"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am. My name is Sir Geraint Lorn." The man bows to her. He's bundled far less heavily than the other two, wearing traveling clothes of the proper weight and make for winter in Skye, including an oilcloth cloak and hood. But underneath it, Sascha can see Elyrian chainmail, and she suspects the man is a knight of some sort. He gestures to the longship at the other dock. "Perhaps you missed this longship's arrival earlier. Aboard were raiders of the Lochlann clan that had been tearing up the coast of Westemar, and in the unfortunate ignorance of heathens... they seem to have collected something dangerous. I don't know if you've heard of delerium, ma'am, but I assure you, it isn't something you want disturbing the Isle here. They don't know any better, they're thinking it's some gift of their gods, or some great prize to make an offering. I'll tell you, ma'am, nothing good'll come of that, if we let them carry through with it. I'm proposing to my fellow passengers on the ship here that we take some action. It'll be a fight, no doubt, but I don't want to see happen to this place what's happening to Westemar." He shakes his head. "A true tragedy. If I can do something before any piece of delerium gets out of control here, a noble duty it will be."
As Sir Lorn speaks, the sailors gather up Brother Feock's luggage, and start taking it below deck, whistling as if they'd rather drown out the conversation they've been overhearing.
One of the men bundled in furs speaks up. "We're already here," he says. "I've heard enough stories. We might as well help." The other fur-clad man shakes his head, as if he'd rather not get involved.
The fire crackles before Angusas he stares, lost in thought. He sits, rummaging through his own mind, recalling all of his previous bouts and battles. Many sessions of training and combat, most against young kin aspiring for greatness like himself. Some outsiders, bringing unique styles of fighting to the shrine, and some wild beasts, retreating when their prey proves too exhaustive to hunt. But undead? Undead were the stuff of campfire tales and nightmares as far as Angus was aware. Beasts are savage, that is their nature of course, but they also fear for their lives and often flee when in danger. Man, too, is capable of savagery. This the Northfolk know well, it has been their way of life for centuries. But neither compared to what Angussaw as he stood, frozen.
"I..."
Within the flickering of the embers,Angus watches as his faithful hound is ripped apart. Timber sensesAngus'sdistress and licks his face, snapping him out of his trance.
"You saved my life. And the lives of my closest companions. I... won't forget this." he sputters out as Rivyre leaves.
"Funny, ain't it Timber?"Timber snuggles into Angus'slap, "Ya spend so long up on a mountain swingin' a sword at a tree stump and suddenly you can take on the world."
"I won't let you two get hurt any more. Once we make it to town we'll find the cousins and you'll go back with 'em. They'll take care of ya and the shrine in my stead. I'll be gone for a while, but I'll come back sooner or later, okay?" Angus says, rhetorically, to his animal companions.
Sascha was ashamed to admit that she hadn't considered the severity of this tiny shard of rock - She knew it was trouble, she had no desire to see what would come of it but she hadn't considered the idea that it might be on the magnitude of Drakkenheim. Of Westemaar. Her expression became dower at the Knight's words, and she nodded along, understanding the severity of what he has to say.
"My own family's holdings haven't faired well in Westemaar since that accursed rock darkened our skies. It does me no comfort to see it here. From what I saw they only had a pebble, but... Perhaps that's enough - if nothing else it's enough to inspire them to gather more on future raids. Sir, if you require my assistance in dealing with the issue I'll do what I can." The noblewoman pledged. She was much more resolved in protecting the isles of Skye than she was in her dubious duty to a faith she had only a lukewarm relationship with.
At this she approached Solis, stroking across the horse's back.
"Do you have a plan, Sir Lorn? I somehow doubt they'll be particularly receptive to giving up such a unique offering easily. Especially not at the word of a member of a competing faith."
"You can be sure they won't be, my Lady," Sir Lorn says. "Indeed, I do have a plan. They'll be taking it to Kromac's Clearing, behind the Great Hall up on the hill. The Druid carrying it is a man named Relbeoch, one of three of them that offer nightly sacrifices in that clearing. It's only the morning now, but I'd as soon not wait, and not just to accommodate our dear Captain's schedule. I'd gather his plan is to keep vigil with the stone until the offering is made tonight, but you see this mist? It's the unseason of Vague today, and there's no telling what will happen. There's a door to the fairy realm not far from Kromac's clearing, there's a diabolical chaos to those stones, and with Vague already unstabling the weave here, I think we'd be quite lucky not to see a catastrophe if we don't bring the light of the Sacred Flame to the protection of all the souls in Darryl from this accursed delerium."
Sir Lorn smiles, and snaps smartly to face the two fur-clad men, and the sailors. "What will it be, Eberhard? William? My good friends from Heilig. Will you help me in this noble quest? You've seen more terrifying things in the far north than a few gnomes and barrow wights, haven't you?"
One of the fur-clad men opens his mouth, his expression claiming that he's about to turn down the request, but his companion cuts him off. "It would be our honor, Sir Lorn. Eberhard, get your longbow. We've cooled our heels below the decks of a ship for a long time, we don't want to get too soft, now do we?" Eberhard sighs, and stomps off below deck. "A moment," says the other, presumably William, as he follows.
Sir Lorn turns again to Sascha and Brother Feock. "Now, my good Lady, as to my plan. I've been here on Skye for some months, taking inventory of the influence of fairy magic in this place. Like you, good Brother, it's time for me to return to Lumen, and how eager I am to be amongst those warm and well-lit halls, and praying in the grand cathedrals! But a paladin is never off duty."
The two sailors finish loading Brother Feock's bags below deck, and one of them returns, walking up to Sir Lorn, uncertainly. "Captain Birdstone says he'll wait two hours," he says. "He'd not keep you from your duty, and there's still one more chartered passenger we're waiting on. And, he says to tell you, if anyone who joins your cause should have need within two hours to depart Skye in a hurry... well, he's got room. 50 gold pieces per passenger to Lucant's Vigil, and a bit more if you want a stop off in Westemar. Good day to you, Sir Lorn. Brother?" The sailor turns to the monk.
"You get settled in your cabin, Brother," Sir Lorn says. "I'd not take a monk into a potential battle. Support us with your prayers, and that will be the best help there is!"
Brother Feock sighs. "I certainly will," he says. "I'll pray for your safety, and yours, Sascha, if you think this task suits you! Thank you again, my dear, for your steadfast service. It won't be forgotten." With a smile and a sign of blessing, Brother Feock follows the sailor down below deck.
Sir Lorn continues his discussion of his plan, and a couple of minutes later, Eberhard and William return, still in their furs, but armed and armored. Eberhard is in studded leather and carries a longbow and a shortsword, and William hefts a shield and a morningstar and sports a solid breastplate. They listen as Sir Lorn says, "I propose that we take the road up the east side of the hill and try to beat the Druid and his followers to the bridge. There's no other good place to cross the confluence of the rivers, and we can stand them down there. We will try first to convince them of the folly of their intention, but if we must take up arms to stop them and confiscate the stone, we will. From the bridge, the road travels north through the fir trees to Kromac's Clearing. We'll have a harder time if they get to the bridge before us, amongst those trees. Perhaps you can ride ahead, Sascha, and hold the bridge for us."
He reaches down and pulls a horn from his belt. "Take this, my Lady," he says, holding it out to Sascha. "If they have crossed the bridge already, or if you cannot hold them and they pass you, blow it! And we will come to your assistance as quick as we may!"
Vaelorn will bow to show his respect as they entered, and wait for the opportunity to respond to the ponderings of the queen "The gates today were sparking with energies, I've recorded one other time of such activity, fifteen years ago." he will pull out his journal, not stopping talking but looking through it all the same. "It almost looked like the energies we saw were trying to bypass the missing stones. I have no answers to why this happened today of all days, it seems a day as any other save for the Vague. It all stopped as quick as it started, but we felt this had to come to the council as soon as we had gathered ourselves." Then the monk seems to drift off in thought a little bit "The workings are still to much for us to work through, so much we've lost." he shakes his head to refocus back to the here and now
Thamno waits a moment after Vaelorn speaks, he searches his face to see if he has more to say before turning to the council. He makes a soft bow as he looks at all the council members and returns his eyes to the queen.
"A star shines upon the hour of our meeting, my lady. It has indeed been a long time, but the hour is demanding us to talk plainly. I am afraid it is like your daughter said; though I was struck by a deep sense of grief, not dread. Quite similar to the feeling one gets when visiting the dome, but with such a ferocity it brought me to my knees. After this wave passed we went outside and I communed with the trees, they said that a similar wave of energy passed by when our people first came through the gates, then again some time ago. I assume it was fifteen years ago like Vaelorn just said, in time with the meteor. And again now, it seems like. They talked of it like a kind of poisoning of their roots. Something unnatural or alien."
He shivers for a moment, as if cold all of a sudden and rubs his arms.
"It seems to me like the unseason of Vague has something to do with all of this; the fey reaching through and touching this world. But as to how that is tied to the gates I have not one idea."
Sascha nodded at Lorn's explanation of events. The magical talk of unseasons and 'unstabling the weave' escapes well over her head. It doesn't trouble her, however. the much more grounded reality of what must be done was easily understood. It fell to her to confront the Druid, explain their situation, and attempt to negotiate, and should that fail, confiscating the cursed stone by force was the next logical escalation.
At Feock's offer of prayer and safety, she found herself nodding, gratefully.
"Thank you, Brother. With any luck the Flame will see me through."
Once the Paladin's associates returned, Sascha listened once again to him. She was taking in the plan well enough, Beat the Druid and his associates to the bridge. Force a confrontation. Sascha accepted the horn, her instructions clear, she offered a quick but formal salute, in acknowledgement of the orders she had received. She had enjoyed her time on Skye, it had been exactly what she'd needed to respire, and now, whether her actions were understood by the locals or not, she felt it incumbent upon herself to protect Skye from the fate that had befallen Westemaar.
"What do you know of these peoples' beliefs? Personally I have little familiarity, but understanding what motivates their ideology is quite possibly going to make a difference here. I'd welcome any knowledge of this Kromac you wished to impart."She had heard the name before. Both during her time in Skye, and during her own historical readings, though neither had particularlyt helped her build much of an understanding beyond the idea that Kromac was in some way a warrior, and a predator.
Syletha sits a short distance from the fire, the tip of her tail twitching as she watches the belligerent shadows that loom around the crags of the base of the canyon. The heavy red sun glares down, competing thoroughly with the firelight and leaving little comfort in the flickering flames. It is not a restful place to spend the night, but Rivyre completes her meditation, and her watch, undisturbed. Angus, Beef, and Timber are also able to sleep, and though how long the time has passed here is frightfully uncertain... everyone wakes well-rested, and the campfire dies down in what seems like a normal amount of time.
The same heavy red sun hangs in a midnight blue sky in the fractitious landscape. Relieved that they were not disturbed while they rested, the party breaks camp and packs up their belongings, hitching Beef to the sled once more for the next leg of their journey.
"Alright Iago, time to roll the dice." From his hiding place Mozutters an arcane word, and an odd odor, the smell of a Baby's Diaper, wafts out. From his pack he pulls out his spare clothing and bedroll that he quickly bundles together to look like swaddled baby.
Leaning out from behind the tree he is hiding behind. He raises his voice. "The child is mine Huntsman, slink back to your Master and tell him you were bested by the Moz the Magnificent. Maybe he will take mercy on you." With an evil cackle he then turns and heads north into the forest, ducking behind a tree.
Both fairy hounds sniff the air and snap their attention around to the retreating Moz. The Huntsmanstops, uncertainly, and he also turns, narrowing his eyes at Moz's bundle as the motleyed goblin runs away into the trees.
But the goblin mounted on one of the hounds shouts out confidently, "Ey, don't you think I know the ruses of my own kind! This fraud doesn't have the babe!"
Alorinleaves the child in the tree hollow, and rushes 30 ft north-west, staying within the tree line but also keeping a distance from the strange shadow. He shoots the lucky (or unlucky) goblin, and shouts out, ”Are you so sure your dead friend is right? That the baby is still with me? That my goblin friend hasn’t gotten away with him? Well, I guess you could try to catch us and find out who has the child. If you can, that is.” He then marks one of the hounds, and ducks behind a large tree.
The goblinbarely has time to open his mouth to protest, argue, or bluster, before an arrow snaps out from the trees and soundly skewers him. He tumbles off the hound into the snow and lies still.
The fairy hound leaps away as the goblin topples off of its back, but it wastes no time or mourning for its heraldic passenger, instead putting its nose to the ground and beginning to sniff for the scent of the baby. Running back and forth, it turns its head in Moz's direction, and again in Alorin's, snuffing the air as it looks at the hollow trunk.
The Huntsmanfollows Alorin's retreat, and he looks back towards Moz, but then back towards Alorin. Fast as lightning he nocks an arrow and lets it fly towards Alorin. The arrow lands solidly in the tree trunk.
But the ominous shadowy mist is not now far from Alorin... and, with no other prey close by, it swirls towards him. Alorinflattens himself down and manages to avoid the terrible chill of the reaching fingers of shadow.
As the annoyingly observant goblin falls to Alorin's arrow, Mozhears Iagochuckle in his mind, "Snitches get stitches."Laughing back over their shared link "That they do, keep up the distraction, Iago,"Mozthinks back.
Flaring his wings Iago launches himself from the tree branch he was on, then the Imp yells out "Run Boss! The Meatsack and I will handle this dummy. Bring the child to the Master!"
Swooping down the Impshimmers into view as his barbed stinger strikes at the Hound that had been carrying the now fallen goblin. The vicious stinger impales the hound, which yelps shrilly, and while the wound itself seeps in an ugly manner, worse is the effect on the animal as its eyes roll back and saliva foams at its jaws. It staggers, turning in a circle as if moving away from something inside of itself.
El snaps at it, but misses, and the hound, staggering, slumps to the ground, unconscious.
"I've never walked the Fairy Roads before. Stories say that if you enter one of the doorways that you'll come back out 50 years older. Better than those ghouls though, I'm sure of it" Angus looks to Rivyre. "You'll have to lead the way."
Queen Genevieve drops her hands to Valanthe's shoulders, comfortingly, as she listens to Vaelorn and Thamno. "Fifteen years ago," she says, musingly, and nods when Thamno mentions the meteor. "I remember when the meteor passed over the Island. That was a turbulent time... all of Eladria wailed in grief. Of course we have found since then that it is delerium that the meteor brought to this world, the very same stones that used to power the gate. If the gate reacted to its presence when it passed through the sky, and you all felt such grief and despair, perhaps another event involving the delerium is occurring..."
One of the Council members speaks up, an older male elf in a green robe with long black hair and fair skin. "The unseason of Vague has occurred with some regularity throughout the years, although it is never predictable how long it lasts and when, or if, it occurs. I've seen it last six long and dreadful days, and I've seen the fog disappear the day after it appeared. It does tend to make time and place and the use of magic here... tenuous. But I cannot imagine this is solely responsible for the Gate's activity. Perhaps, though, it has exacerbated some confluent occurrence."
"There has been no trouble in the sky, Paelias," Queen Genevieve says, "nor would I expect another meteor. Has delerium come to our shores? I fear it was only a matter of time. Such a disruption of the Gate must mean it is no small incursion. Perhaps it would be prudent to inquire of the Amethyst Academy. They may be... experimenting." Her lips purse as she says this, the stately Queen clearly displeased as she speaks of the Academy. All of the elves here know, of course, that the Academy has a stronghold Observatory on the Isle of Skye, and no one except the Academy knows what they do there.
"We should send a delegation," another of the Council members says. This elf is even older, his silver hair streaked with grey (a strange combination), and his bright green eyes having a strangely feline or reptilian look to them. The robe he wears is dyed a deep blue. "Or perhaps I will go myself." He smiles.
"Thamno is correct, Siannodel," Paelias speaks again. "The unseason of Vague may have much to do with the strength of this reaction. We need not presume that the Academy has dangerously expanded its delerium activity here."
"I should like to visit them, all the same," Siannodel says, his bright green eyes flashing.
Queen Genevieve holds up a hand. "Let us hold any decisions about the Academy until we know more about what is happening. We should check the ports, and scry Alnorra's Island. Delerium could have come to our shores by some innocuous means."
The third Council member speaks. This one is female, with bark-brown hair and a softly pink robe. "Trade is always energetic at the port of Darryl. No one dares land on Alnorra's Isle anymore."
Queen Genevieve nods, and looks again to Vaelorn and Thamno. "I value of course the wisdom of our Scholar, and of the great trees which have been our companions for so many centuries. Something has disrupted the land, that is clear. I suspect delerium is the culprit, though we do not know the means of incursion. The tree's distress troubles me. We know that the Fey influence in Skye is at times unpredictable in its effects."She smiles gently. "Though I certainly value the advice of my Council, I would appreciate having yours as well, my old friends."
Sir Lorn returns Sascha's salute with an appreciative smile and a nod.
"My Lady, they are full-blooded heathens," he says. "A superstitious lot who must placate the demons they worship for rain for the crops and protection against curses, fairies, and undead. Each of the Old Gods demands a different sort of sacrifice and taboo by his followers, of whom indeed they have no shortage, but they all demand sacrifice. They build their altars in wild places, and Kromac's Clearing has such an altar, well-stained with blood. You are indeed correct about Kromac being a predator. His followers appease him by being as bloodthirsty and animalistic as they possibly can. Ah! I can imagine the demons laugh while they degrade mortals so." He shakes his head. "The glory of their raids against the innocent is their prime offering to Kromac, but this Druid appeared to me to be drunk with the magical intoxication of the crystal! No doubt he imagines that he will gain great favor by making an offering of it. Now, make haste, my Lady! And you, my comrades in arms! Let us not delay, for every second could cost great peril!"
Eberhard and William draw their weapons, and they prepare to follow Sir Lorn.
"I travelled it once when I first came through to Almorra as a child, & now only this second time w/ Syletha leading the way. She was quite adept at getting me to Giant's Lean coming out of that chasm behind us, & I trust her to safely lead us back to the entrance where I entered near Port of Darryl".
Rivyre looks to Syletha & telepathically communicates, "Would you be able to lead us through this road again like you lead me when we first arrived? I trust you & Angus his placing his trust in us." Rivyre gives her a few scritches, places her hand on her head & mutters a prayer, "Great divine flame, grant Syletha the senses to lead our new friends safely through the Fairy Roads".Guidance: 1
Syletha looks around & sniffs to find the best route. Survival: 17 +1= 18 She looks back to group & gives a confident "Meow" flying off leaning her head in a direction as directing us to follow her.
Rivyre looks to Angus, Timber, & Beef: "Follow Syletha, I think she has the trail set, but lets help keep watch while we travel. Don't want to be ambushed by ghouls again now do we?" Rivyre chuckles. Perception: 16+5= 21
Syletha trots off down the road, her feet padding silently, the tip of her tail twitching as she walks. The road certainly isn't difficult to follow, as the high canyon walls hem it in on every side. They wander in and out of the pale red light of the heavy sun, as the walls and peaks of the canyons intermittently throw shadows over their path. But then, ahead, the canyon splits into several rocky paths, the walls flattening out and the myriad paths curving and twisting like a labyrinth through the rock. Syletha stops before the main road breaks, her tail lashing in annoyance.
But then she picks a path and trots on. It's a bit of a struggle getting the sled around some of those narrow turns, but the party manages to slow continue their progress. Then, Syletha trots out from the rocky outcropping, and the canyon runs quickly down into a large, flat plain---and a frozen wasteland. Howling wind whirls all around, ruffling Syletha's fur with a freezing bite. The red sun has disappeared, and only a flat white sky soars above. Ahead of them, a wide, relentlessly straight road runs, paved with slabs of cut ice. Syletha lashes her tail again, and then trots into the howling wind along the flat, straight road of ice slabs. It looks like just the perfect road to travel at speed along, on a sled...
Rivyre walks up to Syletha, curiously looking around @ the unfamiliarity of this landscape..., quite different from her time she entered the Emerald Door from Darryl. Syletha's behavior was quite different running into the split paths, which causes Rivyre some concerns.
Telepathically so not worry Angus, Beef, & Timber, "Hold up girl..., are you sure this is right? This area doesn't look familiar to me or safe to cross this ice sheet. I'm worried Beef's might fall through the ice due to his weight if it's too thin in some spots. Are we close to an Emerald Door?"
Syletha stops as Rivyre speaks to her telepathically, and looks back, her tail twitching, ears cocked back impatiently. She pat-pats the ice slab paving the road with one paw, as if to say, this is solid! But she waits.
Sascha took no pleasure in being correct about Kromac. Far from it. She was, if anything, fearful. How would she reason with those who worship a monster, a predator. Speaking to them of the horrors she'd heard rumors of in Drakkenheim would do her no good. Becoming a greater monster would likely appeal to them. perhaps even the idea of filling Skye with horrible, predatory monsters would be seen as an offering to Kromac in some twisted way. She took a long ,deep breath steadying herself. She hadn't seen combat since she arrived here. She adjusted the rapier on her hip, tugged at the straps of her armor, and stroked at Solis' mane.
Clutching the bundle of clothes to his chest, Moz darts through the trees. He runs northwest, heading for the location of the Emerald Door. Stopping he holds up the bundle toward his face and in a loud voice says, "Don't worry, little one, you will enjoy my Master's court, it is filled with laughter and joy. Not like that dummy's master. He would probably turn you into one of his hounds."
"Speaking of hounds." With his free hand he points his Jester's stick at the last hound "Play dead, boy," and a sparking beam of force lances out from the the marrote at the Hound. He then slips back into the shadows of the snow clad pine trees. The hound jumps as the blast of energy hits it and yips, snapping at the air.
Alorin says, ”Sigh, if you don’t want to play dead, you can be dead!” He moves his mark to the last hound, pulls out his short sword and scimitar, runs up to it, and cuts it down. The hound gives a last whining yelp as it falls to the ground, and lies there still in a pool of its own blood.
He then tells the Huntsman, “You lose, Huntsman! Time to go back to your master!” and ducks behind a tree for cover.
The Huntsman scowls and snaps two arrows off at Alorin from his longbow. The first hits, landing a solid blow as Alorin cries out from the sudden wound, and it is a terrible wound that burns with an unnatural venom, more than just the piercing head of an arrow would cause. Gasping, he grasps at the shaft. Fortunately, the other arrow skates through the branches of the tree that Alorin hid behind, knocking a cloud of pine needles over Alorin.
The menacing shadow swirls through the trees and follows after Alorin, reaching its misty icy fingers towards him. Alorin nearly feels his blood freeze... but then, somehow his luck does not run out today, and he stuffs his glove between his teeth and wrenches out the arrow with a groan of pain, staggering out of reach of the shadow's cold.
The crafty Huntsman steps into the shadows with a chuckle... and reappears thirty feet to the north, where he runs after Moz.
Startled by the Huntsman sudden appearance, Moz telepathically yells at Iago, "Get up here, we are going back to plan H." Iago looks over at Alorin, "What about the Meatsack?" Moz shoots back telepathically, "Don't worry about Alorin, he is surprisingly capable for a human. Get over here!" Iago launches himself at full speed back to Moz. As he settles on Moz's shoulder his barded tail uncoils and hovers over the 'Baby'. "Now, now, we wouldn't want anything to happen to the little stink monster. Another step and nobody gets the prize."
Angry at seeing Alorin in danger, El shimmers into the pink mist and reappears to the north of the Shadow and bites it. El's teeth find the shadow, but the misty cold is barely solid enough to latch on it. She snaps and ravages at it before she turns to run. But the cold is in her mouth now and the misty shadow freezes her bones with terrible cold as it wraps icy tendrils around her neck. Staggering for a moment with the freezing pain, she shakes it off and runs between the snowy woods, far away from the terrible shadow, and after the maybe slightly less horrible Huntsman, moving forty feet towards him and leaping into a crouch behind a tree to stay out of his line of sight.
Angus steps out onto the ferociously straight ice road, and stomps on it, testing the feel. Looking carefully, he realizes--it actually is a road, not a waterway of any kind. There is solid ground beneath these ice slabs. In fact, the road seems to be paved with great slabs of ice, as if they were cut from a lake and brought here to pave the roadway like cobblestones, in what is quite possibly an ever-frozen realm, where there would never be a danger of them melting.
Syletha meows impatiently, thrashing her tail. She seems quite determined to lead them down this road.
Rivyre knows the peril of leaving the fairy roads... but it is conceivable they could turn back to the canyon passageways, instead of following this ice road, as well.
Sascha Von Syndowe
"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am. My name is Sir Geraint Lorn." The man bows to her. He's bundled far less heavily than the other two, wearing traveling clothes of the proper weight and make for winter in Skye, including an oilcloth cloak and hood. But underneath it, Sascha can see Elyrian chainmail, and she suspects the man is a knight of some sort. He gestures to the longship at the other dock. "Perhaps you missed this longship's arrival earlier. Aboard were raiders of the Lochlann clan that had been tearing up the coast of Westemar, and in the unfortunate ignorance of heathens... they seem to have collected something dangerous. I don't know if you've heard of delerium, ma'am, but I assure you, it isn't something you want disturbing the Isle here. They don't know any better, they're thinking it's some gift of their gods, or some great prize to make an offering. I'll tell you, ma'am, nothing good'll come of that, if we let them carry through with it. I'm proposing to my fellow passengers on the ship here that we take some action. It'll be a fight, no doubt, but I don't want to see happen to this place what's happening to Westemar." He shakes his head. "A true tragedy. If I can do something before any piece of delerium gets out of control here, a noble duty it will be."
As Sir Lorn speaks, the sailors gather up Brother Feock's luggage, and start taking it below deck, whistling as if they'd rather drown out the conversation they've been overhearing.
One of the men bundled in furs speaks up. "We're already here," he says. "I've heard enough stories. We might as well help." The other fur-clad man shakes his head, as if he'd rather not get involved.
The fire crackles before Angus as he stares, lost in thought. He sits, rummaging through his own mind, recalling all of his previous bouts and battles. Many sessions of training and combat, most against young kin aspiring for greatness like himself. Some outsiders, bringing unique styles of fighting to the shrine, and some wild beasts, retreating when their prey proves too exhaustive to hunt. But undead? Undead were the stuff of campfire tales and nightmares as far as Angus was aware. Beasts are savage, that is their nature of course, but they also fear for their lives and often flee when in danger. Man, too, is capable of savagery. This the Northfolk know well, it has been their way of life for centuries. But neither compared to what Angus saw as he stood, frozen.
"I..."
Within the flickering of the embers, Angus watches as his faithful hound is ripped apart. Timber senses Angus's distress and licks his face, snapping him out of his trance.
"You saved my life. And the lives of my closest companions. I... won't forget this." he sputters out as Rivyre leaves.
"Funny, ain't it Timber?" Timber snuggles into Angus's lap, "Ya spend so long up on a mountain swingin' a sword at a tree stump and suddenly you can take on the world."
"I won't let you two get hurt any more. Once we make it to town we'll find the cousins and you'll go back with 'em. They'll take care of ya and the shrine in my stead. I'll be gone for a while, but I'll come back sooner or later, okay?" Angus says, rhetorically, to his animal companions.
Sascha was ashamed to admit that she hadn't considered the severity of this tiny shard of rock - She knew it was trouble, she had no desire to see what would come of it but she hadn't considered the idea that it might be on the magnitude of Drakkenheim. Of Westemaar. Her expression became dower at the Knight's words, and she nodded along, understanding the severity of what he has to say.
"My own family's holdings haven't faired well in Westemaar since that accursed rock darkened our skies. It does me no comfort to see it here. From what I saw they only had a pebble, but... Perhaps that's enough - if nothing else it's enough to inspire them to gather more on future raids. Sir, if you require my assistance in dealing with the issue I'll do what I can." The noblewoman pledged. She was much more resolved in protecting the isles of Skye than she was in her dubious duty to a faith she had only a lukewarm relationship with.
At this she approached Solis, stroking across the horse's back.
"Do you have a plan, Sir Lorn? I somehow doubt they'll be particularly receptive to giving up such a unique offering easily. Especially not at the word of a member of a competing faith."
Sascha Von Syndowe
"You can be sure they won't be, my Lady," Sir Lorn says. "Indeed, I do have a plan. They'll be taking it to Kromac's Clearing, behind the Great Hall up on the hill. The Druid carrying it is a man named Relbeoch, one of three of them that offer nightly sacrifices in that clearing. It's only the morning now, but I'd as soon not wait, and not just to accommodate our dear Captain's schedule. I'd gather his plan is to keep vigil with the stone until the offering is made tonight, but you see this mist? It's the unseason of Vague today, and there's no telling what will happen. There's a door to the fairy realm not far from Kromac's clearing, there's a diabolical chaos to those stones, and with Vague already unstabling the weave here, I think we'd be quite lucky not to see a catastrophe if we don't bring the light of the Sacred Flame to the protection of all the souls in Darryl from this accursed delerium."
Sir Lorn smiles, and snaps smartly to face the two fur-clad men, and the sailors. "What will it be, Eberhard? William? My good friends from Heilig. Will you help me in this noble quest? You've seen more terrifying things in the far north than a few gnomes and barrow wights, haven't you?"
One of the fur-clad men opens his mouth, his expression claiming that he's about to turn down the request, but his companion cuts him off. "It would be our honor, Sir Lorn. Eberhard, get your longbow. We've cooled our heels below the decks of a ship for a long time, we don't want to get too soft, now do we?" Eberhard sighs, and stomps off below deck. "A moment," says the other, presumably William, as he follows.
Sir Lorn turns again to Sascha and Brother Feock. "Now, my good Lady, as to my plan. I've been here on Skye for some months, taking inventory of the influence of fairy magic in this place. Like you, good Brother, it's time for me to return to Lumen, and how eager I am to be amongst those warm and well-lit halls, and praying in the grand cathedrals! But a paladin is never off duty."
The two sailors finish loading Brother Feock's bags below deck, and one of them returns, walking up to Sir Lorn, uncertainly. "Captain Birdstone says he'll wait two hours," he says. "He'd not keep you from your duty, and there's still one more chartered passenger we're waiting on. And, he says to tell you, if anyone who joins your cause should have need within two hours to depart Skye in a hurry... well, he's got room. 50 gold pieces per passenger to Lucant's Vigil, and a bit more if you want a stop off in Westemar. Good day to you, Sir Lorn. Brother?" The sailor turns to the monk.
"You get settled in your cabin, Brother," Sir Lorn says. "I'd not take a monk into a potential battle. Support us with your prayers, and that will be the best help there is!"
Brother Feock sighs. "I certainly will," he says. "I'll pray for your safety, and yours, Sascha, if you think this task suits you! Thank you again, my dear, for your steadfast service. It won't be forgotten." With a smile and a sign of blessing, Brother Feock follows the sailor down below deck.
Sir Lorn continues his discussion of his plan, and a couple of minutes later, Eberhard and William return, still in their furs, but armed and armored. Eberhard is in studded leather and carries a longbow and a shortsword, and William hefts a shield and a morningstar and sports a solid breastplate. They listen as Sir Lorn says, "I propose that we take the road up the east side of the hill and try to beat the Druid and his followers to the bridge. There's no other good place to cross the confluence of the rivers, and we can stand them down there. We will try first to convince them of the folly of their intention, but if we must take up arms to stop them and confiscate the stone, we will. From the bridge, the road travels north through the fir trees to Kromac's Clearing. We'll have a harder time if they get to the bridge before us, amongst those trees. Perhaps you can ride ahead, Sascha, and hold the bridge for us."
He reaches down and pulls a horn from his belt. "Take this, my Lady," he says, holding it out to Sascha. "If they have crossed the bridge already, or if you cannot hold them and they pass you, blow it! And we will come to your assistance as quick as we may!"
Vaelorn will bow to show his respect as they entered, and wait for the opportunity to respond to the ponderings of the queen "The gates today were sparking with energies, I've recorded one other time of such activity, fifteen years ago." he will pull out his journal, not stopping talking but looking through it all the same. "It almost looked like the energies we saw were trying to bypass the missing stones. I have no answers to why this happened today of all days, it seems a day as any other save for the Vague. It all stopped as quick as it started, but we felt this had to come to the council as soon as we had gathered ourselves." Then the monk seems to drift off in thought a little bit "The workings are still to much for us to work through, so much we've lost." he shakes his head to refocus back to the here and now
Thamno waits a moment after Vaelorn speaks, he searches his face to see if he has more to say before turning to the council. He makes a soft bow as he looks at all the council members and returns his eyes to the queen.
"A star shines upon the hour of our meeting, my lady. It has indeed been a long time, but the hour is demanding us to talk plainly. I am afraid it is like your daughter said; though I was struck by a deep sense of grief, not dread. Quite similar to the feeling one gets when visiting the dome, but with such a ferocity it brought me to my knees. After this wave passed we went outside and I communed with the trees, they said that a similar wave of energy passed by when our people first came through the gates, then again some time ago. I assume it was fifteen years ago like Vaelorn just said, in time with the meteor. And again now, it seems like. They talked of it like a kind of poisoning of their roots. Something unnatural or alien."
He shivers for a moment, as if cold all of a sudden and rubs his arms.
"It seems to me like the unseason of Vague has something to do with all of this; the fey reaching through and touching this world. But as to how that is tied to the gates I have not one idea."
Sascha nodded at Lorn's explanation of events. The magical talk of unseasons and 'unstabling the weave' escapes well over her head. It doesn't trouble her, however. the much more grounded reality of what must be done was easily understood. It fell to her to confront the Druid, explain their situation, and attempt to negotiate, and should that fail, confiscating the cursed stone by force was the next logical escalation.
At Feock's offer of prayer and safety, she found herself nodding, gratefully.
"Thank you, Brother. With any luck the Flame will see me through."
Once the Paladin's associates returned, Sascha listened once again to him. She was taking in the plan well enough, Beat the Druid and his associates to the bridge. Force a confrontation. Sascha accepted the horn, her instructions clear, she offered a quick but formal salute, in acknowledgement of the orders she had received. She had enjoyed her time on Skye, it had been exactly what she'd needed to respire, and now, whether her actions were understood by the locals or not, she felt it incumbent upon herself to protect Skye from the fate that had befallen Westemaar.
"What do you know of these peoples' beliefs? Personally I have little familiarity, but understanding what motivates their ideology is quite possibly going to make a difference here. I'd welcome any knowledge of this Kromac you wished to impart." She had heard the name before. Both during her time in Skye, and during her own historical readings, though neither had particularlyt helped her build much of an understanding beyond the idea that Kromac was in some way a warrior, and a predator.
Angus Mac Lochlann and Rivyre Lightdove
Syletha sits a short distance from the fire, the tip of her tail twitching as she watches the belligerent shadows that loom around the crags of the base of the canyon. The heavy red sun glares down, competing thoroughly with the firelight and leaving little comfort in the flickering flames. It is not a restful place to spend the night, but Rivyre completes her meditation, and her watch, undisturbed. Angus, Beef, and Timber are also able to sleep, and though how long the time has passed here is frightfully uncertain... everyone wakes well-rested, and the campfire dies down in what seems like a normal amount of time.
The same heavy red sun hangs in a midnight blue sky in the fractitious landscape. Relieved that they were not disturbed while they rested, the party breaks camp and packs up their belongings, hitching Beef to the sled once more for the next leg of their journey.
Alorin Vonsin and Moz Crowthorn
The Hunt - Round 4
"Alright Iago, time to roll the dice." From his hiding place Moz utters an arcane word, and an odd odor, the smell of a Baby's Diaper, wafts out. From his pack he pulls out his spare clothing and bedroll that he quickly bundles together to look like swaddled baby.
Leaning out from behind the tree he is hiding behind. He raises his voice. "The child is mine Huntsman, slink back to your Master and tell him you were bested by the Moz the Magnificent. Maybe he will take mercy on you." With an evil cackle he then turns and heads north into the forest, ducking behind a tree.
Both fairy hounds sniff the air and snap their attention around to the retreating Moz. The Huntsman stops, uncertainly, and he also turns, narrowing his eyes at Moz's bundle as the motleyed goblin runs away into the trees.
But the goblin mounted on one of the hounds shouts out confidently, "Ey, don't you think I know the ruses of my own kind! This fraud doesn't have the babe!"
Alorin leaves the child in the tree hollow, and rushes 30 ft north-west, staying within the tree line but also keeping a distance from the strange shadow. He shoots the lucky (or unlucky) goblin, and shouts out, ”Are you so sure your dead friend is right? That the baby is still with me? That my goblin friend hasn’t gotten away with him? Well, I guess you could try to catch us and find out who has the child. If you can, that is.” He then marks one of the hounds, and ducks behind a large tree.
The goblin barely has time to open his mouth to protest, argue, or bluster, before an arrow snaps out from the trees and soundly skewers him. He tumbles off the hound into the snow and lies still.
The fairy hound leaps away as the goblin topples off of its back, but it wastes no time or mourning for its heraldic passenger, instead putting its nose to the ground and beginning to sniff for the scent of the baby. Running back and forth, it turns its head in Moz's direction, and again in Alorin's, snuffing the air as it looks at the hollow trunk.
The Huntsman follows Alorin's retreat, and he looks back towards Moz, but then back towards Alorin. Fast as lightning he nocks an arrow and lets it fly towards Alorin. The arrow lands solidly in the tree trunk.
But the ominous shadowy mist is not now far from Alorin... and, with no other prey close by, it swirls towards him. Alorin flattens himself down and manages to avoid the terrible chill of the reaching fingers of shadow.
As the annoyingly observant goblin falls to Alorin's arrow, Moz hears Iago chuckle in his mind, "Snitches get stitches." Laughing back over their shared link "That they do, keep up the distraction, Iago," Moz thinks back.
Flaring his wings Iago launches himself from the tree branch he was on, then the Imp yells out "Run Boss! The Meatsack and I will handle this dummy. Bring the child to the Master!"
Swooping down the Imp shimmers into view as his barbed stinger strikes at the Hound that had been carrying the now fallen goblin. The vicious stinger impales the hound, which yelps shrilly, and while the wound itself seeps in an ugly manner, worse is the effect on the animal as its eyes roll back and saliva foams at its jaws. It staggers, turning in a circle as if moving away from something inside of itself.
El snaps at it, but misses, and the hound, staggering, slumps to the ground, unconscious.
"I've never walked the Fairy Roads before. Stories say that if you enter one of the doorways that you'll come back out 50 years older. Better than those ghouls though, I'm sure of it" Angus looks to Rivyre.
"You'll have to lead the way."
Thamno, Vaelorn, and Valanthe
Queen Genevieve drops her hands to Valanthe's shoulders, comfortingly, as she listens to Vaelorn and Thamno. "Fifteen years ago," she says, musingly, and nods when Thamno mentions the meteor. "I remember when the meteor passed over the Island. That was a turbulent time... all of Eladria wailed in grief. Of course we have found since then that it is delerium that the meteor brought to this world, the very same stones that used to power the gate. If the gate reacted to its presence when it passed through the sky, and you all felt such grief and despair, perhaps another event involving the delerium is occurring..."
One of the Council members speaks up, an older male elf in a green robe with long black hair and fair skin. "The unseason of Vague has occurred with some regularity throughout the years, although it is never predictable how long it lasts and when, or if, it occurs. I've seen it last six long and dreadful days, and I've seen the fog disappear the day after it appeared. It does tend to make time and place and the use of magic here... tenuous. But I cannot imagine this is solely responsible for the Gate's activity. Perhaps, though, it has exacerbated some confluent occurrence."
"There has been no trouble in the sky, Paelias," Queen Genevieve says, "nor would I expect another meteor. Has delerium come to our shores? I fear it was only a matter of time. Such a disruption of the Gate must mean it is no small incursion. Perhaps it would be prudent to inquire of the Amethyst Academy. They may be... experimenting." Her lips purse as she says this, the stately Queen clearly displeased as she speaks of the Academy. All of the elves here know, of course, that the Academy has a stronghold Observatory on the Isle of Skye, and no one except the Academy knows what they do there.
"We should send a delegation," another of the Council members says. This elf is even older, his silver hair streaked with grey (a strange combination), and his bright green eyes having a strangely feline or reptilian look to them. The robe he wears is dyed a deep blue. "Or perhaps I will go myself." He smiles.
"Thamno is correct, Siannodel," Paelias speaks again. "The unseason of Vague may have much to do with the strength of this reaction. We need not presume that the Academy has dangerously expanded its delerium activity here."
"I should like to visit them, all the same," Siannodel says, his bright green eyes flashing.
Queen Genevieve holds up a hand. "Let us hold any decisions about the Academy until we know more about what is happening. We should check the ports, and scry Alnorra's Island. Delerium could have come to our shores by some innocuous means."
The third Council member speaks. This one is female, with bark-brown hair and a softly pink robe. "Trade is always energetic at the port of Darryl. No one dares land on Alnorra's Isle anymore."
Queen Genevieve nods, and looks again to Vaelorn and Thamno. "I value of course the wisdom of our Scholar, and of the great trees which have been our companions for so many centuries. Something has disrupted the land, that is clear. I suspect delerium is the culprit, though we do not know the means of incursion. The tree's distress troubles me. We know that the Fey influence in Skye is at times unpredictable in its effects." She smiles gently. "Though I certainly value the advice of my Council, I would appreciate having yours as well, my old friends."
Sascha Von Syndowe
Sir Lorn returns Sascha's salute with an appreciative smile and a nod.
"My Lady, they are full-blooded heathens," he says. "A superstitious lot who must placate the demons they worship for rain for the crops and protection against curses, fairies, and undead. Each of the Old Gods demands a different sort of sacrifice and taboo by his followers, of whom indeed they have no shortage, but they all demand sacrifice. They build their altars in wild places, and Kromac's Clearing has such an altar, well-stained with blood. You are indeed correct about Kromac being a predator. His followers appease him by being as bloodthirsty and animalistic as they possibly can. Ah! I can imagine the demons laugh while they degrade mortals so." He shakes his head. "The glory of their raids against the innocent is their prime offering to Kromac, but this Druid appeared to me to be drunk with the magical intoxication of the crystal! No doubt he imagines that he will gain great favor by making an offering of it. Now, make haste, my Lady! And you, my comrades in arms! Let us not delay, for every second could cost great peril!"
Eberhard and William draw their weapons, and they prepare to follow Sir Lorn.
"I travelled it once when I first came through to Almorra as a child, & now only this second time w/ Syletha leading the way. She was quite adept at getting me to Giant's Lean coming out of that chasm behind us, & I trust her to safely lead us back to the entrance where I entered near Port of Darryl".
Rivyre looks to Syletha & telepathically communicates, "Would you be able to lead us through this road again like you lead me when we first arrived? I trust you & Angus his placing his trust in us." Rivyre gives her a few scritches, places her hand on her head & mutters a prayer, "Great divine flame, grant Syletha the senses to lead our new friends safely through the Fairy Roads". Guidance: 1
Syletha looks around & sniffs to find the best route. Survival: 17 +1= 18
She looks back to group & gives a confident "Meow" flying off leaning her head in a direction as directing us to follow her.
Rivyre looks to Angus, Timber, & Beef: "Follow Syletha, I think she has the trail set, but lets help keep watch while we travel. Don't want to be ambushed by ghouls again now do we?" Rivyre chuckles. Perception: 16+5= 21
Angus Mac Lochlann and Rivyre Lightdove
Syletha trots off down the road, her feet padding silently, the tip of her tail twitching as she walks. The road certainly isn't difficult to follow, as the high canyon walls hem it in on every side. They wander in and out of the pale red light of the heavy sun, as the walls and peaks of the canyons intermittently throw shadows over their path. But then, ahead, the canyon splits into several rocky paths, the walls flattening out and the myriad paths curving and twisting like a labyrinth through the rock. Syletha stops before the main road breaks, her tail lashing in annoyance.
But then she picks a path and trots on. It's a bit of a struggle getting the sled around some of those narrow turns, but the party manages to slow continue their progress. Then, Syletha trots out from the rocky outcropping, and the canyon runs quickly down into a large, flat plain---and a frozen wasteland. Howling wind whirls all around, ruffling Syletha's fur with a freezing bite. The red sun has disappeared, and only a flat white sky soars above. Ahead of them, a wide, relentlessly straight road runs, paved with slabs of cut ice. Syletha lashes her tail again, and then trots into the howling wind along the flat, straight road of ice slabs. It looks like just the perfect road to travel at speed along, on a sled...
Rivyre walks up to Syletha, curiously looking around @ the unfamiliarity of this landscape..., quite different from her time she entered the Emerald Door from Darryl. Syletha's behavior was quite different running into the split paths, which causes Rivyre some concerns.
Telepathically so not worry Angus, Beef, & Timber, "Hold up girl..., are you sure this is right? This area doesn't look familiar to me or safe to cross this ice sheet. I'm worried Beef's might fall through the ice due to his weight if it's too thin in some spots. Are we close to an Emerald Door?"
Angus Mac Lochlann and Rivyre Lightdove
Syletha stops as Rivyre speaks to her telepathically, and looks back, her tail twitching, ears cocked back impatiently. She pat-pats the ice slab paving the road with one paw, as if to say, this is solid! But she waits.
Angus looks at the expectant feline and cautiously steps out onto the ice. He stands and gives the ice a couple of solid stomps to test its hold.
"Do we cross?"
Sascha took no pleasure in being correct about Kromac. Far from it. She was, if anything, fearful. How would she reason with those who worship a monster, a predator. Speaking to them of the horrors she'd heard rumors of in Drakkenheim would do her no good. Becoming a greater monster would likely appeal to them. perhaps even the idea of filling Skye with horrible, predatory monsters would be seen as an offering to Kromac in some twisted way. She took a long ,deep breath steadying herself. She hadn't seen combat since she arrived here. She adjusted the rapier on her hip, tugged at the straps of her armor, and stroked at Solis' mane.
"Let's be about it then."
Alorin Vonsin and Moz Crowthorn
The Hunt - Round 5
Clutching the bundle of clothes to his chest, Moz darts through the trees. He runs northwest, heading for the location of the Emerald Door. Stopping he holds up the bundle toward his face and in a loud voice says, "Don't worry, little one, you will enjoy my Master's court, it is filled with laughter and joy. Not like that dummy's master. He would probably turn you into one of his hounds."
"Speaking of hounds." With his free hand he points his Jester's stick at the last hound "Play dead, boy," and a sparking beam of force lances out from the the marrote at the Hound. He then slips back into the shadows of the snow clad pine trees. The hound jumps as the blast of energy hits it and yips, snapping at the air.
Alorin says, ”Sigh, if you don’t want to play dead, you can be dead!” He moves his mark to the last hound, pulls out his short sword and scimitar, runs up to it, and cuts it down. The hound gives a last whining yelp as it falls to the ground, and lies there still in a pool of its own blood.
He then tells the Huntsman, “You lose, Huntsman! Time to go back to your master!” and ducks behind a tree for cover.
The Huntsman scowls and snaps two arrows off at Alorin from his longbow. The first hits, landing a solid blow as Alorin cries out from the sudden wound, and it is a terrible wound that burns with an unnatural venom, more than just the piercing head of an arrow would cause. Gasping, he grasps at the shaft. Fortunately, the other arrow skates through the branches of the tree that Alorin hid behind, knocking a cloud of pine needles over Alorin.
The menacing shadow swirls through the trees and follows after Alorin, reaching its misty icy fingers towards him. Alorin nearly feels his blood freeze... but then, somehow his luck does not run out today, and he stuffs his glove between his teeth and wrenches out the arrow with a groan of pain, staggering out of reach of the shadow's cold.
The crafty Huntsman steps into the shadows with a chuckle... and reappears thirty feet to the north, where he runs after Moz.
Startled by the Huntsman sudden appearance, Moz telepathically yells at Iago, "Get up here, we are going back to plan H." Iago looks over at Alorin, "What about the Meatsack?" Moz shoots back telepathically, "Don't worry about Alorin, he is surprisingly capable for a human. Get over here!" Iago launches himself at full speed back to Moz. As he settles on Moz's shoulder his barded tail uncoils and hovers over the 'Baby'. "Now, now, we wouldn't want anything to happen to the little stink monster. Another step and nobody gets the prize."
Angry at seeing Alorin in danger, El shimmers into the pink mist and reappears to the north of the Shadow and bites it. El's teeth find the shadow, but the misty cold is barely solid enough to latch on it. She snaps and ravages at it before she turns to run. But the cold is in her mouth now and the misty shadow freezes her bones with terrible cold as it wraps icy tendrils around her neck. Staggering for a moment with the freezing pain, she shakes it off and runs between the snowy woods, far away from the terrible shadow, and after the maybe slightly less horrible Huntsman, moving forty feet towards him and leaping into a crouch behind a tree to stay out of his line of sight.
Angus Mac Lochlann and Rivyre Lightdove
Angus steps out onto the ferociously straight ice road, and stomps on it, testing the feel. Looking carefully, he realizes--it actually is a road, not a waterway of any kind. There is solid ground beneath these ice slabs. In fact, the road seems to be paved with great slabs of ice, as if they were cut from a lake and brought here to pave the roadway like cobblestones, in what is quite possibly an ever-frozen realm, where there would never be a danger of them melting.
Syletha meows impatiently, thrashing her tail. She seems quite determined to lead them down this road.
Rivyre knows the peril of leaving the fairy roads... but it is conceivable they could turn back to the canyon passageways, instead of following this ice road, as well.