Moksad's comments. "Maybe it will, then. The larger the log, the slower the fire makes it all glow. You'll get your chance, like everyone will, to choose the Light. Some don't make the choice until the moment of death. But some get to make it sooner."
The evening sun sinks low in the sky ahead of the travelers, its light dimmed through the clouds and rain. "Where's our inn?" Ben asks. "Shouldn't we be coming to it soon?"
Lando and Roman
The high excitement of the city as the armies of the Silver Order prepare to depart on their long journey is very catching, and even though Lando, Yvara, and Roman's pilgrimage has a quite different motive and philosophy, the prospect of shared hardship and the same destination of Drakkenheim gets them quite a lot of attention, as long as they stay reasonably quiet about their interest in the Falling Fire. Saint Vicent's Day, about a week away, is, from what they hear, the planned departure date for the Silver Order. Good hospitality and a warm meal at one of the monasteries near the city square follows a ceremony in the Cathedral of Swords, packed to the brim with paladins and Flamekeepers in full regalia, all perspiring in the heat of the great brazier that illuminates the altar of the great, magnificent church.
None of the party has ever been out of Elyria before... it will be a different world that they enter, a world where the Flame burns far less bright and hot, a world of kingless chaos, rather than Divine order. It is, most succintly, a pilgrimage into the darkness in pursuit of what, they hope, will be a greater Light for all people.
They depart the next day, astride their steeds, to the blessings and farewells of all the monks, paladins, and passersby who take their leave, and they pass through the great walls of Michael's Gate... and out of Elyria.
Though the main road leads through Liberio, they pick a shortcut, a less well-traveled dirt road that cuts more directly north towards Westemar. Lando is quite confident that he will be able to deal with any bandits along the way, and though the camping is rough, something about the party's presence and drive keeps anyone from messing with them... or even coming into sight. It's rather a lonely trek, which they fill with songs and hymns to the Sacred Flame, stories told and dreams imagined of the dark lands of Westemar.
When they find the main road again, they join several merchant caravans traveling from Liberio, Caspia, and Elyria, and are waved through the imposing gates of Leuchten with the gate porter barely giving a glance to Roman's letter of introduction from his abbot. He sees the signet ring that Lando still wears---not knowing, of course, that he's been disinherited---and seems more than happy to let an Elyrian noble into Westemar. How will he feel when the marching ranks of the Silver Order seek entrance into the nation? Still, it's a rather surprising lack of attention to who is crossing the border of the walls, as if the baron stationed here cares little about who comes into Westemar now.
Used as they are to sunny plains, the sparkling Vita River, and majestic foothills topped by grand mountain ranges, the dark pine forest reaching high up above them, the dismal mists and showers, and the wet and mossy smelling wetlands south of the road are a plethora of new sights and sounds for the party. They gravitate to the almshouses and chapels of the Sacred Flame along the way, finding their accommodations quite reasonable. They pass through Schaffburg, and join the service at the Chapel of Saint Irene there, before heading on through to Todesfeld.
It's raining now, and the road is a quagmire of mud. The Elfmire River churns on its way west to the south of the road, flooding its banks every other day. Perhaps more than any other part of their journey which has stretched for many weeks now, are they looking forward to a brightly lit brazier in a warm and dry chapel. Todesfeld is ahead, and there the first large church in Westemar, according to their itinerary. Splashing through the endless marshlands, as evening draws near, they finally see it, on a plain of an enormous confluence of the two rivers joining. The Elfmire that they've been following runs into the larger Drann River here.
But something is terribly wrong with that river... and the ruined city that hunches over it, flooded around its ankles with water that the sight and smell of makes the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end, and sets their teeth on edge. The city is scattered about as if it were struck; torches and furnace flames, scaffolds of collieries, workshops and forges churn out smoke and flame but fail to dry its sodden bed. The wide bed of the river here is too wide---as if the city was built right in its path, inevitably to be drowned. As they travel a little closer they can see why---there was a dam that held back the river, but it is in ruins, and no one has repaired it. A quick look around shows at least a few recognizable landmarks of what should have been a city... and perhaps once was. A manor castle sits looking like it might lean over into the swamp at any moment. Newer construction of homes, workshops, and inns all raised up on stilts, and concrete poured into the foundations of the older. But on a prominent hill amidst the sprawl of the rotting downtown... rises the triumphant steeple of the Cathedral of Saint Rosalind. Alone does the church seem untouched in the brackish and threatening floodwaters.
Roman Silverstar
The journey from Elyria to Todesfeld has been eye opening experience to Roman. The first part of the adventure is new and exciting for Roman. He had only read about the outside world in his books, now seeing it for the first time leaves him speechless. While they never were never able to enter Liberio, one afternoon, on a high hill they watched the the sun set over the city of Liberio. The sighting sun's rays turned the cities canals into rivers of gold. The bright red roofs and white walls of it's homes shining in the dying rays. High above the ever shifting Enigma Ziggurat scattering the light into small prismatic sprays. Never would he forget it.
It was shortly after Leuchten that Roman saw the darker side of adventure. In some unnamed tavern in some unnamed village. Some ruffain overheard Roman and Yvera talking of the Falling Fire. The man pretended to be a fellow believer and got them to come out back, planning to rob them or worse. There was another man there. He grabbed Yvera, Roman tried to stop him, it was a strange feeling as the first man slipped his knife brtween Roman's rib.He fell to the ground, Yvera screamed and then Lando was there sword in hand. There was a flash of steel and blood and the first man stumbled back clutching his wrist. The two men took one look at the fearsome paladin and fled. Roman could only lie there helpless and watching.
All through the journey the dreams come. So many flashes and images of past, present and future? But always the meteor and it's descent to this world. It was a few weeks into the journey that one evening at the campfire Yvera asked about Roman's restless sleep. Tossing in a few log into the flames, Roman stared into the dancing flames for a moment and then told the pair of his dreams and visions, how they spoke to him and guided him. He told them them how his mother died giving birth to him and he was given to the abbey, how his mother was said to be touched by visions too. He speaks how he feels a flame awakening in him, it's power speaks to him, intrigues him.... and it scares him.
Roman's first thoughts as he looked on Todesfeld is that it stinks. He had read once that the city was a great center of industry, but was shocked to see it's current state. Ash and soot cover everything in a thin dust. Looking around Roman sees the Cathedral of St. Rosalind's high on a hill overlooking the city like a beacon. It was just like in his vision. Lando had asked him to check the abbey's library for any maps of Westemar. He had found one and had it rolled out on a table in front of them. He was tracing his finger along the route making notes, when his finger got to where the road forked to Todesfeld or Geldstadt. His finger moved as if on its own and followed the road up to Todesfeld. When his finger reached the city on the map the vision happened, he saw the Cathedral shinning high on it's hill, the grand pyre burning bright, a shadowy shape, and then a flap of wings and it was over,
Now as he sat astride looking up at St Rosalind he thought he heard a flap of wings again. Looking to Lando "Thank you M'lord for believing in me, I believe that the Flame is guiding us here for a purpose. Shall we see what it is" He nudges his horse forward into the flooded streets towards the Cathedral in the sky.
Although the joirney was steady it was not without its challenges. Lando had never seen much past his home country, taking in the sights, he was careful to keep his guard and not get too distracted on the road. With his beloved and rightly guided companion he knew he would through himself between them and any danger that may approach.
However, in and unnamed tavern, in an unnamed village, while Lando was getting a round for some new found believers of the falling fire. He turned his back think his party to be in good company while he brough mugs and food to the table. Turned around much to his surprise to see them all gone from their original places. *Thud* a commotion outside gets his attention, sprinting to the door nose filled with the smell or ale, roasting bread and now blood. He blade almost jumps from its sheath into his hands. Heart beating wildly bursting through the back door of the tavern. To see a glimpse of the scene. He beloved held with dagger to neck and his companion on the ground. Lando’s body moved on its own, cutting the wrist deeply of the man holding Yvara. Making eye contact with both men but not uttering a word as they released her. Lando’s body was physically hot with rage and blood lust as he stared the men down. They fled and he picked up Silverstar walking them back to their temporary accommodations.
This event plagued Lando later that night, blaming himself for the situation they found themselves in. In his prayers he for the first time, cursed those men, in the name of the falling fire, wish despair and death on them while Yvara tending to Silverstar’s wounds. Lando felt an awkward power from doing this but decides to keep this to himself for the time being, to not change the perception of himself.
As they journeyed closer to Todsfeld, Roman opens up to the loving pair about his visions and his family history. Lando listens in admiration and is truly blessed to have found another person with such a strong connection to the flame he thought. He knew his choice to have Silverstar along was the best option, and that he must be protected until the flame within him burns bright.
Approaching Todesfeld, the humidity was high, the ground was soft, Lando thought of the silver Order Marching this way, “they would surely have a hard time and be slowed down marching through here with plate armor.” As they continued forward, trusting Silverstar’s guidance they come upon a near ruined city of Todesfeld. It appears a nearby dam had broken and partially washed the city down stream. The only thing that remained untouched was the cathedral. A sign to Lando their path was righteous and they were heading the right way.
Responding to Silverstar: Absolutely, the path ahead will look worse than this, we must be the ones to champion the light of understanding to places such as this. May the wisdom of the falling fire rain down on the lords of these lands. Let us see what awaits us ahead. Follow your calling to the flame unhindered, Ill be by your side to deal with whatever stands in your way friend. Beloved! *Turning to Yvara* ready a small donation of 10 silver pieces and 5 gold. We must come resolute. Sure the Cathedral will appreciate our offering.
Roman Silverstar
Arriving at the Cathedral the trio hand their reins over to a stable hand and they enter through the great doors. There a few dozen supplicants inside seeking the guidance of the Flame. An elderly Flamekeeper tends to great pyre, while younger Flamekeepers and monks can be seen moving around at various duties. Roman walks down the aisle to the great pyre burning under the dome of the cathedral, it's flicking flames illuminating the fresco and murals depicting St Rosalind's miracles and acts of faith. A throng of people knee around the Flame whispering their prayers. Roman quickly takes his place among them whispering his own prayers for guidance. Taking his crystal amulet off he wraps it around his hands and touches to his forehead.
"By the Flame I ask for guidance." Looking into the heart of Flame he address as if talking to someone unseen " I have followed your guidance. I wish to seek the truth. The truth of my visions, the truth of the Falling Fire, the truth of the Flame, the truth of me." Touching his forehead again " Flame guide me, show me the path." (Cast Guidance on self)
As he finishes his prayers and stands someone passes him a book a hymns. The elderly Flamekeeper raises her hands and the group start singing a hymn to the Flame. Roman quickly joins in.
Performance with Guidance: 13+2= 15
Lando walks in with Roman and Yvara, he takes a look around. See the architecture, the books, the high walls, and the monks and flame keepers running about. It reminded him of the days training with the silver order, how they would go to their local cathedral to pray shortly at the end of each week to keep their spirits high.
Being here now brings lando an uneasy feeling, he turns to look at Yvara and she feels similarly. Her face scrunched up slightly as if she is disgusted. “Steady yourself my sweet, we don’t want to offend, stay silent and allow me to speak for you, we shan’t be here long” I make eye contact with the elderly flame keeper and shake my coin purse of donations at her gently. She eyes the purse and raises a book of hymns. As if she is saying, “first we sing, then Ill be with you”. She motions me towards the gathering monks and flame keepers, offers Silverstar a book and they all begin singing leaving room for more to join.
I look at Yvara and motion her to join in. “We have to keep cover and play nice” whispers Lando.
(Persuasion check) 16+6= 21
I go and begin singing the hymns Lando Knows.
Performance check 6+4=10
Lando and Roman
Yvara readies the donation and nods in obedience to her husband, though her gaze on the great brazier is filled with sadness and longing. Of course she has told her feelings to Lando before---though the Church worships the Sacred Flame, they do so in ignorance of the Flame's revelations, and so miss out on what they could achieve. How she hopes to bring the truth of the Sacred Flame's purpose to the world and share it with as many as she can. But that time will come. She carries the ten silver pieces and five gold pieces, and as the three enter the Cathedral she places them in the alms box by the door with a soft clink, and bows her head quietly underneath her grey pilgrim's hood as she stands behind her husband.
Lando and Roman sing boldly the hymns as the worshippers lift their voices in song and chant, glorifying the Sacred Flame and its truth, wisdom, and the beauty of its light that illuminates all creation. Yvara joins in with Lando on the hymns that she knows, even blending her voice in harmony at times.
The elderly High Flamekeeper, as the style of her white and gold vestments marks her to be, lifts a golden thurible, and with a long pair of tongs, takes a coal from the burning brazier to place inside of it. Plumes of smoke from the censer billow out as the heat touches the incense inside, and she circumambulates the brazier, swinging the thurible rhythmically as she incenses each of the singers and worshippers, the statues, mosaics, and paintings that decorate the walls of the cathedral, their inlaid gold catching the light of the flames and flickering with an otherworldly light.
"Act with Truth in all things, to do so is to Follow the Flame.
Act with Compassion in all things, to do so is to Keep the Flame.
Act with Righteousness in all things, to do so is to Spread the Flame."
She finishes her circle, and standing in front of the brazier, she bows deeply, incensing the continual flame that burns hotly in it. She begins to chant in a call and response common to the evening service. Lando, Yvara, and Roman all have these responses memorized, and sing them back with great fervor. The Flamekeeper bows once more and hands her thurible to an acolyte, and, the service finished, several of the evening suppliants begin to file quietly out of the church.
Her kindly old eyes turning then to rest on the three newcomers, the High Flamekeeper smiles warmly, and approaching, she says in a whisper as she leans forward, placing a hand on Roman's shoulder. "Dear brother, you sing like an angel! It is so good to have you here." And she turns and reaches a hand out to Lando and Yvara. "My dear ones, welcome to the Cathedral of Saint Rosalind. I am High Flamekeeper Irma. You look like you have traveled far. I would recognize that Elyrian style anywhere." She pats Lando's arm like an affectionate grandmother. "What brings you to Westemar?"
A few curious glances wander their way from the suppliants as they shuffle out, but the locals seem content, for now, to let Flamekeeper Irma handle greeting the travelers.
Roman Silverstar
"Flame be with you High Flamekeeper. Thank you for your kind words, "Great are Thy Faithfull" was always one of my favorite hymns." Bowing to the elderly lady "You have an excellent eye we are indeed pilgrims from Elyria, come to bring the truth of the Flame to the people" Gesturing around him at the cathedral "I convinced my companions to detour here." Sighing he looks arounds at the architecture of the cathedral. "I have read of it's beauty many times, and have always wanted to see it." Pausing to take in the building "Truly one of the great Cathedrals of the north."
Turning back to the High Flamekeeper "My apologizes your holiness, I forgot myself. I am Brother Roman of St. Oliver's Abbey in Elyria, it is an honor to meet you."
Elena and Moksad
The outskirts of the little village finally come into view with their twinkling lamps, and the inn here is indeed of an appreciable size. The hour is late due to the struggle through the mud, and the tired horses are very excited to go into the stables and gobble up their feed. True to her promise, Elena buys meals and a room for Ben and Jarlen, who thank her profusely before retiring. Elena offsets the cost of her and Moksad's bed and board a bit by playing her viol, but few travelers are up late on this weary road. Many of them are up early, though, and it seems that Ben and Jarlen have slept in, for there is no sign of them, and their horses are still in the stable when Elena goes to saddle Cassa up for the next day's journey.
And the two press on, through mist and rain. As the days crawl by, a good stretch of fine weather comes about, but not quite enough to dry out the road, and Moksad, on foot again, shows his endurance as a man of the woods, unused to muddy roads as he is, having more experience with well-foliaged game trails where roots and ferns underfoot hold the soil in suspension, and the only real quagmires one might find are on the banks of creeks.
The road curves near the Elfmire, and they see the sparkling center current of it dressing the green, algae-filled banks of the swamplands. The sun gradually begins to dry out the road. There's still no sign of Ben or Jarlen---perhaps they were able to find some spring work in the fields before continuing their trek.
And then the day comes, where the great rivers combine, the mighty Drann floods into the marsh of the Elfmire, and with it, an unnameable feeling of horror. First Moksad spies a fish with legs, and something like a snake with far too many tails. As evening falls and they approach the confluence that these strange sights and abominable smells have portented, they see the lights of the city of Todesfeld, with the sun setting behind it, crouched in the brackish water, buildings slumping over into the flood, the ruins of a crumbled dam that no one has bothered to repair overseeing the slow drowning of the city. Houses and taverns built up on stilts stretch themselves above the city, as making a futile attempt not to sink into the floodplains of the Drann. Even at this late hour, smoke trickles into the darkening sky from the glowing forges and the collieries clustered around the coal mines in the hills. Amidst the drowning slums of the downtown of the city rises a hill atop which perches a stone cathedral that looks relatively unscathed by the floods, the lonely light of its brazier flickering from inside through its stained glass windows.
They have arrived at Todesfeld... and it is a bustling and busy city, but so poisoned and dreary that the idea of spending the night here is revolting. But there is little other choice... they need rest, and short of climbing into the hills to camp to escape the treacherous water, some inn on stilts may be the best they can hope to find.
Lando and Roman
"Ah, yes, Saint Rosalind's is truly a gem we are lucky to shelter under the eaves of," the Flamekeeper says warmly. "Though unfortunately little enough can be said of its surroundings. A great curse is on Todesfeld, which the Flame just barely has held at bay all these years, and even this hallowed place has not remained unscathed. But the brazier still burns, and here I still am." She smiles as she grasps one of Roman's hands in both of hers. "It's so good to meet you, Brother Roman. I am High Flamekeeper Irma, keeper of Saint Rosalind's for the past fifty years... oh, how times have changed."
Roman Silverstar.
"Todesfeld is blessed to have had you guide them for so long and in their current time of need. I had not realized that the city was still so flooded." Turning he gestures to Lando and Yvera " Allow me to introduce you to Lord Lando Spire and his lady wife Yvera. They have heard the call of the Flame and have answered it. My own Abbott felt that it would do me good to see the world so that I may better understand the Flame and it's truth, and so here I am." Turning back to the High Flamekeeper "Since the destruction of Drakkenheim, Westemar has needed the Light and the truth of the Flame more than ever"
"It is a true tragedy that the people of Todefeld suffer still from the civil war. These are truly troubling times. As I am sure you know, the Silver Order have assembled a force and are planning a crusade to Drakkkenheim. When we were passing through Michael's Gate we saw the host gathering. An impressive force, they are probably already on the march as we speak, how do you think they will be received by the remaining nobles I wonder?" Looking around the cathedral at the other people around them going about their business "Or by the common folk? We have heard tales on the road, that the Flame is not as bright in Westemar."
Shrugging his shoulders "They march for Drakkenheim, so they may bypass Todefeld. Does anyone control the city? Is there any organized effort to retake it? The news we hear in Elyria is vague and full of exaggeration," He turns to Lando "I am sure M'Lord has questions as well, but if you will indulge me one more question. The name of a good inn. We require a roof over our heads and M'lord and Lady wish their privacy."
Deception roll : 5 + 6= 11
Flame be with you high flame keeper Irma. *bowing his head* I have a question which is the quickest way to get to Drakkenhiem? I fear the march of the Silver Order may not be received well by the commin folk. As a noble myself no movement is successful without the support of the people. We wish to get out in front to pave the way of the flame. We all know the flame can destroy but it also warms and lights the way.
deception check: 5+6 = 11 rolled with inspiration.