tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604564143551312002024-03-05T13:24:18.758-05:00first edition adventuresAn old-school D&D campaign siteMatt Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18195243799773565579noreply@blogger.comBlogger272125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-44984310014513961272023-09-27T16:44:00.005-04:002023-09-27T17:12:21.607-04:00The Battle of Valas Fort<p>It all started when we received word that Valas Fort had been attacked and overrun by a band of Orcs. The very same type of monsters it was there to stop. Help from anywhere else would not be quick, so several from our village of Fyfe decided to venture north in an effort to run off the Orcs and prevent them from attacking our village.</p>
<p>A party of ten was gathered and we ventured forth early in the morning. We traveled for a day before making camp for the night. We set watches and an uneasy sleep was had. In the morning we broke camp, and were shortly within sight of the fort. We could see the front walls, and nothing appeared to be amiss.</p>
<p>We snuck towards an outbuilding on the front side of the fort. It would provide cover from anything that might be on the roof of the fort looking out. Ayan took the lead, being a reformed thief from abroad. He crept around to the doorway and peered inside. Indeed, there were Orcs, four to be precise. Ayan gestured to us, and we used the doorway as a makeshift choke point and fired our crossbows. They charged forth and slew Arthur, the town priest, before we were able to end the fight. We quickly dragged the bodies inside the building and took stock of it. There was nothing of use to us in here.</p>
<p>We once again stayed behind Ayan as he put his back against the outside wall of the fort. He peered inside and saw that there were 2 paths to be taken. Straight ahead was a large room of some sort. To the left was a short hallway. We opted to go left, and began navigating a twisty set of passages. As we were slowly navigating, one of the farmers heard some noises from behind us. A few of the men turned in time to see another group of Orcs fast approaching.</p>
<p>Without a moment to lose, Callum began reciting something archaic sounding, and waving his arms around. I did not know what he was doing, except that it was believed he was able to channel some sort of magic. Right as the Orcs struck and killed Monty, the same farmer that spotted them, the Orcs simply fell to the ground asleep. We were able to quickly dispatch them while they slumbered, and dragged their bodies out of the hallway. We moved forward and arrived in a room that appeared to be a room with prison cells. There were old bones present, and what appeared to be some weapons. We dragged the bodies into one of the cells and moved towards the end of the room, where a short hallway was present.</p>
<p>Ayan took the lead again, and mercifully there was nothing in the next room except some foodstuffs. There was a corner that was musty and appeared to have a bit of standing water, but we ignored it for the time being. The path forward was more twisty passageways. Ayan was able to navigate us forward slowly, always keeping an eye out for danger.</p>
<p>Eventually the passageway opened up to both the right and left. I saw Ayan get down on his belly and inch forward to get a better view of something. He inched backwards and told us that there was a hole in the ground with a gate overtop. There appeared to be three human figures down about ten feet, all alive. We quickly decided that we must free these humans. He also heard grunting and growling noises to the right. We formulated a plan to have two of our fighters stand with weapons ready and facing right. Then three of our men would move the grate. Once moved, two others would throw a rope down and hold it, so the trapped men could climb up.</p>
<p>We all quietly got into place, and a moment later realized our mistake. We all were facing right, but no one had scouted left, and there were two Orcs, waiting to ruin our plans. We also soon discovered that the noises to the right came from an Ogre. Things had gone from bad to worse. Those of us on the left turned to face the Orcs. We slew one immediately with our crossbows, but the other moved in to attack us. We were able to surround the Orc and kill him with numbers. Those behind us were not faring as well. The Ogre was a tough beast. By the time I saw it, it had several arrows and bolts sticking out of it. It took some time and made a lot of noise, but we were able to hit the Ogre enough to kill it. However, we were now down to five of the original ten party members. The Ogre took the life of Ethan, who was an unparalleled fighter from Fyfe.</p>
<p>With all of the threats eliminated, we quietly resumed the task of freeing the men below. We were able to remove the grate, and get all of the men out. The told us they were soldiers stationed at Valas Fort. They explained that a man wielding magic brought the Orcs down upon the fort. In addition, two men turned and joined him. These were men charged with defending this fort, and by extension our town and they switched sides. The idea made my blood boil. The soldiers described the layout of the fort and pledged to help us if only we could arm and armor them. We gave them armor, swords, and bows from our fallen comrades, and being at a dead end began to backtrack with the knowledge that by now the magic wielding man knew we were coming and would be prepared. Hopefully Callum would be able to best this man in a duel.</p>
<p>We quickly arrived back at the opening to the large room near the entrance. We stayed near the wall, and worked our way towards the only other door, suspecting that this was where the final encounter would take place. The passageway was narrow and it was decided that we would run through as quickly as possible. Callum would bring up the rear and dump a bag of ball bearings and a bag of caltrops behind us so that it would be difficult for us to be attacked from the rear. With the plan set and the best fighters at the front, we all took deep breaths before the men in front started running.</p>
<p>Before I knew what was happening, I and one of the soldiers we saved were tangled in some sort of sticky webbing. We were thrashing wildly, trying to cut it with our swords. I heard the men behind us helping, and heard Callum yell at one of them to help him. We were stuck for what felt like forever before a combination of sword cuts and fire freed us from the webbing. At almost the same time, we found that the enemies had run around the fort and were now behind us.</p>
<p>We stood face to face for a moment, our numbers even. However, our party was already wounded and our best fighters were nowhere to be found. The battle broke out shortly with arrows and bolts flying back and forth. A weird globe of darkness appeared around Callum, but it did not affect the rest of us. Eventually he stepped forward out of the darkness. Both Callum and the evil magic wielder began slinging spells, though there was no visible sign other than their gestures and incantations. Slowing, the battle seemed to tilt towards us, though we suffered more casualties. In the end, the magic wielding men came together for a battle of staffs, at which point Callum was able to slay the man. Quickly, the rest of his forces were slain and the day was ours.</p>
<p>When I surveyed the room I found that, of our original ten men, only myself, Callum, and Riley still stood. Riley was one of the soldiers saved from the makeshift prison. He walked with a heavy limp, and though I have no training in healing, I suspect he will have that limp for the rest of his life. On the bright side, he has a life in which to limp.</p>
<p>We searched the entire fort once again to be certain we had not missed anything. We decided to stay the night in the fort, and make for Fyfe in the morning. It was a quiet night, for we had seen more bloodshed in a day than most will in a lifetime. The next day we made our way back to the village and told our tale. We shared drinks with all and consoled those families that lost someone. Over the course of the next couple of weeks, groups were sent forth to collect the bodies and belongings of our fallen comrades so that they could be buried with a ceremony. I, myself, led one of the parties.</p>
<p>Not much later, I was approached by Mayor Logan and he told me that he would like to begin training me to take over for him. He is an older man, but I had never given thought to leading the entire town. Many people in town seemed to think it was a good idea, and I seemed to have much support, so I agreed.</p>
<p>It has been over a year since that fateful day. Callum and Riley were off shortly after our return. Neither had family in town, and neither seemed at ease. I officially put my sword down, or up in this particular case. I hung my sword on my office wall, visible to all as a reminder of why I was chosen. I look at it and remember the worst day of my life. It is still chipped and stained with the blood of Orcs.</p>
<p>So ends the tale of the battle of Valas Fort, as told by Cormac, Mayor of Fyfe.</p>Sean Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11223000108300310664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-15312787350574078892023-09-18T21:32:00.004-04:002023-09-23T10:51:19.540-04:00#51: Acceptance<p>As we stand on the ridge with the village of Tovt in the
distance, I mumble, “Things are going to change.” Without even sharing a language, there’s a
sense of mutual understanding and recognition of that fact. After a long moment of silence, Aros points
down a distant hill and issues a command, “<i>Lavek</i>,” and it becomes clear
that Aros wants me to leave the group.
I’m a little surprised—I can’t understand any conversation they might
have anyway. Vargmenni is also ordered
away, and once we are a few steps from the group she turns to explain.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjywypZ8YTeceXkUsiEJ2a8OZA4vwW5dAHOTngmtVO8YOYBqWjLC_Mk_g5OdHRARfA6Q2jtWNKrvff_yq7GImzvHntivVr6V_kS1xD0MKU7rO8y-stv2O3OLuwyAypWQ-FgfhOghQ0N4phOcjnbFiaW1TxQjUXDu5aGDAWvCbkDddnUYC_Qulepye2ZyolD/s365/cleanse.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="365" data-original-width="244" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjywypZ8YTeceXkUsiEJ2a8OZA4vwW5dAHOTngmtVO8YOYBqWjLC_Mk_g5OdHRARfA6Q2jtWNKrvff_yq7GImzvHntivVr6V_kS1xD0MKU7rO8y-stv2O3OLuwyAypWQ-FgfhOghQ0N4phOcjnbFiaW1TxQjUXDu5aGDAWvCbkDddnUYC_Qulepye2ZyolD/w134-h200/cleanse.JPG" width="134" /></a></div>“Aros wants you to wash the blood from you,” she says
quietly. Up ahead, we hear the trickle
of a stream. “Aros is going to tell the
tribe that the <i>heucuva</i> killed Frode, and that I slew the <i>heucuva</i>.” This is a surprise to me—Aros has always been
straightforward, and I expected a more honest approach. I’m also more than a little annoyed that
he would ask me to wash the blood from my face, beard and chest, having felt
that it was earned in the slaying of Frode.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Aros seeks to protect you,” she explains, and I am for a
moment humbled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without having an
acceptable defense for my desire to remain covered in Frode’s blood, I abide
her wishes and those of Aros.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do the
best that I can to wash myself, feeling cleansed in both body and soul.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Finally alone with Vargmenni after days of scrutiny from
Frode and the associated tension, I watch her in my peripheral vision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s obviously not native to Tovt, based on her hair color and skin tone, but I know very little else about her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I start to ask her questions, she shrugs them
off with a smirk and responds only, “Trust.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The meaning remains unclear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
head back to meet the others, who are waiting for us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seemingly satisfied with my best attempts to
remove evidence of Frode’s slaying from my skin and clothes, Aros nods and
gestures for all to head into Tovt.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Aros’ story spreads like wildfire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I search faces for
signs of anger or suspicion, any hostility that might be potentially dangerous,
but for the most part everyone seems more shocked and concerned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is, however, an identifiable sense of
command surrounding Aros.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Harka and Baln are loyal to him, and I have little fear that they will
betray his secret.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I seek out Gola—there
is an immediate instinct to slit her throat that I have to suppress, as she is
a definite threat to Aros, and by extension to me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recognize it as a remnant of my time with
Malar and push the instinct aside, trusting in Aros’ judgment of the woman.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Not wanting to draw attention to myself as the town copes
with the news and transition, I withdraw to my small fire and ring of rocks
that has been my home within Tovt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Vargmenni disappears into the populace, leaving me alone, and I can’t help
but feel disappointed that she would desert me now that we finally had a chance
to communicate openly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That disappointment
is unwarranted, however, as she approaches my fire just before nightfall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s hard to conceal my pleasure at her
arrival.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">She sits on the rock next to me, close enough to speak
privately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Gola will not speak of what happened.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I am more than a little shocked that she picked up on my
earlier instincts and feel ashamed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Was
I that obvious?” I ask.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“It was important that you know.” She explains no further, and we sit next to
one another in silence. Finally free to
speak, I’m overwhelmed by the possibility of conversations and questions I want
to ask. Frode’s history with the tribe and
the strange teeth, Vargmenni’s history and use of magic, the <i>heucuva</i> and Aros
and Tovt—so much so that I can’t decide how to proceed. </p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“What next?” I ask sheepishly, unable to form a more coherent
thought.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Tribe will convene at nightfall,” she responds.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Are you part of the tribe?” I ask, hoping to learn at
least a little more of her role in what is to come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Yes, and no,” is her answer, one that does little to
inform but is not surprising in the least.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She turns to look me in the eyes, something she has never done for more
than a fleeting moment before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“On the
night of Frode’s ritual,” she explains, struggling to find the words, “Frode slew Gola’s husband and took her for his own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He was... not good... to many people.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her
voice breaks as she speaks, revealing that she was perhaps a victim as well,
and my blood begins to boil at the thought of Frode touching Vargmenni.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I turn to stir the fire with a stick, masking the
awkwardness as we both look away from one another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I know nothing of this town or its rituals,”
I tell her, “but Frode deserved to die.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Under her breath, in a whisper, she replies, “Yes.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Several long moments of silence pass before she
continues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The stones harbor bad
magic, but they were not the only reason for Frode’s malevolence.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That Frode may have already been wicked in
some sense before the stones had not occurred to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I pat the pouch where the stones are hidden and say to
her solemnly, “No one will use them ever again.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“They should be destroyed,” she says, and I nod.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Magic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can
use magic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How?” I ask her. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who taught you?”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Somebody far, far away,” is her mysterious response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I... lost... all magic when the tribe found me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With study, I was able to relearn one spell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vargmenni... <i>fire hands</i>,” she says proudly while
gesturing as if casting the spell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Afterward, Frode feared me.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwqHDYG3JupLH5_D38rIkrY1Ls9wK5e_ILPCn9YefGedQePsDXSQCYk2B3XRZDSQx51ITz5NnwQImjbCK8IcnBffsPBdvf5ipUw5abVMqZzWvM3hk9HZeeEOe-z_GUliyy_J5ZcYjp7lc9BmE-CRVKY__y9oBGtYc8Ttdsvhex5cWgpOBFQY-QVSk7bhjU/s269/nobanion.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="189" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwqHDYG3JupLH5_D38rIkrY1Ls9wK5e_ILPCn9YefGedQePsDXSQCYk2B3XRZDSQx51ITz5NnwQImjbCK8IcnBffsPBdvf5ipUw5abVMqZzWvM3hk9HZeeEOe-z_GUliyy_J5ZcYjp7lc9BmE-CRVKY__y9oBGtYc8Ttdsvhex5cWgpOBFQY-QVSk7bhjU/w141-h200/nobanion.JPG" width="141" /></a></div>Desperate to share what has been burning in my mind since
we met, I gesture for Vargmenni to wait a moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grabbing a stick from the fire and pushing
one of the flatter rocks between us, I use the stick to sketch a crude lion
with a flowing mane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am a priest, and
this is my god, Nobabion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was also once
a strong magician, and I have also lost my magic.”<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">She hold her hands apart, gesturing to one and says, “Gods.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To her other hand, she says, “Magic.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She holds them apart,
illustrating her understanding of the difference between the two philosophies, divine and arcane.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I shake my head slowly and grasp both of her hands lightly,
bringing them together with my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I
am both.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqkrcGTaHUS3p5sJJGAvpF2GKzk17TBzGNs6hfPgsS0lrHMMfRozMJjhW6D4TVVrTQT8Ws04-ElMyatMXXSt6Ch6WZyPPfGix3ovn31D462uv6AuJDOYoLAIkc95sxm6SraPlJqT14aotgzhwojp47-uKOpB6zJaJFlBYvrQXxcbSPK3_X-C7DYK5bORZj/s612/vargmenni.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="408" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqkrcGTaHUS3p5sJJGAvpF2GKzk17TBzGNs6hfPgsS0lrHMMfRozMJjhW6D4TVVrTQT8Ws04-ElMyatMXXSt6Ch6WZyPPfGix3ovn31D462uv6AuJDOYoLAIkc95sxm6SraPlJqT14aotgzhwojp47-uKOpB6zJaJFlBYvrQXxcbSPK3_X-C7DYK5bORZj/w133-h200/vargmenni.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>She pushes my hands into my chest gently, her touch
lingering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Frode was a bad leader.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Zeb is a good person.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her meaning becomes clear—the quality of a
person is not defined by priesthood or magic use, but rather by who they are inside.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Commotion from the town as the folk begin to congregate
interrupts our moment, and she abruptly leaves the ring of stones to join the
villagers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sit alone,
observing and not wanting to impose myself, but I also can’t hide the fact that
I want nothing more than to be included.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Harka wanders into my view as if looking for me, and motions to me to join the throng.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The press of people as well as the presence of several cookfires
provides warmth against the chill night air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Food is passed back and forth
between townsfolk, and my neighbors gesture for me to indulge as items are
passed about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a welcome moment of comfort
in an otherwise miserable couple of days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Before long, however, the town turns to business and the apparent
leaders of the tribe start speaking rapidly about Aros’ story and the plan
forward.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">My worries about the town believing the story or
supporting Aros are quickly dispelled, however, as a chant of the name
“Aros!” burgeons, gaining strength as more of the townspeople join.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros bows his head humbly, addressing the
crowd authoritatively.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a short
time, he calls for me and Vargmenni to come forward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I obey, and when I glance at Vargmenni she avoids my gaze.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">He continues speaking to the tribe, and then, similar to
my first encounter with Frode, he asks me for my knife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I withdraw it slowly and hand it to him freely,
pommel first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He holds the blade to
Vargmenni’s forehead, her a mask of composure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He draws the knife across,
creating a thin line from which dark blood trickles, uttering a few quiet
words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He turns to me and does the same,
spilling hot blood from my forehead onto my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He points to me, calls me by name again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can only discern a few words, among
them Tovt, the name of the town, and a new word, “<i>jama</i>.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">He points to Vargmenni and says something similar,
including another new word “<i>galdraka</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatever Aros is saying, looking at the crowd I can see that they are
pleased.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a moment of panic,
fearful that we may have just been married against our will.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Vargmenni turns to me to explain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Vargmenni, <i>galdraka</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Village sorceress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Zeb, <i>jama</i>. Tribe shaman.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An immediate sense of pride, accomplishment,
and acceptance washes over me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is
an honor that I could not have anticipated.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFv1F4fENwmoDUi_AgNhi4gUap905oi-yqQNcc-RFTCBaC6dymuWg1Avs9pcNtVUVuoT347ndzfXt5Nlqy7I8EmyJ8lxPVW1ruLuh8ygU_w2DIaSlbM6xs57dn5qWjdbnE1pc0yJfHB6LEQsNe4NY29Uttv_tH_kDh8IW2X_tNtk_LMvZMEYOxHax61clo/s407/drums.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="209" data-original-width="407" height="103" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFv1F4fENwmoDUi_AgNhi4gUap905oi-yqQNcc-RFTCBaC6dymuWg1Avs9pcNtVUVuoT347ndzfXt5Nlqy7I8EmyJ8lxPVW1ruLuh8ygU_w2DIaSlbM6xs57dn5qWjdbnE1pc0yJfHB6LEQsNe4NY29Uttv_tH_kDh8IW2X_tNtk_LMvZMEYOxHax61clo/w200-h103/drums.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">A few villagers approach to clasp arms and welcome me to
the tribe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tensions had been building
under Frode, and the village seems to have a newfound sense of stability and
relief now that they have a new leader, sorceress, and shaman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tribespeople begin pulling out gourds and
clay jugs filled with liquid that are then passed around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One is given to me, and despite my
hesitations about my new position and path forward, I decide to relax a little
and join the celebration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I take a long
pull, the liquid revealed to be a potent firewine that burns my throat—nearby,
drums begin to play and townsfolk begin to dance.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">His speech finished, Aros approaches with a smile on his
face, laying a heavy arm across my shoulders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He points to Vargmenni, then points across the crowd to Gola.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gives me an odd look, seemingly offering
my choice of the two women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t tell
how serious he is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately, a jug of
firewine is pressed between us and I take a long pull, passing it to Aros to
avoid answering his question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
celebration is momentarily fractured by a fleeting thought of Bonie, what was
lost, what was left behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros does
not notice and staggers away.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The townsfolk are quick to return me to the celebration,
and I’m distracted by the prospect of more drink and dancing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pushing memories of Bonie deep within, I
relent to the wishes of the townsfolk and dance until I can barely stand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I retreat to the periphery and find a stool,
content to watch as the town celebrates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In a private moment later, Vargmenni finds me sitting alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her demeanor is serious.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“The dwarves are a threat to the tribe, and Aros means to
deal with them.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The statement is matter
of fact, not taking sides, simply conveying the information.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All other thoughts are pushed aside.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“I have been to a great underground dwarven city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have had dwarven friends, they have fought
by my side, and I have watched them die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Why are the dwarves a threat to Aros, to Tovt?”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Many peoples vie for this land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the land that brings food and nourishment
to the tribe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both Frode and Aros agree,
the tribe’s lands must be protected.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Is there not enough to share?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ask.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">She shakes her head. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Winter here is harsh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Food is scarce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not all can survive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode chose to attack recklessly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros will not.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“It is our job to guide Aros and to protect the tribe,” I
say solemnly.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Yes,” she responds.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Long moments pass and we sit together in silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I break it with a question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Does the tribe have have a name?”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“<i>Reghedmen,” </i>she says, and I shake my head, not
comprehending.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The Winter Wolf,” she explains,
and a chill runs down my spine.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0EBSa6zHjuY2byu_DAzAIULF-wNTuRQUCmgUppValTsTuZEwONUt2PerzWdMJDGO5wuEQhmlYd1ntlMfMDPF9asbyUAujkGXz9ALrkkewtmzh35tZoU0eVc2hFfR6uZUZA5fEZxk2w2KfFHnDWgginGMCKPvtPbfPXy82Ww3c0fWj4mqRFf_Ubxnc7T5W/s174/malar.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="174" data-original-width="140" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0EBSa6zHjuY2byu_DAzAIULF-wNTuRQUCmgUppValTsTuZEwONUt2PerzWdMJDGO5wuEQhmlYd1ntlMfMDPF9asbyUAujkGXz9ALrkkewtmzh35tZoU0eVc2hFfR6uZUZA5fEZxk2w2KfFHnDWgginGMCKPvtPbfPXy82Ww3c0fWj4mqRFf_Ubxnc7T5W/w161-h200/malar.JPG" width="161" /></a></div>It’s clear that I’m uncomfortable, and I can see that she
is confused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Using a bit of broken
stone, I carve the symbol of Malar in the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you recognize this symbol?” I ask.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">She shrugs, asking, “Beast?” but shows no real recognition, and for that I am thankful.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Bad magic,” I say coldly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If you see men with this symbol, run.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In an instant, all thoughts of continuing the
celebration are extinguished.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Zeb and Vargmenni part of tribe... yes, and no.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I understand the context of the
statement—these are not our people, and we are not theirs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are outsiders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is another awkward silence, perhaps an
invitation, but the chaos of my mind can make little sense of it.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“I need sleep,” I say quietly, leaving Vargmenni to
return to my small fire and ring of stones alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I walk away, my heart pounds with unspoken
words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>I don’t want to be alone
tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stay with me.</i></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i>* * *</i></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">When morning comes, I busy myself about the task of
gathering supplies to build a tent. The
townsfolk are willing to help, and I use the
few words that I have gathered and begin to put names to faces, building relationships. The physical toil of construction helps clear
my mind from the depth of emotions the previous night.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Early in the afternoon, after the tent has been
completed, Vargmenni comes to visit my new abode.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ignoring our conversation from the previous
night, I ask her about magic, curious where she came about the materials for the
roll of vellum on which is written her prized spell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She comprehends my description of a spellbook,
explaining that she also lost her “writings.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she came to the tribe, she knew only one spell, but she never deployed it, instead keeping the magic etched in her mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Even through suffering great pain,” she says, struggling to find the words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtvjU-EcIi_UcDrHil9iCQhun-rK9GDNebMfBfzm78d04ubuakEB1fTWD9rdJUZ3RLlGYe0kO06HtfMPDXjEMsSsmRyqduaZhqV_qSIGT4EPLirIfFAhNI1WIz5WYBscsCVwIIcDKNHjukpm4hWmZz3pQSjbqzw3GOVCDVffI2DVGNJB27DqGQ2H4TpwqL/s482/scroll.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="482" data-original-width="472" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtvjU-EcIi_UcDrHil9iCQhun-rK9GDNebMfBfzm78d04ubuakEB1fTWD9rdJUZ3RLlGYe0kO06HtfMPDXjEMsSsmRyqduaZhqV_qSIGT4EPLirIfFAhNI1WIz5WYBscsCVwIIcDKNHjukpm4hWmZz3pQSjbqzw3GOVCDVffI2DVGNJB27DqGQ2H4TpwqL/w196-h200/scroll.JPG" width="196" /></a></div>She had observed Frode’s methods over time—bones and
other non-conventional means of recording magic, for it seems that he too was
an arcane wielder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She secured the
roll of vellum, crafted from the skin of a rothé.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the townspeople helped her treat the hide,
making it suitable for writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the
course of many weeks, she was able to leverage the magic she still possessed in her mind
to transcribe the spell again, that she might use it freely.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">One night, Frode came to her tent with malicious intent
and she brought her “fire hands” to bear, burning him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He never touched me again.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time the words come more easily, and my anger
at Frode is superseded by pride for Vargmenni.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“To recreate what’s in my mind,” I say pointing to my
head, “I will need many, many scrolls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Is it possible to make them?”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“It would take time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In winter, resources are scarce.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Reminded by Aros’ plans to confront the dwarves, my mind
begins to race, searching for options. With the coming of winter, time is my new enemy.<o:p></o:p></p>Jason Gunderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11206196654542839692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-74427982392585745672023-05-01T14:52:00.006-04:002023-05-01T16:12:55.171-04:00#50: Confrontation<p>The camp is astir with restless energy. Actual sleep is fitful and does not come
easily—Nobanion’s reproach, whether a hallucination or dreamlike vision quest,
still stings and I have to shake my head to regain focus. “You brought it on yourself, fool,” I mumble
to myself quietly. Though it felt like
hours, only a few minutes have passed since settling in for the night.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">When I look up, I can see Vargmenni staring at me intently,
likely disturbed by my disquiet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode
is away from camp on a patrol of the area, and she seizes the opportunity to
draw close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Using a rapid combination of
gestures and shared words, she tries to communicate something that eludes my
understanding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frustrated, she holds up a
hand with three fingers and points to the cave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Vargmenni, Zeb, Aros... escape?” I ask tentatively, not sure I comprehend.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmTGliZvuMYMRASOqWIBhSjBq8y8yF0AeOcEIymsTmox1DfZ0lRQNQtZiylSlWw0XPXxIcpXBHTUYZe9blOwLAvmjrA9oVTERJbM9jl8nIc9eC_oy39Pmg3nYviH-c7eJUAXQjJZ9sVRt_lyovHw1zbrkB5DvKUrc5Zp4hXQQsxlEHN8xFUfvF7-p8bA/s401/dwarves.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="382" data-original-width="401" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmTGliZvuMYMRASOqWIBhSjBq8y8yF0AeOcEIymsTmox1DfZ0lRQNQtZiylSlWw0XPXxIcpXBHTUYZe9blOwLAvmjrA9oVTERJbM9jl8nIc9eC_oy39Pmg3nYviH-c7eJUAXQjJZ9sVRt_lyovHw1zbrkB5DvKUrc5Zp4hXQQsxlEHN8xFUfvF7-p8bA/w200-h191/dwarves.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>She shakes her head vigorously and gestures again, indicating that it wasn’t an invitation to escape—she was instead trying to
explain that there were three “small men” that I assume from the context to be
dwarves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her next statements are too
broken and come too quickly for me to fully understand, but my best guess is
that she’s trying to indicate that there are many dwarves in the hills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Frode fight... <i>all</i>,” she says gravely.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I repeat her gestures and offer the word “dwarf,” hoping
she’ll understand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She pieces together
my meaning and I follow by stating “dwarf... Zeb’s friend.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is clearly as frustrated with her limited
ability to communicate as I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
gestures again to the hills and the many dwarves that inhabit them, then
points to Aros and the other warriors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They
will die,” she says gravely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode’s
warriors are no match for the dwarves of these nameless hills.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Zeb, Vargmenni escape?” I ask, gesturing to the cave.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">She shakes her head, pointing instead out into the hills.
She grabs my shoulder, pulling me close to speak something quietly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Zeb, Vargmenni escape... no return.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She rises suddenly, turning away from me and
begins walking slowly back to the other side of camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the distance, I can see Frode returning,
which explains her sudden departure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
other warriors seem disinterested in our conversation, though I can see Gola
watching us from a nearby fire—my doubts about her remain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not understand her relationship to
Frode, but know that it would not end well if Gola were to become involved in
any way.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Frode stalks into the middle of camp and orders Baln to
tend to Harka, issuing a single, harsh command.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><i>“Okt!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Despite Baln’s
help, however, Harka seems in no condition to walk, let alone fight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I contemplate attempting to evaluate Harka’s
wounds and perhaps heal them, but the desire to gauge Frode’s reaction to the
warrior’s current disability stays my hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIv6tTnNQ0JQeJXp4SW0iw-Hr9fb5aMijzgNXaiKEbUheD9YCBv2OJDEKEcr5wXPVAmCokiG2dFNbOe4AJDG9LsHawOxBs9Oqsbrrr4k9P2yuvhuJ26WCK-81zDx9ZsKBu4NfT4-iErwMDYuIJjaDMeErbV8YVajLa8eM2xWDtHYqVS1xAH18w7tISOw/s261/aros.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="261" data-original-width="205" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIv6tTnNQ0JQeJXp4SW0iw-Hr9fb5aMijzgNXaiKEbUheD9YCBv2OJDEKEcr5wXPVAmCokiG2dFNbOe4AJDG9LsHawOxBs9Oqsbrrr4k9P2yuvhuJ26WCK-81zDx9ZsKBu4NfT4-iErwMDYuIJjaDMeErbV8YVajLa8eM2xWDtHYqVS1xAH18w7tISOw/w157-h200/aros.JPG" width="157" /></a></div>Before the situation can escalate, Aros distracts Frode, pointing at tracks on the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Though I am not able to understand their words, it seems likely that
they are trying to ascertain how many dwarves there may have been and where
they may have escaped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros’
composure in this situation stands out, the warrior addressing Frode more like
an equal than a superior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Signs from the
camp are clear that it was a large group of dwarves—a dozen, perhaps a score in
total, mingled with tracks from a small horse or pony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Frode’s disinterest in the actual cave opening seems off
to me, especially considering that the defenders may have fled into it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grab a burning brand from one of the fires
and approach the cave entrance, more curious to see if Frode will stop me than
actually finding anything within.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I
turn my back on the camp, I get the feeling that his eyes are on me the entire
time, though he doesn’t call for me to stop.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The cave opening is tight for someone man-sized—Aros
would certainly have to bend over, I would have to stoop at least a little.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing can be heard from within, nor are
there any scents or anything else that seems out of place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spare a glance back at Frode and I can see
that I have his full attention, and somehow that satisfies me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need it to be clear to this man that I am
not a prisoner or subject to his whims.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs5z0Q0_5hiUao1iu61Vvnf5m_PeJznbpr-EwOku23CYx5RDjzW67t9Bf0Jl9XYkP8BTDyPESm6GGXPTUM8yoH1RUp1JriAtwuxFLw3fQaSwQ3uqakmVyHFQjxGDF-y9MmnEkNMConuKyBLUVVvjnuQQO9eaPASw9Tar7YgPQ759jpwcJJjNPld0Patg/s605/cave.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="605" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs5z0Q0_5hiUao1iu61Vvnf5m_PeJznbpr-EwOku23CYx5RDjzW67t9Bf0Jl9XYkP8BTDyPESm6GGXPTUM8yoH1RUp1JriAtwuxFLw3fQaSwQ3uqakmVyHFQjxGDF-y9MmnEkNMConuKyBLUVVvjnuQQO9eaPASw9Tar7YgPQ759jpwcJJjNPld0Patg/w320-h138/cave.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>I feel a prickle in the back of my skull which causes the
hairs to raise on my neck, not dissimilar to some of my interactions with magic
before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sensation is fleeting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it is indeed spellcraft, it seems that I have
shrugged off any effect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turn suddenly
to glare at Frode, trying to see if it was he that was attempting to ensorcell
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no indication that he had
actively cast a spell, but I do see Frode take a single, small step back as if
surprised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I smile at the shaman
menacingly.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The moment is interrupted by Vargmenni, who calls out to
Frode from across the camp—I cannot discern the meaning of her words, but there is a surprising amount of force behind whatever it is she is trying to
communicate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode replies curtly,
ending the exchange, whatever the subject matter may have been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Satisfied with what I have learned thus far
both about the cave and Frode, I return to the fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a palpable sense of tension, a
feeling that everyone is waiting for something to happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode is the only one who seems above it
all, oblivious.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Are we in danger?” I ask Aros suddenly, knowing he will
not understand. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He reacts predictably,
arching a brow in curiosity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I call out
to Vargmenni, putting more force behind my words than usual, more a command
than a request.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Vargmenni.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Danger?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How do you say?”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">She blurts out the word <i>klevta</i> in response<i> </i>before
very quickly turning away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ignore her,
and any reaction Frode may have to my questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Aros, Zeb, <i>klevta</i>?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I try to use inflection to indicate that it’s
a question.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Aros shrugs and does not answer, instead turning to
Frode, to whom he repeats my question. Frode
issues an exaggerated laugh in response, gesturing around to the hills,
repeating the word. “<i>Klevta, klevta!”<b> </b></i>He waves his arms in a wild,
almost uncaring manner, as if indicating that we are surrounded by false
danger. His response reinforces an
absolute sense of confidence and only serves to create more tension in the
camp.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Refusing to yield the conversation to Frode, I step to
confront the shaman and demand “What is the plan?” gesturing in turn to the
hills and to the cave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Return to <i>Tovt</i>?”
I ask.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Zeb, <i>seft,</i>” he replies, pointing to the cave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a dangerous gleam in his eyes.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I turn to Vargmenni and ask her to explain his meaning,
not sure if <i>seft </i>means he intends for me to investigate the cave further
or whether Frode intends for us all to go together.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">She points toward the cave, her face betraying some fear
or uncertainty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i>Seft </i>is cave,”
she explains hesitantly.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">While I briefly have my attention turned toward
Vargmenni, Frode steps towards me, issuing his command again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time his meaning and tone are both
clearly a command for me alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Zeb <i>seft!”
</i>he says more forcefully, this time shoving me towards the cave.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I stumble for a moment and regain posture, making no
other move or reaction except to glare at Frode.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reaching over his shoulder, Frode unslings
his massive sword and thrusts it into the ground, repeating his command once more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Zeb, <i>seft</i>.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I pause for a long moment, contemplating the many, many
ways I can possibly react and the potential repercussions of each course of
action. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode’s eyes nearly glimmer with
barely contained violence, as if begging for me to try and fight him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I turn my back on Frode wordlessly and
walk back toward the fire.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Frode tears his sword from the ground, advances toward me and takes a huge cross-swing at my back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I instinctively fall forward a few steps, feeling the air of the blade
inches from my exposed skin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Coward!” I
scream in defiance, drawing my only weapon—a small, rusty blade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros and the others look on in shock.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Having seen the shaman in combat, I know him to be wild
and reckless—my knife is no match for his blade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My only hope is to neutralize him
entirely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I scramble to my knees, calling
upon my faith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode recovers quickly,
raising his sword and charging towards me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His second slash does not miss, tearing through the meager protection
provided by the hide slung across my shoulders, cutting between two ribs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blood burgeons from the wound, though
thankfully it was not deep enough to puncture organs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYaA-2tFBARSDE26DCAiJweayyjJcjrvity9_qsdEhNY43e0PQ8dEfY9tyFXO6IMCbmSI26y23TeHcSLPPG5-iC_j7C27XJZMAW-XH4BIXo2CdfgHcifsOncE_n6J1kJYZ_sNMMMBytQdvA4oZsGF1p3_L7fyrZgCQlsAm9vyzEm_nPdll0pR9oT3r5Q/s309/vargmenni.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="309" data-original-width="297" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYaA-2tFBARSDE26DCAiJweayyjJcjrvity9_qsdEhNY43e0PQ8dEfY9tyFXO6IMCbmSI26y23TeHcSLPPG5-iC_j7C27XJZMAW-XH4BIXo2CdfgHcifsOncE_n6J1kJYZ_sNMMMBytQdvA4oZsGF1p3_L7fyrZgCQlsAm9vyzEm_nPdll0pR9oT3r5Q/w192-h200/vargmenni.JPG" width="192" /></a></div>I raise my head in time to see a torrent of flame issue
from an enraged Vargmenni, who holds her hands out before her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode is engulfed by the flames, caught off
guard by Vargmenni’s betrayal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
tension is shattered, however, as there are cries from amid the camp
which cause us all to turn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6fqIS2_mr_asP1lgU6_3oL2kRSBpmM04hBrbAn6Sw-_cRtOJugUMNxbQEcu0aVhMCR3orPXK24DFryYevC_8ccrS3kCGfgaZnp492W4MLWdakFu6PoU213b0zcLgpuCP0fUvrUvZNbn6q4QYplTfvtdJykK-P3_LuSL72IDF5BIgKQMP_JASV3NJ1Sg/s460/drake.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="335" data-original-width="460" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6fqIS2_mr_asP1lgU6_3oL2kRSBpmM04hBrbAn6Sw-_cRtOJugUMNxbQEcu0aVhMCR3orPXK24DFryYevC_8ccrS3kCGfgaZnp492W4MLWdakFu6PoU213b0zcLgpuCP0fUvrUvZNbn6q4QYplTfvtdJykK-P3_LuSL72IDF5BIgKQMP_JASV3NJ1Sg/w200-h146/drake.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>From beyond the hills a winged shape comes into view
approaching our camp at an extraordinary velocity—even at this distance, it is
clear that it is a massive reptile with long neck, spined wings, and a whipping
tail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ignore the creature entirely,
instead completing my prayer, clasping my hands before me to form a small,
collapsing cage with my fingers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I growl
as complete the gesture and Frode is caught utterly off guard, paralyzed by my
enchantment.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">As the others in camp flee to the nearest cover, I ignore
the dragon’s approach and climb to my feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Stepping forward, I stoop to grab Frode’s sword in both hands, lifting the
enormous blade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode, unable to move,
stares at me with glassy eyes filled with rage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“For you, Nobanion,” I utter as I bring the heavy blade down on Frode’s
neck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cut cleanly, his severed head
rolls away from the shaman’s carcass.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS2KDoG9Iw5hjNWrwF48qV1uthUtgXt6PR4plwJw6zKGEBSXWgV0Zr2hnpsjAwBBHGnovOhM1K_sXTfU9gvsAQ583cBRnpKZDgT6CUwEGdS6WWD32x-73Io-o5azeFqZ7Y6W-RjVG6cTXMZnuGy_fqRN5Mep6nAmMeIqpLkgXC-3GhT3vXJTpf8ZA_-A/s571/decap.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="139" data-original-width="571" height="78" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS2KDoG9Iw5hjNWrwF48qV1uthUtgXt6PR4plwJw6zKGEBSXWgV0Zr2hnpsjAwBBHGnovOhM1K_sXTfU9gvsAQ583cBRnpKZDgT6CUwEGdS6WWD32x-73Io-o5azeFqZ7Y6W-RjVG6cTXMZnuGy_fqRN5Mep6nAmMeIqpLkgXC-3GhT3vXJTpf8ZA_-A/s320/decap.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>The white wyrm, nearly forgotten, swoops over our camp,
scattering the warriors as it sails past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As my gaze follows it, I see shadowy forms emerge from cave fleeing into
the hills—two larger forms, presumably dwarves, as well as a smaller figure,
perhaps a child.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I recognize the need to capitalize as much as possible on
the chaos of the situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I call out
to the warriors, “Aros, Baln, <i>seft okt!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></i>I find Vargmenni, calling for her to translate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We must go to the cave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grab Gola, Harka!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go!”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Vargmenni, having witnessed my ruthless assault on Frode,
steps forward and spits the words “Bad magic!” before turning to join the
others.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">As the dragon disappears over the hills, the warriors
finally seem to understand my commands and begin to execute them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I take a moment to appreciate the fleeing
creature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Illusion,” I mutter to
myself, admitting that I was totally convinced for a moment that we were all
going to die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the corner of my eye,
I can see Aros’ eyes following the fleeing dwarves—when he turns away, it’s as
if the warrior made a conscious decision to remain with our group and not
pursue them.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">While the others scramble to safety, I reach down to grab
Frode’s head, thinking to wrap it in the small hide and take it with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite my best efforts, it resists my
efforts to lift it, and for a moment my stomach sinks. Whatever fell magic is
contained within Frode’s implanted “teeth,” it functions even now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh76ymKT3dWTjoquiNjjiuj1Pp3bZAe5N0ieXcfthOniCm5Fi5I2MLwZlffYibqD-si4_TDWGxuttftGXpLN9SLCcgR110--vMuu-chn1lv2yyCUx_rfVByYapF1yokzhsmH93NUErvCayRMl_XL8lKcMM12c0rYAimyyzAicZs4zYuksrZ_ImLRFoB3w/s349/frode.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="349" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh76ymKT3dWTjoquiNjjiuj1Pp3bZAe5N0ieXcfthOniCm5Fi5I2MLwZlffYibqD-si4_TDWGxuttftGXpLN9SLCcgR110--vMuu-chn1lv2yyCUx_rfVByYapF1yokzhsmH93NUErvCayRMl_XL8lKcMM12c0rYAimyyzAicZs4zYuksrZ_ImLRFoB3w/w200-h179/frode.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>I drop to a knee, and with my rusty knife begin the
bloody work of carving the stones from Frode’s jaw, removing handfuls of teeth
as they are sliced from his gums.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
process is not quick, and before long my chest and arms are covered in the
shaman’s blood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I examine the handful of
teeth, satisfied to see the two dark stones among the rest, and stoop to cut a
small pouch from his belt into which I stuff everything.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The site of Frode’s massacre is strangely serene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the others huddle within the dark cave, I
watch the in the direction of the dragon’s flight. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it is evident that there is
no threat, I return to the others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
ignore the gaze of everyone save Aros, pausing only to ask Vargmenni to
translate.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“I am not evil,” I say, laying my knife on the ground
before Aros.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Frode was evil.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Vargmenni translates, adding “Frode... <i>bad magic</i>,” pointing
to her teeth as she explains to Aros.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
there is judgment, I am not able to see it in the warrior’s eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, Vargmenni turns to me and says, “No
return.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The context seems to indicate
that she feels Frode was past the point of no return, and it seems as if Aros
is in agreement.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Aros finally begins speaking and issuing orders, though I
do not comprehend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vargmenni explains,
“Return to <i>Tovt,</i> avoid hills, outnumbered.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I nod in assent, but don’t want to leave the situation as
it stands. “I need Aros to believe me,” I beg her to translate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am not evil.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another brief conversation ensues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vargmenni finally says, “Frode attacked, Zeb
defended.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vargmenni’s next words are surprising.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Aros lead tribe now.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfB1irqV3bWKT7We8y2Om0eN8bOssmAwiOFPT9wIBX6ZWCKBUTzlcvCRRk4FMCBiSBvAA1EQ29cyX8COIblFi5HyssfpiT3XiNxAZhKB34IsY4JZ-TX0CbMT3dEpWhIS1BgoOwjNfWfq-9jZyJ_wVZVjijr9gGlcrKEGC8hrZyMf7qTF2wmzO8x39qAA/s524/tovt.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="144" data-original-width="524" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfB1irqV3bWKT7We8y2Om0eN8bOssmAwiOFPT9wIBX6ZWCKBUTzlcvCRRk4FMCBiSBvAA1EQ29cyX8COIblFi5HyssfpiT3XiNxAZhKB34IsY4JZ-TX0CbMT3dEpWhIS1BgoOwjNfWfq-9jZyJ_wVZVjijr9gGlcrKEGC8hrZyMf7qTF2wmzO8x39qAA/s320/tovt.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>“Good,” I say with a smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Aros leads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Zeb will follow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Tovt okt<b>, </b></i>let’s
go!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We take to the hills, leaving
Frode’s bloody corpse behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros and
Baln lead us skillfully, avoiding any threat, whether dwarves of the hills
or other predators.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the early morning
light, we can see the thatched roofs and plumes of smoke from <i>Tovt’s</i>
hearth fires in the distance.Jason Gunderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11206196654542839692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-43587477072356641642023-03-15T10:01:00.003-04:002023-03-15T10:16:27.962-04:00The Shorn Vale: Prologue<blockquote><p><i>The forest breathes.</i></p>
<p><i>The forest breathes, my friend. But lo! I speak not of the fauna and other denizens that dwell within its groves or writhe below its roots. Nor do I utter of the restless trees, nor the mosses that flourish nor the creepers that clamber upon the damp earth, in recesses ever shielded from the sun’s penetrating gaze.</i></p>
<p><i>No, I avail none of these. For within this darkness lurks a deeper dark, one borne of shadows cast long ago, when the land was an untamed youth. A darkness wherein is stirred what ought be left to lie. And, in answer, it awakens to a new dawn, and scores upon scores of fresh souls to consume.</i></p>
<p><i>The forest breathes.</i></p>
<p></p><div style="text-align: right;">—“The Forest Breathes”<br /><i>Old Keht Parables<br /></i>Unattributed<br />CY -?<br /></div>
</blockquote><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p><i>First breath of spring, 1163</i><br /><i>The Wraithfens</i></p><p><br /></p><p>The solitary white raven perched atop the dilapidated tower, alabaster feathers glistening in the light of the waxing moon. From this vantage point, it could see all: rolling, forlorn hills covered in copses of barren, twisting trees that reached up to embrace the cloudless sky as hundreds of its brothers and sisters flew hither, bespeckling the dark of night.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN0RC7N0bNbJHLDZGskg1u9gy2HFSNz55DEFfG6-jrkXqbzWH3mucIjSkPWeO2aZnXwVBJ9Z86AGEkKqZ4Xq4cdnfuxPrcqjSzaqqK1nQ98asOrqo8i9UMjI7nT9tQtwM89rQRJc5GdrfxL1VaGTuUubQmS4miO0g37IiknDzpejpm89EC5RNhysIo7A/s1000/tower.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="666" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN0RC7N0bNbJHLDZGskg1u9gy2HFSNz55DEFfG6-jrkXqbzWH3mucIjSkPWeO2aZnXwVBJ9Z86AGEkKqZ4Xq4cdnfuxPrcqjSzaqqK1nQ98asOrqo8i9UMjI7nT9tQtwM89rQRJc5GdrfxL1VaGTuUubQmS4miO0g37IiknDzpejpm89EC5RNhysIo7A/w213-h320/tower.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>A great battle was once fought here during an age long past, and when it ended the white ravens descended to feast upon the dead, their crimson-stained plumage taking on a horrific likeness to the bodies they pillaged. Though savage winds and rain had long since cleansed the grounds of blood and bone, ruined limestone walls yet bore the memory of those who had fallen.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZxumC-WhlvmMxFGm1DaByDwQ4pOneErNW0bjhCv-n1vTl5T2nneaBTM901ZsPMjLgQwSoquENGWLVsiQT3U5ACmMEG0vuPy_Jv3DayrAztQqX_BcDexcIhHgSrAFbM16jsN6qkUVGkL1qPUW7d6yxX5sv94_odxkkO5-THcfZbLlkVoxm-ybUWEc75A/s266/white%20raven%20art.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="190" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZxumC-WhlvmMxFGm1DaByDwQ4pOneErNW0bjhCv-n1vTl5T2nneaBTM901ZsPMjLgQwSoquENGWLVsiQT3U5ACmMEG0vuPy_Jv3DayrAztQqX_BcDexcIhHgSrAFbM16jsN6qkUVGkL1qPUW7d6yxX5sv94_odxkkO5-THcfZbLlkVoxm-ybUWEc75A/w143-h200/white%20raven%20art.JPG" width="143" /></a></div>As ravens littered the tower, a preternatural aura fractured the chill air, drawing them rapt. A foreboding presence stirred amid the grove, one not known to the world for generations of pale-winged scavengers. The unfettered night crooned to its awakening.<p></p><p>There would be no feasting on rotting flesh, this eve.</p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p>Many miles removed, in the village of Wren’s Hollow, the soothsayer looked down from the belfry, touching a weathered hand to a tangle of gray beard, ignoring the chittering of rats in the rafters above. Much like the crows that haunted the bell tower during the day, the disciple of fates found utility in being able to survey the village from up high. He shivered and drew in his cloak as a cold breeze carried in from the west.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEU-YMX8P1MmgOzzx9bQx6MPuoDKVFgjQzqhRFiimIzlZBNoq2Z4MGPO3eI1XCcukTEFApc25Wp_NRHd1f2KbTMNIewZTroT3FuXzyARq7aE8SbpUQFUoKsvtXTFtJtacwAsj2udIXcAA-w_e7xU80TFqf94aBnx7KRVq42URER8jbxLZh5-uLXKV_dw/s512/night%20village.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="364" data-original-width="512" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEU-YMX8P1MmgOzzx9bQx6MPuoDKVFgjQzqhRFiimIzlZBNoq2Z4MGPO3eI1XCcukTEFApc25Wp_NRHd1f2KbTMNIewZTroT3FuXzyARq7aE8SbpUQFUoKsvtXTFtJtacwAsj2udIXcAA-w_e7xU80TFqf94aBnx7KRVq42URER8jbxLZh5-uLXKV_dw/s320/night%20village.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>Nearby, plumes billowed from the chimneys of the village’s lone inn whilst the groaning of wagon wheels resounded over the din of its taproom. The wagon itself, pulled by two Kilvaran horses and decorated in the blue and white heraldic pennants of the Blue Banner Trading Company, was encrusted with hardened mud from its travails, the posts framing its bed adorned with disembodied toes and claws, driven into the wood with iron spikes. When finally it wretched to a halt, an armed contingent gathered round, warily eyeing its freight.</p><p></p><p>Chained to the wagon’s frame were a dozen emaciated men draped in matted hides: indentures from a scattering of hamlets set low in a distant valley to the south, forged eons ago by great seas of moving ice. From under the earth, salt deposits buried in ancient seabeds were excavated through perilous catacombs as valuable trade fodder across the vale.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1G3gUIn-dw8oW_2xVVSgkuB8Hs6pb4O0SB0fC7iI6YGMNgvTrWhehOYKETeu47xIn7EEc4wh8wS-FxskmcV9-qlBYft_mw0RMAWYOpY_2ASO-_PNvDpuNMeATEPlKbzClUV2T8N_SGQHgFSCySFky4N5j7nh-FXCvPzhWh-EKLo2hpwjlAdBMYimZGQ/s860/marked.PNG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="607" data-original-width="860" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1G3gUIn-dw8oW_2xVVSgkuB8Hs6pb4O0SB0fC7iI6YGMNgvTrWhehOYKETeu47xIn7EEc4wh8wS-FxskmcV9-qlBYft_mw0RMAWYOpY_2ASO-_PNvDpuNMeATEPlKbzClUV2T8N_SGQHgFSCySFky4N5j7nh-FXCvPzhWh-EKLo2hpwjlAdBMYimZGQ/w200-h141/marked.PNG" width="200" /></a></div>Their labored, uneven breaths rasped from faces marred with dark stains, the result of incisions cut deep under the skin and cauterized with fire, a process known locally as “bloodmarking.” Likely these men had completed their indentures or grown too sickly to be of use. Dregs scraped away to clean the basin and be made someone else’s problem.<p></p><p><i>Rid them north to procreate broken sons, thus the never-ending cycle endures. </i><i>Deliver me of the old gods, once more</i><i>.</i></p><p>The militia would see that none were let inside. Had the field marshal been present, the slavers would have been routed from the village with quarrels sprouting from their backsides. But, as it was, the wagon would be sheltered out of the way and find passage into the surrounding hills before the first light of dawn—for a few errant coins or spare ingot of iron. Either way, at least the rabble would be gone.</p><p>Following a brief exchange with the driver, the wheels bleated again to life and the wagon continued rolling past. The shrill cry of a white raven echoed in the night as it landed on the tavern’s steep-pitched roof.</p><p>The soothsayer drew in his cloak more tightly, made a warding gesture across his body, and looked on.</p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p>Amid the prisoners aboard the wagon, one passenger was hidden. Of barely twenty winters, her bone-white flesh peeled beneath tattered clothes. Once-gray eyes were flooded, stained red with blood.</p><p>As the guards drew near, no one saw the subtle movements of the salt witch’s hands, nor heard the quiet droning of her incantation as she called upon primordial spirits that lingered in the darkness around them. All around them, unseen...</p>Matt Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18195243799773565579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-65597387024313686052023-02-13T22:04:00.004-05:002023-03-15T09:41:50.200-04:00Interlude: Audience<p>I awaken in a rush, drawing in a single, sharp breath
before leaping to my feet. My
surroundings are foreign—a warm, dry breeze drifts gently over the savannah
when moments ago I had been lying on the cold ground outside the cave
entrance. My companions—Aros and
Vargmenni, at least, surely fit that word—are nowhere to be found. Nor is Frode or his warriors. Instead, I am alone. Cautious, I drop to a knee, letting the tall
grasses conceal my presence.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The cry startles me, a kite or raptor plummeting
from above to take a smaller bird as prey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Nearby, the ribbed horns of an antelope or similar bovid are seen
bouncing above the grasses as a small herd takes flight, likely having caught
my scent on the wind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the distance
lies a small grove of trees, the only landmark visible on any horizon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Despite the presence of recognizable fauna, however,
there is a sense of “other” that I cannot shake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is no mortal realm—it bears the scents,
the tastes, all the sensations of a godly realm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A realm of hunters, though completely unlike
the barren, dangerous wastes of Malar’s hunting ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly at ease, I stand and take in the
primal glory of Nobanion’s domain.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjiVVba75vLePM473CWCtpc7jgaIFBsMNzrQL7Y8HmPANYoLoq8WOQEWoQy6p_RysZ27KBG4SwhnWQHBbwDF98Ic04xAewIX0OK3n5C5lkeQOs_wbKRMeOL4LUzuwlvxJEEV6bOF713ZE1Nm_KykZONSdrFNTipqw0DpEgtG96migcUltTUB-lDuDKCw/s443/savannah.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="443" data-original-width="326" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjiVVba75vLePM473CWCtpc7jgaIFBsMNzrQL7Y8HmPANYoLoq8WOQEWoQy6p_RysZ27KBG4SwhnWQHBbwDF98Ic04xAewIX0OK3n5C5lkeQOs_wbKRMeOL4LUzuwlvxJEEV6bOF713ZE1Nm_KykZONSdrFNTipqw0DpEgtG96migcUltTUB-lDuDKCw/w147-h200/savannah.PNG" width="147" /></a></div>Though distant, I can see a figure standing within grove
and I begin to stalk carefully through the plain to meet my patron.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Lion King does not disappoint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Limned by the bright savannah sun behind him,
he is a powerful, majestic figure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
sense of danger radiates from his being; having been hunted before, I recognize
it for what it is and try my best to avoid wavering, instead meeting his fiery
gaze proudly as I stand before him.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“I have watched you,” he says, his voice a deep, rolling growl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And I see now branching paths laid before
you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which will you choose, I wonder.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“I will not desert my friends.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even I am somewhat surprised at how easily
that word flowed from my mouth, having clearly meant Aros and Vargmenni.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros, with whom I am completely unable to
communicate meaningfully—I owe him my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He could have taken me easily, though instead he saw me to sanctuary and
spoke on my behalf, even if I could not understand his words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And Vargmenni, about whom I know
frustratingly little—an enigma, no less
foreign to this place and time than I, a keeper of secrets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But she has stood by me, trusted me, and has
earned my loyalty.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Though I speak not these thoughts, it is clear that
Nobanion knows them, as if he sees through me to the very core of my soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cannot tell if his rumbling growl is one of
approval or one of disappointment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Nonetheless, I hold my ground and don’t bother to explain—I have become
accustomed to defying deities.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">There is a disapproving glimmer in his eye at that
thought, though it only lasts for a moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“We shall see,” he grumbles in response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“And what of the shaman?”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I cannot hold back the bloodlust that rises at mention of
Frode.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I taste bitter iron on my palate
and I can’t help but visualize ripping out Frode’s throat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The deity’s disapproving look returns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I return his glare defiantly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Malar’s path…and his methods…are behind me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Until I learn more, I will wait and I will observe.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A rare glimmer of approval in Lord Firemane’s
eyes is my reward, though it is fleeting.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“But when the time comes for violence,” I threaten while pulling
out my rusty blade, “I will carve out Frode’s soul and send it to you
shrieking.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKEGFl8uev_2s1DnezX81ypAp_R-qMj8pe_INY3SQAkCZMW9MWi2Y5HWTd-znPCgZlyUESYo5Cd-R1tZZB-9cxDOTr9pftAE8UIU_vH45Wy-RnnCTTgzFIbgu80LNmces7dWNerUWXf71Q6LB8y5bKrh_RHPm-AGg9CrgbflEnSAcDPvnW93j2kbJm9A/s551/firemane.PNG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="521" data-original-width="551" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKEGFl8uev_2s1DnezX81ypAp_R-qMj8pe_INY3SQAkCZMW9MWi2Y5HWTd-znPCgZlyUESYo5Cd-R1tZZB-9cxDOTr9pftAE8UIU_vH45Wy-RnnCTTgzFIbgu80LNmces7dWNerUWXf71Q6LB8y5bKrh_RHPm-AGg9CrgbflEnSAcDPvnW93j2kbJm9A/w200-h189/firemane.PNG" width="200" /></a></div>Blinding, searing flame is Nobanion’s censure for my foolish,
insolent words and I feel my essence hurled back into the mortal realm.<o:p></o:p><p></p>Jason Gunderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11206196654542839692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-59932411003918622782022-09-28T22:24:00.006-04:002023-04-17T11:15:18.150-04:00#49: The Cloaked Child<p><i>By the gods, the warrior-shaman knows all.</i></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The implications of that continue to occupy my thoughts,
even as Aros and the others go about the business of breaking down camp in
preparation for departure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatever
Frode may know, he doesn’t press the matter, instead dragging Gola behind him
to gather his own belongings.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I approach Aros to see if there is any way I can
assist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is tension in the air, a
general sense of unease, and very little in the way of communication
occurs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is also an undertone of what
might be distrust, though I’m unable to determine whether it’s directed at me
or rather perhaps caused by my presence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Vargmenni has kept silent, careful not to share even a glance where Frode
might witness it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My gaze lingers as she
gathers her things, her darker skin a keen reminder that she also is not of
this village; however she may have arrived here, it is obvious that she
endured much with this tribe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She keeps
to herself silently, and she is careful about her every action.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">In a moment when Aros is close, I link together the few
words of his language I know, pressing the silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>“Tovt, okt?”</i> I ask, assuming I have
pieced together enough words to ask if we return to his village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He nods but says nothing more as Frode
commands the group to travel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are
alternating patches of snow-covered and bare ground where the wind has blown it
into drifts, but otherwise travel through the valley is unimpeded, limited only
somewhat by the speed of Gola as she is pulled behind Frode.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do my best to keep up, careful not to draw
any more attention to myself than I already have.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYYu7-bWpNB-_q6EndvmcPPe7mzA_zXOu1Lrdfgn886zsTnLOE54_OZp_Q32S1JlYep08vo9NS9XpP91QRPC-zQzGAcdCN_Fr7DirhKLCGzvTu9KFDhlVMoijP8-21814DlEwM1rFRwcznMgC-OPJf_BEwS81X84LHGT9oedYa1Ny1u-1na2LatWHhsQ/s280/morning.PNG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="207" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYYu7-bWpNB-_q6EndvmcPPe7mzA_zXOu1Lrdfgn886zsTnLOE54_OZp_Q32S1JlYep08vo9NS9XpP91QRPC-zQzGAcdCN_Fr7DirhKLCGzvTu9KFDhlVMoijP8-21814DlEwM1rFRwcznMgC-OPJf_BEwS81X84LHGT9oedYa1Ny1u-1na2LatWHhsQ/w148-h200/morning.PNG" width="148" /></a></div>The morning passes quickly, sun rising high into the
sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All is well until a noise pierces
the serenity of the environment, a low groaning sound as of that in an animal
in pain or distress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The group stops,
all looking to Frode for direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
memories are stirred by the sound, and though it’s not completely clear, it has
all the hallmarks of coming from a large animal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode motions for the party to continue,
heading towards the sound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I follow
cautiously, keeping my thoughts to myself for now.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The warriors don’t seem overly concerned, continuing for
a few minutes until we ascend a small hill—below we can see a very large beast
with long, shaggy hair and a pair of curled horns—a rothé.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is lying on its side, as if struggling or
in pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No blood is evident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I keep watch around us—there’s always a
chance that it was the victim of some predator that still wishes to claim its
prey.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC0zephu3a-Um6ncCbFgMAU29dWW57ZJSQQZduI2CuNZ4DeqDCeWyRbSQCPrpxJ3xT5LGu0xnEVHqNwM7wvBpyTp9soGv4szE7jZu5IluXhNTPxMdvcanKBdpFZOB3-y5R21EDS0M_UEYZxZw1lGHBsieWZznZMco56-G7vR94raX5KBLzfpEPEkOa7g/s276/rothe.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="276" data-original-width="249" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC0zephu3a-Um6ncCbFgMAU29dWW57ZJSQQZduI2CuNZ4DeqDCeWyRbSQCPrpxJ3xT5LGu0xnEVHqNwM7wvBpyTp9soGv4szE7jZu5IluXhNTPxMdvcanKBdpFZOB3-y5R21EDS0M_UEYZxZw1lGHBsieWZznZMco56-G7vR94raX5KBLzfpEPEkOa7g/w180-h200/rothe.PNG" width="180" /></a></div>“Rothé?” I ask, pointing to the creature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The warriors reply with a different word,
clearly with the same meaning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I keep
hoping for some commonality between our languages, but if it exists, I have not
yet discovered it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The warriors take out
their weapons and begin prodding at the creature, and it squeals in
response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems more an act of
discovery than cruelty, and for the first time since the previous night,
Vargmenni approaches and stand at my side.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Sick,” she says.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“In their language, how do you say that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> ‘</span>Sick’?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She replies and I approach Frode and the warriors, watching their
actions carefully.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Frode suddenly begins to speak, his tone escalating,
nearly yelling, and he turns to Vargmenni who startles visibly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He shouts and points at her, waving his arms
aggressively, and stomps towards her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a moment where I think he might
intend violence, and I do not stir—this is not the time nor place to be a hero,
so I watch silently as the situation plays out.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">She regains her composure, quickly yelling back at Frode,
and a clear argument ensues in their foreign tongue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Vargmenni—<i>fire hands!</i>” she calls out in the
common tongue, holding out her arms as she did the night before—though nothing
happens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tension grows, though I
spare a moment to recognize the oddity of her using our shared language in her
exchange with Frode.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Frode pushes his arms to his side and he begins to
levitate, and he starts growling at her, towering above her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If violence is indeed Frode’s intent, it will
commence imminently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With his attention
focused on Vargmenni, desperate to end the infighting, I rush to the rothé’s
side and plunge my knife into the flesh behind its ear where the skull is
soft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Warm crimson floods over my hands
as the beast lets out a death rattle before becoming still.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vargmenni turns to me instinctively, and this breaks whatever fury had overtaken Frode.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Sick,” I reply in his language as Frode stares at
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Almost instantaneously, the
situation seems defused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode walks to
the side of the rothé and kicks it before turning to the other warriors and
begins to issue more orders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They back
away, seemingly content to leave the creature, and after a few moments of
awkward silence the tension dissipates, and our party continues on its way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems odd, wasteful to leave such a
resource as the rothé behind, but I don’t see a need to press the matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Not long after midday, we catch sight of a plume of smoke ahead to the northeast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The smoke is distant enough that there is no immediate concern, but the
group stops briefly to motion towards it, accompanied by a brief
discussion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode seems intent on
heading in the direction of the plume.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibetfdYzx5WybUdGG8QiA8VxEaL3RR49I4ESu_ClBfn45jY0AWkOkeayBhmFgrASHOwCxtoRDN0BXWzolcTYXutv72jZE7JJiUYpz1SvJ1BGkLrk0utCRPjgTCXZpFwf116lEEr0nyPq4Y-rOIS5PS4orlc7yr0WEb3a1Da1xKuGElQPQY1HDZtTUDMw/s111/smoke.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="111" data-original-width="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibetfdYzx5WybUdGG8QiA8VxEaL3RR49I4ESu_ClBfn45jY0AWkOkeayBhmFgrASHOwCxtoRDN0BXWzolcTYXutv72jZE7JJiUYpz1SvJ1BGkLrk0utCRPjgTCXZpFwf116lEEr0nyPq4Y-rOIS5PS4orlc7yr0WEb3a1Da1xKuGElQPQY1HDZtTUDMw/s16000/smoke.PNG" /></a></div>Vargmenni keeps her distance as we walk, and despite my
attempts to get close to him, a meaningful conversation about the smoke with
Aros seems out of reach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The plume
proves to be several miles away, our approach broken by the occasional copse of
trees or jagged ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of the
warriors displays much in the way of emotion, though there is a general sense
of caution as we move.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Finally, we descend into a low valley, the plume lying
just ahead over a rise, its source not yet visible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is still daylight though it is failing,
and Frode begins issuing orders in a low voice, as if careful not to be
heard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To my surprise,
it seems as if order has been given to drop our gear, and the warriors begin
arranging belongings on the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
the sun sets, dim light from a distant fire can be seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I approach Frode, using gestures and crude
language to ask about his intentions towards the fire.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">When he replies, there is a hint of a sneer on his face,
a look I have seen before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This man
intends violence—that seems answer enough for now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is nothing for me to do but wait with
the others in silence as rations are passed around, mostly dried pieces of meat
and tree bark that are chewed without providing much in the way of flavor or
nourishment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately, I do not have
an appetite.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The sun sets completely, and the sky grows black.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The moon occasionally pierces the dense cloud
cover, providing just enough in the way of light to be able to discern shadows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another hour or two passes, and
the temperature drops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are all
waiting for what’s coming, waiting on Frode and his erratic behavior.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The silence is broken by Frode, who stands and gathers
the entire party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am oddly pleased to
be included, and he gives several instructions quietly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though I do not understand his words, his
intentions are clear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Warriors disperse
to gather their weapons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Together, we
begin to traverse the ground up the hill, climbing towards the source of the flame.
We draw within perhaps a half mile—the scent of burning wood rides the shifting
and swirling winds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We descend again
into another valley, this one smaller, nestled between two hills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ahead, a soft glow from a fire is
visible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode whispers instructions to the three warriors, gesturing for them to accompany him up the hill,
excluding me, Vargmenni and Gola.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
begin a slow, quiet climb with their weapons.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I watch as they depart, and for the first time I am left
alone with Vargmenni—and I try my best to efficiently ask her questions burning
on my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I speak too quickly and she
shakes her head, confused, so I distill my speech to the most basic words I
can think of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Friend?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Enemy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Danger?”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8avKpHOzW-epZMNqge7-TKCsMII69dJCJuHiA1aXoTsvnoq0TynQ1BdeNpM3Aj0u5d4Ci4d0sR9RIjfHqQ1vlDizaFC4CM9wmcJuqRFd1A-W_-FBZ_mh32vfBI8TT_g4Z0FP1ly9ZyYrOa-NGdVCJIra0gvop5mBllGRQ9U4oGZRPiHaOSY0KzP8jw/s392/fire%20hands.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="392" data-original-width="348" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8avKpHOzW-epZMNqge7-TKCsMII69dJCJuHiA1aXoTsvnoq0TynQ1BdeNpM3Aj0u5d4Ci4d0sR9RIjfHqQ1vlDizaFC4CM9wmcJuqRFd1A-W_-FBZ_mh32vfBI8TT_g4Z0FP1ly9ZyYrOa-NGdVCJIra0gvop5mBllGRQ9U4oGZRPiHaOSY0KzP8jw/w178-h200/fire%20hands.PNG" width="178" /></a></div>She makes a motion to the top of my head, then lowers it
to my shoulder, whispering a single word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Miners”—a very surprising response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As Frode and the other warriors escape our vision, she withdraws
something from within the folds of her tunic—a rolled sheet of vellum or bleached
hide and sits on the ground, focusing on it intently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have spent enough time in front of my own
tomes to recognize this for what it is—arcane writing, a scroll or perhaps a
spell formula.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Meanwhile, Gola sits quietly—seemingly on edge, her face
wrinkled in unrecognizable emotion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am
paralyzed with indecision, a feeling that has become all too familiar since my
rebirth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unwilling to interrupt Vargmenni
in her frantic study, I stand awkwardly next to Gola, trying to read her
emotions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The silence stretches, the
woman staring blankly at me, never quite meeting my eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am unsure how to even approach conversation
with this woman.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Vargmenni continues to focus on the sheet of vellum, minutes
passing quickly as my heart races, pounding loudly in my chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly, a battle cry erupts from the hills,
Vargmenni’s eyes lifting momentarily in distraction, though it’s clear she is
intent on finishing whatever it is she is doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Focus,” is the only thing I say to her,
using the same tone I had used with Selben countless times as my young
apprentice wavered in his studies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thoughts
of Selben leave me unsettled—I cannot even remember my last conversation with
him, it seems so long ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Memories
stir.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Selben, Bonie…and at the very
thought of her, my knees nearly collapse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQhR5mDJgEzBOv5qX2ctqBbbgOp3suH-G8mZjP9cfkW9yWK0D522CXeqq5EnwWmzsdTkjFa_hLAbXnuyxZMX5CAJfjFfa8_0tSXFrlwXLOa32u-Ce8jvxroq9f_ezqADUHvIlqwqoV01Ht3M-RQvfgLUcCX-OBmXxXQQ_2lES1GQt2cR2aRrEHtw7iyw/s553/selben.PNG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="553" data-original-width="336" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQhR5mDJgEzBOv5qX2ctqBbbgOp3suH-G8mZjP9cfkW9yWK0D522CXeqq5EnwWmzsdTkjFa_hLAbXnuyxZMX5CAJfjFfa8_0tSXFrlwXLOa32u-Ce8jvxroq9f_ezqADUHvIlqwqoV01Ht3M-RQvfgLUcCX-OBmXxXQQ_2lES1GQt2cR2aRrEHtw7iyw/w121-h200/selben.PNG" width="121" /></a></div>I catch myself and find Gola staring at me silently, and
suddenly am reminded of my surroundings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Knowing that these few moments might be my only opportunity to learn
more about Frode and this complicated situation, I use the only priestly power
left at my disposal—originally intended for Frode, but one that would prove
extremely dangerous given the circumstance—so I use it instead on Gola. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Learning more about her might be key in
understanding Frode.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Appealing to Nobanion for guidance, I call upon his
powers and focus on Gola, attempting to divine her nature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She either does not notice or does not care,
instead she stands quietly, unflinching, staring at me silently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From her, I receive a sense of neutrality—if she
is possessed of malevolence, it is hidden to me, and I am satisfied with that
finding.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">More shouts are heard in the night—not cries of pain or
sounds of battle, but shouting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One of the voices is higher pitched than the others—perhaps
feminine—though it is obscured by the rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I spare another glance for Vargmenni, who continues to focus on her
study of the scroll.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unable to discern
the scroll’s meaning and unwilling to interrupt her, I make the decision to head towards the commotion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I follow the path that seems the shortest to give me some vantage point,
following the footprints of one of the warriors as best I can in the dim
moonlight.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg732NkZJH1QTPdADHYXMbUohiJRNTzy2Wq7r162CimbfjxJjY-ZApem2NjHZgczZv9KP7Stq0Msx6QR_Htr4tMAG0Gn5kbbaAm-VESwDzNpHCNQLjWzQwDDSJrkocBjPhihJ3pMsrJ4aBuv3JoOOv11BXYKMlXY67tnTvTV5ng4FRJ1ivkjykfGdJrjw/s312/ghost%20bear.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="221" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg732NkZJH1QTPdADHYXMbUohiJRNTzy2Wq7r162CimbfjxJjY-ZApem2NjHZgczZv9KP7Stq0Msx6QR_Htr4tMAG0Gn5kbbaAm-VESwDzNpHCNQLjWzQwDDSJrkocBjPhihJ3pMsrJ4aBuv3JoOOv11BXYKMlXY67tnTvTV5ng4FRJ1ivkjykfGdJrjw/w142-h200/ghost%20bear.jpg" width="142" /></a></div>I crest the small hill just in time to see Frode and three of
his warriors closing in on a small clearing, amid which is a
campfire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fleeting shadows flee the
warrior’s approach, heading into the mouth of a nearby cave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the warriors converge on the campsite,
something appears suddenly in front of the warriors, an apparition that blinks
into existence before them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is that
of a gigantic bear, standing on its hind legs, more than twice the height of
Aros.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Frode and his warriors halt immediately as it issues a
low roar, swiping great claws at the air in front of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The warriors stop instantly, surprised by the
creature’s appearance, and I pause to consider the encounter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bear’s emanation did not suit the creature’s
size, neither in intensity nor in volume.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Its bellowing roar should echo throughout the valley, but instead it is
muted, softer than it should be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I crouch
quietly and watch as the situation unfolds, keeping my suspicions to myself and
my presence unknown.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The great bear wastes no time, charging towards Frode and
his party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The warriors
raise their weapons in defense, seeking
guidance—their leader belts out a war cry, and the warriors meet its charge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A huge ghostly claw swipes at Harka, spinning
him around violently until he collapses in a heap nearby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is difficult to tell if there is blood on
the snow—a similar blow would eviscerate any lesser man.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Behind the spectral bear, I catch sight of a fleeting
shape moving from into the cave—a smaller form, almost that of a child, wearing
a dark cloak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am quite certain that
the other warriors have not seen this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
continue to crouch and watch—as much as I don’t want the same fate to befall
Aros, this is not my fight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not
understand the powers at play here.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnQGZ-8GPTc8nSaBI64l0UCm__4Nw-xRQbd840lUw57jkIP8wb2V9kSPGop0HdEXmQaeaHpsXXBvmI_bD1mDm774-RjYRT3Q-obWZvXY8k3gzsw_OjtQx2RSoTvtrxQ7ltsnfNJUioPTzEk-PtLymb5xKAjKC3ypJaxFLaiO5WRLYtDrzylJgHjBnfqg/s273/cloaked.PNG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="273" data-original-width="179" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnQGZ-8GPTc8nSaBI64l0UCm__4Nw-xRQbd840lUw57jkIP8wb2V9kSPGop0HdEXmQaeaHpsXXBvmI_bD1mDm774-RjYRT3Q-obWZvXY8k3gzsw_OjtQx2RSoTvtrxQ7ltsnfNJUioPTzEk-PtLymb5xKAjKC3ypJaxFLaiO5WRLYtDrzylJgHjBnfqg/w131-h200/cloaked.PNG" width="131" /></a></div>Frode motions violently shouting instructions as Aros
& Baln begin to back away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bear makes a sweeping attack at Aros, but he manages to dodge, narrowly
avoiding its reach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode rushes
forward, sword raised high and strikes at the bear—suddenly, as quickly as it
appeared, it vanishes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grunt softly,
my suspicions seemingly confirmed—for I believed this to be an illusion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though illusion is a discipline of the arcane
arts I cannot access, I am familiar with it in theory.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">There is a brief pause as the warriors scan their
surroundings, looking for other threats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Harka remains motionless in the shadows, and in the confusion I slip
away, heading back to Vargmenni and Gola lest my presence be noticed by Frode.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vargmenni seemed secretive about her study of
the scroll, and I would not want Frode to return and catch her unawares.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I make it back, I find Vargmenni tucking
away the vellum.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Frode returns,” I utter breathlessly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Harka was killed, I think.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wait to see what reaction her reaction may
be to those words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If Vargmenni is
concerned, she does not show it.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Knowing that only a few moments remain, I draw my knife,
showing it to Vargmenni.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Should I give
this to Gola?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a question that had
been on my mind, and I’m not sure of my own intent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She could do herself harm or attempt escape, and either way it could be dangerous for me if she were found with my blade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not hide my words from Gola, curious to
gauge both of their reactions.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Gola stares silently, her face tight with restrained
emotion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vargmenni shakes her head no,
and I sheathe the blade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“One last
question,” I ask quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is she friend
or enemy?”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Vargmenni eyes me intently before responding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Neither.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There is no more time for discussion as Aros returns, alone, and begins
issuing instructions that seem to indicate he wants the four of us to return to
our camp.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Where is Frode?” I ask Aros, assuming my meaning gets
across.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Harka” is his response.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I give him a questioning look before replying, again
using one of the few words I know in their language.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Harka sick?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m curious to measure his response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He grunts, neither confirming nor denying the statement, almost as if it
is inconsequential. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wordlessly, Aros
pushes us along the path back towards camp.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">When we arrive, the orders are clear that Aros wants the
gear collected—I scoop up Harka’s pack while Aros, Vargmenni and Gola
collect the rest of the packs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once
complete, we retrace our steps towards the hill and the mouth of the cave to
find Frode and Baln sitting silently near the fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Harka is on the ground nearby, breathing
slowly though unconscious—there is no blood or visible wounds on the warrior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cave opening is nearby, pitch black.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one seems inclined to pay it much
attention, let alone enter the cave, at least for the moment.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I look at Harka, then to Frode and ask “What happened?” My
meaning unclear, I gesture to Vargmenni to translate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She exchanges a few words quietly with Frode,
and I am surprised by the cordial tone in her voice.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">He mutters a few incomprehensible words and she replies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“False death.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Enemies?” I ask Frode using his language, pointing
towards the cave mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode replies
crudely, nodding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Enemies.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With that he stands, commanding the group to
claim the camp and fire and prepare to rest for the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are several packs that the other party
left behind, and we begin to sort through them, cataloguing our
findings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I find a way to draw near Vargmenni, and gesture to her
tunic where I know the roll of vellum to be hidden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode is distracted, stalking around the camp
picking through gear so I risk a few quiet words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Fire hands?” I ask her, and she gives a very
quick, subtle nod before returning to her tasks.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I take a few steps away and stop to stare at the cave
entrance, attempting to see if I notice any architecture, anything
recognizable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vargmenni appears silently
at my side, making a careful gesture, raising her hand to my head and lowering
it to her shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the trade tongue
she utters a single word. “Dwarves.”</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjzqCoJw6MnI6RE21EaYol0CsNbhH8nSPN1Ar3WtX5X0rbmt_vG_5Iab4hyGBpMK6YSVLhJ19KVFOb-XlF83q_Ekcq6AUydR4zD_SnoE8AK3usWloTYbf1a5VMp-2jTbgt2U_XArNVzByfiEVFO_yFl1X3evlSk_5_JYqF1EvzWbNsbTRQkH7pBSOLrA/s605/knife.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="217" data-original-width="605" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjzqCoJw6MnI6RE21EaYol0CsNbhH8nSPN1Ar3WtX5X0rbmt_vG_5Iab4hyGBpMK6YSVLhJ19KVFOb-XlF83q_Ekcq6AUydR4zD_SnoE8AK3usWloTYbf1a5VMp-2jTbgt2U_XArNVzByfiEVFO_yFl1X3evlSk_5_JYqF1EvzWbNsbTRQkH7pBSOLrA/w320-h115/knife.PNG" width="320" /></a></div>Jason Gunderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11206196654542839692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-26009359752865496362022-07-03T00:09:00.002-04:002022-07-03T15:15:27.240-04:00#48: Bad Magic<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZgvJDrxEDBR0vcE6bV5Z4uNKeRHHavL7wakWP0QNGyZQ5Mw2Bmqnj3ttXTSmXfkBNqnnzzbtq_E5WkF3hOYoC-Ovf1i7SMIeLKD7K9fpdOxnoGpfeBn3_UhyYy_Pi8Z8JDfq59ChP6yuEVjz0dNDgq9oCttOftNs49biSCgqNDJ0mPddq44GQDEBVOw/s624/sticks.PNG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="335" data-original-width="624" height="108" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZgvJDrxEDBR0vcE6bV5Z4uNKeRHHavL7wakWP0QNGyZQ5Mw2Bmqnj3ttXTSmXfkBNqnnzzbtq_E5WkF3hOYoC-Ovf1i7SMIeLKD7K9fpdOxnoGpfeBn3_UhyYy_Pi8Z8JDfq59ChP6yuEVjz0dNDgq9oCttOftNs49biSCgqNDJ0mPddq44GQDEBVOw/w200-h108/sticks.PNG" width="200" /></a></div>Images of Frode’s brutal ritual continue to haunt me
through the silence and darkness, of blood pouring from his mouth as he digs
out a pair of teeth with my blade, replacing them with stones from the pouch
seized from the <i>heucuva. </i>The
nature of the stones eludes me, and it takes effort to push the grisly thoughts
from my mind. I focus instead on my facsimile of Frode’s pattern of sticks and
bones, used to power the elder’s spell.
The arcane style, primitive yet effective, fascinates me, and I do my best to reconstruct it from memory. Once satisfied with the results, sleep threatens, so I settle into my hide
near the small bonfire, seeking rest.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p>I am disturbed by the crunch of boots in the snow, however, and stare as I see Vargmenni standing a few
yards away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watch as she scans the
camp, Aros and I sleeping near the fire, and her attention rests for a while on
my reconstruction of Frode’s spell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
says nothing, and after a few long moments, turns away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Curious but unconcerned, I give in to fatigue
and settle into a deep sleep.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">A woman’s scream pierces the night, and I pull myself
quickly to my feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros is already
standing, his cudgel in hand, and he marches through <i>Tovt</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Zeb?” I call out questioningly, pointing to
my chest, then to the village to see if he wants me to follow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looks back and holds up a hand in a
staying gesture—I obey, drawing my knife as I try to stay alert.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Several members of the village are stirred into motion by
the scream, and I can see a torch or two flickering in the distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shadows make it hard, but I catch glimpse
of Frode’s figure in the shadows, dragging behind him the form of a woman in
one hand and a large sword in the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is not Vargmenni, that much is clear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His torso is still covered in blood, though it’s not clear if it is
fresh or dried blood from the brutal extractions earlier this evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman he drags does not seem to be
resisting, though she seems fearful or distressed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh1yDLNu-L0P3A86cS9RmIet4c3yPPnFdvrs_N7_YL4E0caua__Iv01gJgQkLaF7A24bUnBfDO1XYO9FtdAx_pnm_ION3ZJdh7J6E54QU-0T5BCtsPKF5todrcHrvmWH-lBDPqX21PDshc4aYJvkA1xhr5klgDLWelUNViR4c0ctytW-jq23anJcDvzA/s388/sword.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="381" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh1yDLNu-L0P3A86cS9RmIet4c3yPPnFdvrs_N7_YL4E0caua__Iv01gJgQkLaF7A24bUnBfDO1XYO9FtdAx_pnm_ION3ZJdh7J6E54QU-0T5BCtsPKF5todrcHrvmWH-lBDPqX21PDshc4aYJvkA1xhr5klgDLWelUNViR4c0ctytW-jq23anJcDvzA/w196-h200/sword.PNG" width="196" /></a></div>I follow his passage until he disappears into the
village, and while I am concerned for what might be going on, I recognize the
impracticality of doing anything about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The sword, however, is a curiosity—it speaks of craftsmanship I had not
yet seen displayed in the village.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">In a few minutes, the camp settles and Aros returns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He appears stoic, and barely acknowledges me
before settling back into his bedroll, ignoring my questioning looks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though wracked by curiosity I do not broach
the matter—Aros has earned my trust, and if he is not concerned, I do my best
to suppress my own disquiet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More noises
are heard throughout the night, muffled screams and cries, but no one stirs or
makes to stop them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find falling back
to sleep difficult, so I sit near the fire cross-legged and focus on my
breathing until sleep finally comes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">When I awaken, I can see Aros sitting near the fire
staring into the flames.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His clay jug of
water is nearby, and he shares it with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I point to a haunch of the deer and then to the fire, making it clear
that I intend to cook breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He nods
in approval, and once cooked we share the meat silently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When finished, Aros stands and gestures for
me to remain again before heading to the village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can see villagers going about their
business but can make out few other details, so I content myself to eat and
drink my fill, eager to regain my strength.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">When Aros eventually returns, he issues what appears to
be a command.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>“Okt!”</i> he says,
gesturing for me to stand and follow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
assent, walking quietly behind him as he leads me to Frode.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The elder looks agitated this morning, the
cause unknown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has changed his hides,
but dried flakes of blood are still visible on his neck, arms and legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I peer at his face, expecting to see bruising
or swelling from the ritual, and while I see signs of damage to his face, it’s
not as horrid as I would have thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros’
folk are hardened, indeed.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Good morning,” I offer as a greeting, not expecting a
response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode regards me with a
piercing stare, and when he replies it is to Aros in his own language, not to
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His speech is altered by the removal
of his teeth, his voice coarse and speech somewhat slurred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode gestures to both of us, continuing to
speak unintelligibly, and I recognize only Vargmenni’s name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the conversation we are clearly
dismissed, and Aros guides me away from <i>Tovt.</i></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">When we return to camp, Aros gestures for me to gather my
belongings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I leave the sticks and bones
behind, throwing the deer hide over a shoulder and pat the knife tucked into my
belt, gesturing that I’m ready.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We walk
to the edge of the village where we meet a pair of large men, clearly warriors,
each carrying a weapon similar to that of Aros.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Vargmenni and Frode appear shortly after, though from separate
directions, the elder carrying his immense sword in one hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other holds a rope, and from it Frode
drags a bedraggled woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is
clothed, though appears as if she has been beaten recently—or worse.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Frode stands before the group, pulling the woman roughly
to his side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gestures to each
gathered, starting with Aros, speaking the warrior’s name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other warriors he identifies as Harka and
Baln, and a slight scowl crosses his face when he names Vargmenni.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The scowl deepens when he points to the other
woman, naming her Gola.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode clearly
intends for us to leave <i>Tovt</i>, though the destination is unknown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unsure how it will be received, I turn to Vargmenni
and speak in the common tongue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are we
going to danger?” I ask her slowly, using the most basic language I can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She takes a few moments to process before
responding slowly.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKuHOdOAFI3UPtSURVxIJ3ct-wmI21aqSTitLkYnjaaVnARLnKp-9Lgf3YjbGoXEHSuGD6f8TQwUgouoCU1wgHIyPMdg8cT8z29McY0I39gusmiXyACG_9itpWOtXXPk_mdPljqHeOln0rUSPyAT4ClofmylF0wpDEKgVkEFjlV_cCVOE7-Lzy1UMYmg/s461/vargmenni.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="461" data-original-width="434" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKuHOdOAFI3UPtSURVxIJ3ct-wmI21aqSTitLkYnjaaVnARLnKp-9Lgf3YjbGoXEHSuGD6f8TQwUgouoCU1wgHIyPMdg8cT8z29McY0I39gusmiXyACG_9itpWOtXXPk_mdPljqHeOln0rUSPyAT4ClofmylF0wpDEKgVkEFjlV_cCVOE7-Lzy1UMYmg/w188-h200/vargmenni.PNG" width="188" /></a></div>“Danger,” she says awkwardly, and I am glad to see that
the exchange does not seem to anger Frode.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I point to Aros’ hide armor and weapon and turn to regard Frode,
pointing a finger at my own chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Warrior,” I say, attempting to communicate that I am capable of bearing
arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vargmenni looks as if she’s going
to speak on my behalf but Frode interrupts, and whatever he says puts an end to
the conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I nod, deciding not to
press the matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode gestures and
Aros leads our small group from the village, heading into the wilderness.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Aros looks at me almost empathetically, thumping on his
chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I take it as a sign of
reassurance, thumping my own chest and smiling, doing my best to keep up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seven of us form a procession that leads into
the hills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though still uncertain of the
terrain, I assume that we are heading back to the stone circle and the <i>heucuva</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rapid pace of the warriors requires
nearly all of my focus and energy to keep up, and I spare no time to attempt
any further communication.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Two days of sleep and nourishment have done much to
restore my constitution, and I feel more like myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The terrain we pass through is rough, with
many light snowbanks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vargmenni and Gola
do not travel particularly fast compared to the men, which provides some relief
to the otherwise strenuous pace, especially as we reach small ridges and
hills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My thoughts stray towards
Nobanion, knowing that we are headed towards some unknown danger, and I find
myself eager to prove myself to my new patron in some way. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We travel all day, sun rising and then
beginning to fall again, and it is not until sunset that our group pauses to
rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A bright moon rises into the clouded
sky.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Before long, my assumptions are confirmed, and I can see
the circle of stones in the dim light atop a nearby ridge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I point ahead and say “<i>heucuva</i>”,
looking to the warriors and to Frode to see what reaction is elicited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The warriors seem hesitant and cautious, but
Frode surprises me by laughing out loud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is an altogether unexpected reaction, and I find that Frode’s
confidence is actually rather unsettling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He pushes forward, raising his enormous blade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shrug to Aros, draw my knife and follow.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Frode stops before entering, gesturing
for Aros and the warriors to flank the circle of stones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode drops Gola’s tether, and she sits on a
nearby rock obediently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The nature of
their relationship is still a mystery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
recognize this is the first time that Aros has left my side, and I am left
alone with Frode, Gola and Vargmenni.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The absence of the large warrior, my protector and only friend in this
strange world, leaves me feeling vulnerable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Frode motions for me and Vargmenni to follow behind him
as he steps towards the menhirs, and his pace quickens as he cries out <i>“Heucuva!”
</i>and unlimbers his large sword.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
follow as commanded, though Frode’s sudden transformation leaves me feeling
very uncertain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather than the composed
elder and potential mentor I had expected, Frode has turned out to be impetuous
and violent, reminiscent more of a Malaran beast cultist than a village elder.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmfX-7PN1gyUwawRYjK_KyXdpxppsklFB0ucW-x5gkGB7bM9wa0EAnjvmuVRoM-uv-B1iEedUEIWcWFPolvQTWEBneWgEEEdXmTWlq2gnaCPo8Yort8W9LB77d1BeRhiVcMXk8XzbSL7Vh8IsZFOFQWjUgRHPNCnGpL3yYw-mDf7DUribhTsTZd0B31A/s402/flying%20frode.PNG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="273" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmfX-7PN1gyUwawRYjK_KyXdpxppsklFB0ucW-x5gkGB7bM9wa0EAnjvmuVRoM-uv-B1iEedUEIWcWFPolvQTWEBneWgEEEdXmTWlq2gnaCPo8Yort8W9LB77d1BeRhiVcMXk8XzbSL7Vh8IsZFOFQWjUgRHPNCnGpL3yYw-mDf7DUribhTsTZd0B31A/w136-h200/flying%20frode.PNG" width="136" /></a></div>A cloaked figure steps from amid the circle, the <i>heucuva</i>
in its disguise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode’s march hastens
as he raises his sword and he launches himself into the air, feet leaving the
ground, taking flight as if aided by magic. Vargmenni and the others are as
shocked as I am, and she clutches my arm, looking terrified. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i>Bad magic</i>,” she says with a quivering voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems clear she’s referring to Frode, not
the <i>heucuva, </i>and my instincts take over as I motion for her to stand
behind me, putting myself between her and the creature.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq4_1SFM8RVRi2Vw47TSgtRzTXro9pjJQW2IkT2Tavpc43ARpawV8hVIXmSrlokRcNTUYiOHPZrxYcalr1SNtP4pUuhLsNYGmgda11l4MhAQd_VpGyg_5wQ5FIJ37AtylAcU5MqSojmFIh2YzF5m03z0Q4PtP1ECc1QVMLchsb7pDoNZr2aWE2RTAGMw/s504/heucuva.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="504" data-original-width="382" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq4_1SFM8RVRi2Vw47TSgtRzTXro9pjJQW2IkT2Tavpc43ARpawV8hVIXmSrlokRcNTUYiOHPZrxYcalr1SNtP4pUuhLsNYGmgda11l4MhAQd_VpGyg_5wQ5FIJ37AtylAcU5MqSojmFIh2YzF5m03z0Q4PtP1ECc1QVMLchsb7pDoNZr2aWE2RTAGMw/w152-h200/heucuva.PNG" width="152" /></a></div>Frode hovers over the stone circle and the <i>heucuva </i>for
a moment, then suddenly dives towards the creature, his sword whirling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He slashes mightily in a cross swing that
strikes the creature, though the blow seems deflected, leaving the <i>heucuva</i>
seemingly unharmed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode lands nearby,
growling angrily, and the creature’s disguise is cast off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It lashes out at Frode with skeletal hands,
though Frode backs out of reach, avoiding the attack.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I turn to Vargmenni and command her to remain behind as I
approach the circle, careful not to cross the threshold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While trying to keep an eye on Frode I
examine the ground, hoping to find a weapon or something that can be of
use.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see the hilt of a broadsword in a
pile of snow nearby, but nothing else of apparent value.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Frode swings wildly again, his blade passing in front of
or directly through the creature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
length of Frode’s weapon keeps the <i>heucuva</i> at bay, preventing a counterattack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a second, overhead stroke that would cut a
normal man in half, Frode strikes the creature in the shoulder but the blade is
shunted by the creature’s unworldly magic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have encountered foes like this before.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Over my shoulder, I shout for Vargmenni to come to my
side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my panic, I’m unable to put
together a coherent command, though I want desperately for her to tell Frode to
retreat, that he is not able to combat this kind of magic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She fails to comprehend my meaning as we hear
the crash of Frode’s blade again behind us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He brings it down upon the creature’s skull and again, the sword is
deflected. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode is enraged, too angry
to acknowledge the ineffectiveness of his attacks.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Magic!” I yell at Vargmenni, and she looks at me
questioningly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Magic!” I repeat
vehemently, “tell him it can only be harmed by magic!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope that she understands, and I hope that
Frode will listen to reason.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The <i>heucuva </i>rakes its claws across Frode’s face,
blood spraying onto the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Suddenly, Vargmenni steps breaches the stone circle, holding out her
hands—and a torrent of flame launches from them, setting the creature
ablaze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It shrieks as it begins to
collapse in a heap of burning robe and bone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Frode pulls himself to his feet, hacking as its form crumbles to a pile
of ash.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I look at Vargmenni, surprised, and she seems nearly
overwhelmed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
gesture for her to follow me into the circle and we approach Frode, who is
still hacking at the smoldering undead remains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I can see Aros and the other warriors drawing near, looking around
cautiously, careful not to enter the stone circle.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“This place is evil, and we should not be here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tell him,” I command Vargmenni.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She begins speaking rapidly to Frode, and I
can only assume she has gathered my meaning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Frode ignores her words, instead leaving the remains of the <i>heucuva</i>
behind to pace and poke about the ground within the circle.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Very quietly, Vargmenni speaks to me again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Frode.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Bad magic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beware.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gesture for her to follow again and we leave
the circle, as behind us we see Aros enter, his weapon out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He begins speaking loudly to Frode, and the
elder turns on the warrior, swinging his sword wildly, aggressively clattering
it against Aros’ cudgel as they shout at one another incoherently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros finally withdraws, leaving Frode alone
among the menhirs.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“And what about your magic?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bad magic, or good?” I ask, curious to see
her response.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmF70u_QTD2zdqhlwtRYQcZIRlFx7krck-kqqk-KHQ_4Y2NutFRlAYUFUJSep0Qwq1vppv5DRo6L5XLXPJSXTfhNr9L5xZrfVW0XeNSvnHPIFcJdEz7_XawEOPcqVMKQELXarGEHgi6gfRVkbtBzGz7tiAfXJB-KERUVzn16xEQzckeJB7-ViqvjYRew/s680/fire%20hands.PNG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="415" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmF70u_QTD2zdqhlwtRYQcZIRlFx7krck-kqqk-KHQ_4Y2NutFRlAYUFUJSep0Qwq1vppv5DRo6L5XLXPJSXTfhNr9L5xZrfVW0XeNSvnHPIFcJdEz7_XawEOPcqVMKQELXarGEHgi6gfRVkbtBzGz7tiAfXJB-KERUVzn16xEQzckeJB7-ViqvjYRew/w122-h200/fire%20hands.PNG" width="122" /></a></div>“Vargmenni magic, protect,” is her surprising
response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Vargmenni, fire hands.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The conversation is interrupted when Frode
leaves the circle, striding back to where he left Gola.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros follows behind and the two speak, their
conflict from before seemingly forgotten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Once again Frode seems coherent, and while I recognize Vargmenni’s name
as well as my own, I understand nothing more of their conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode finally turns to me and Vargmenni and
then starts issuing orders to the others, seemingly to make camp.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">A camp is established uncomfortably close to the menhirs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A large fire is built for warmth
and hides are tossed on the ground around it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>While the warriors discuss setting watches over the camp, I desperately
want to communicate with Aros, but I feel as if anything were overheard it
could have disastrous—perhaps even deadly—consequences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have so many questions, about the <i>heucuva,
</i>about Frode and his descent into madness, as well as about Vargmenni and
the sudden revelation of her magical prowess.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I decide to sit near the fire in silence and keep an eye
on Frode as much as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode
remains awake during the first watch, focusing his gaze upon the members of the
camp intently, appearing deep in thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I try not to meet his gaze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
can’t shake the feeling that Frode is a potential threat, and for a moment I
entertain thoughts of slitting his throat in his sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are Malaran instincts however, and I
banish them, castigating myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know
too little of these people to make such judgments.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Hours pass and fatigue threatens, but one of the warriors eventually comes to change watch and Frode grabs Gola and pushes her to the
ground, drawing her arm over his side as if using her for warmth, lying down
near the flame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only when I see the
man’s eye’s close do I let sleep take me.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I awaken the next morning and take a few steps away from
the camp, seeking privacy to pray to my patron.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I ask forgiveness for the rash thoughts of the previous night, though
the lingering sense that Frode is dangerous remains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I seek Nobanion’s guidance on this
complicated situation, and appeal to the King of Beasts for the means to
discover the information I need to choose a path forward.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWH3Rn4nbh_juGReX8TXZGWTZl941Uanhao--I0ZdyN_Aj0HGLEZ2IQJofLE-f3SyQzT2h4pGzkXv20vebaJYGnmcrDo1hlgRdb9BH2xM6aQ7OOlTstooae7hY-E68ifBsxTGtICO5QdCz6aJI8O1UegCGVSrtul7vZ60qPSeR2Uxss0SfHMsgsSox0A/s249/nobanion.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="247" data-original-width="249" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWH3Rn4nbh_juGReX8TXZGWTZl941Uanhao--I0ZdyN_Aj0HGLEZ2IQJofLE-f3SyQzT2h4pGzkXv20vebaJYGnmcrDo1hlgRdb9BH2xM6aQ7OOlTstooae7hY-E68ifBsxTGtICO5QdCz6aJI8O1UegCGVSrtul7vZ60qPSeR2Uxss0SfHMsgsSox0A/w200-h198/nobanion.PNG" width="200" /></a></div>I feel clarity for the first time that Nobanion has heard
my prayers, and that he has granted me the powers I seek.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the camp makes ready to depart, I return
to the stone circle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The warriors take
note, and Aros makes to stand and join me, but I gesture to him to stay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode notices but makes no move to stop
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Amid the stones, nothing seems changed or disturbed
from the previous night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Using the
spells granted me, I open up my senses, investigating the circle and debris littered within for signs of magic, hoping to make some sense of the
runes carved into the stones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The runes
are indeed magical in nature, though I am unable to discern the source or the
type.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe them to be an entrapment
spell, similar to abjurations I have used in the past, though I have no way to
prove the theory.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I shift my divine perception, this time concentrating on
a divination to seek out fell energies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am relieved that the remains of the <i>heucuva</i>, defeated, do not
radiate emanations of evil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Likewise,
the stones themselves, while magical, are neutral in alignment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Satisfied at the results, I pause to consider
my next actions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holding on to the
energy of the spell I return to camp, hoping for an opportunity to use the
magic to discover more of Frode’s nature.</p>Jason Gunderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11206196654542839692noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-65955829898025906042022-06-15T00:56:00.006-04:002022-06-15T13:58:29.622-04:00#47: Tovt<p>I fade in and out throughout the night, bouts of restless
sleep intertwined with fits of nightmarish dreams or hallucinations. The relentless cold has penetrated my body,
the dull warmth of the flickering fire my only lifeline.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcSHy6lTEJf1nEZuGq2Pc5DmxRY11SYATH1sob-KlGBTm4XLTutORer1hyzPeT0UOehEyXWHK6oX7Pzq1fi00azZWdm6tAR8_emHwkvE7u6_MZo2hTUr0MtpSsu1Eqit8a4KWfmTqj5Svfho9bB1PpC7TMmjOfntlFP9d8L1-f_VIKlbbhl3AASKjXRw/s376/fire.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="313" data-original-width="376" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcSHy6lTEJf1nEZuGq2Pc5DmxRY11SYATH1sob-KlGBTm4XLTutORer1hyzPeT0UOehEyXWHK6oX7Pzq1fi00azZWdm6tAR8_emHwkvE7u6_MZo2hTUr0MtpSsu1Eqit8a4KWfmTqj5Svfho9bB1PpC7TMmjOfntlFP9d8L1-f_VIKlbbhl3AASKjXRw/w200-h166/fire.PNG" width="200" /></a></div>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">When I finally awaken, I take a few moments to gain my
bearings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is difficult to tell how
much time has passed—it is perhaps late afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Given that it is likely the beginning of the winter
season and knowing the shortness of days in the Frozenfar, it is likely that I
have been unconscious for nearly an entire day. </p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I hear Aros crunching through the snow nearby, and I
raise my head wearily to watch his approach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He is carrying a small deer on his back, two legs wrapped around either
shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He throws it to the ground
near the fire and starts the process of breaking down the animal, the tinge of
iron from the deer’s lifeblood permeating the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It raises memories of past hunts and kills,
and I have to shake myself out of the brief reverie.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Good morning,” I say feebly, earning a raised brow and a
stoic nod in return.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I crawl towards him
with my knife in hand, gesturing and offering to help with his skinning and
butchering of the animal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though weak, I
want to prove myself to this warrior, show him that I can be of some
worth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He raises a brow again but tosses
me a haunch, and I do my best not to spoil the meat or bit of hide as I prepare
it for the fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The smell of roasting
game awakens a deep hunger—I don’t even know how long it has been since my last
meal, and my mouth waters.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">When we finally settle into the meal, I start slowly;
even the ritual of breaking my fast seems foreign, and it takes a long time to
fill my stomach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The nourishment starts
to restore some of my energy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros takes
a long pull from a large clay jug and offers it to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is filled with cold water, and I refresh
myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros seems content to let me
continue to rest, busying himself with tasks about the campsite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not knowing what he plans, not knowing where
we are, I pull myself to my feet and settle into a ritual, struggling to
coordinate mind and body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I start with a
lot of stretching—my limbs are yet weak from lack of nourishment, muscles
bunched from lack of activity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once
satisfied, having earned myself a sheen of sweat, I find a nearby rock and sit
quietly, letting my spirit reach out once again to Nobanion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ask nothing of my patron, still feeling
that I have not yet earned that honor, pleased enough to simply feel a
connection again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time the ritual
is complete, I am nearly spent—recovering, but not yet recovered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros is not the most vocal of companions, but
I get the impression that he’s satisfied with my presence and with the
silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spend a long time gazing out
over the barren horizon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, I
lose the battle against fatigue and fall asleep once again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">When I next awaken, it is from a restful, dreamless
sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether a gift from Nobanion or
the natural progression of my slow recovery, I give him silent thanks nonetheless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sky is dark and overcast, no light from
the moon visible except for the faintest illumination of covering clouds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am rested enough that I don’t feel the need
to sleep any more, and I use the energy to explore the camp, careful not to
disturb Aros in his sleep, though I doubt that the warrior is truly ignorant of
my presence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Escape is the farthest
thing from my mind—I am still weakened, completely without resources, and
despite our current relationship as companions, I don’t even know if he would
let me get away.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The way Aros arranges the camp shows he’s a skilled
woodsman and hunter, able to care for himself in the bleak Frozenfar wastes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I eye his weapon, lying on the ground nearby.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It appears to be manufactured, though
crudely, a blade of unworked steel nested into a long wooden shaft to form a
crude axe or bladed mace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wears
around his neck a token, a small amulet made of sticks, bones, feathers and
strings of cartilage. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It stirs neither
memory of Malar nor worry, not being recognizable as a symbol of any particular
faith.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I return to my seat near the fire, content to let Aros
rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thoughts of the encounter with <i>heucuva</i> troubles me—both the nature of the deceptive creature as well as
how it was repelled by my body when I threw myself between it and Aros.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was this Nobanion’s doing, or some other
mystery?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am left unsatisfied, with no
answer clear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mind the fire quietly for the remainder of
the evening, keeping watch, until morning arrives and Aros stirs to
wakefulness.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">After eating, Aros smothers out the fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Taking this as a signal that we are about to
leave, I take the hide from the deer and throw it over my shoulders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is still bloody and somewhat sticky on the
inside but will provide warmth in the harsh environment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros seems satisfied with the decision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Where are we off to?” I ask, expecting no
response.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">This time, surprisingly, he speaks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i>Tovt.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>What that means I cannot possibly discern, so I gesture for him to
lead and follow along as best I can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Fortunately, he walks closer to my pace than his own, and though it is
sometimes a struggle I am able to keep up.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">We head in the direction of the rising sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though nominally heading east, the terrain
makes a direct route impossible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before
long we come upon a stream that joins our path, and we follow our way along it eastward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sky is overcast and prevents the sun from
shining through, but I track its passage in the clouds until nearly
highsun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We climb atop a low ridge that appears
to have a valley beyond, and once we reach the crest, we are rewarded with a view
of several huts and bonfires on the valley floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros is unsurprised, and we are clearly in
lands he knows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>“Tovt</i>,<i>” </i>he repeats
again, taking long strides forward as he enters the valley.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I repeat the word softly, <i>“Tovt</i>,<i>”</i> smiling briefly, and follow.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpUUXWok828rX4VtSjSUtof-8fiwlHmlWnAl-EYJlqXxE4C2ugU5El7orehPPgpg9elarghS6GHMnIAlzWjwwMvfqd0eo_2fjrlVqhsKrRNbuKjska7901Hvue-NT_4cvww6jBVLQenYUOy2IWXLUd3XloeWQz1VbOe7W5GNGnWtgAuZuvvf14jx-FsA/s715/tovt.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="715" height="116" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpUUXWok828rX4VtSjSUtof-8fiwlHmlWnAl-EYJlqXxE4C2ugU5El7orehPPgpg9elarghS6GHMnIAlzWjwwMvfqd0eo_2fjrlVqhsKrRNbuKjska7901Hvue-NT_4cvww6jBVLQenYUOy2IWXLUd3XloeWQz1VbOe7W5GNGnWtgAuZuvvf14jx-FsA/s320/tovt.PNG" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing">The small village is reminiscent of Crahdorn’s gathering
of tents, though Aros’ folk—assuming that this is indeed his village—gather
here in greater number.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other figures
are seen about the village, also tall and muscular, though few quite so much as
Aros.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their race is clearly of human
lineage, though of a stock I don’t recognize.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They are, however, to a person, of intimidating stature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A crowd gathers and people begin to approach,
forming a small audience for our arrival.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">An older man, taller than me though still not as large as
Aros, approaches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His hair is long and dark brown mixed with strands of grey, and he is adorned with many fetishes of gut string and bone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While unrecognizable,
this man carries with him the air of a chieftain or leader.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He narrows his eyes, almost stalking me as he
nears, muttering lowly under his breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He stops before me and utters a single word, <i>“Frode</i>,<i>”</i> its meaning
lost on me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros begins to speak in his
language, communicating with his elder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After a time, he says my name, “Zeb,” and gestures towards me.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The older man circles as he inspects me, reminiscent of a
panther advancing on its prey. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>“Hota!”</i>
he calls, and though the commanding tone is clear, I have no idea what directive
he has given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is an air of
suspicion in the tone, perhaps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I draw
my blade slowly, flipping it so that the blade is in my hand, offering him the
hilt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looks at it skeptically before
Aros interjects, explaining something more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The only word I recognize is “<i>heucuva</i><i>,</i><i>” </i>which elicits a rare reaction
of surprise from the elder as well as from those gathered.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn2JJzlTVOol4X5vxJAYxVKQ8U7IwSwBI0emfnS2n7qDjnNl-1Izr9LC1-O7ui_MSHdQxyymQSZiY5E0xV4MK0yTBJT-dsQSre_O-vbKHa80oVBFK4M6ABYb3Zug0iLgmmrlT_FHYv8-1oMOXKNt_yvZOCDrox2WELjC9GKX8-qudikvQgRUblW9oWKw/s879/harvester.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="879" data-original-width="600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn2JJzlTVOol4X5vxJAYxVKQ8U7IwSwBI0emfnS2n7qDjnNl-1Izr9LC1-O7ui_MSHdQxyymQSZiY5E0xV4MK0yTBJT-dsQSre_O-vbKHa80oVBFK4M6ABYb3Zug0iLgmmrlT_FHYv8-1oMOXKNt_yvZOCDrox2WELjC9GKX8-qudikvQgRUblW9oWKw/w136-h200/harvester.jpg" width="136" /></a></div>He eyes me carefully, quickly snatching the knife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He examines it briefly before tucking it into
his belt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros hands the pouch he took
from the stone circle to the older man, who seems pleased.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He issues a few more commands to those
gathered, and the circle begins to disperse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“What now?” I ask Aros, shrugging my shoulders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unsurprisingly, Aros provides no
response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, he grabs me firmly,
not necessarily intending to be forceful, pushing me towards the edge of the
encampment to a small bonfire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
motions for me to stay there, and sits across from me silently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ponder Aros and his folk—their skin is
slightly tanned compared to the fair-skinned barbarians of the North, but they
share a similar square jaw and physique.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Related perhaps to tribes I know, though likely not directly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyAahOzmokwx9p8Yn13cBA2MBRj-LmLp73ZEMfycq5X3qksDu7tx2HVf1PG2BZZMHGqe-ANb_8m_X3QlaH4eos3U1DRuGOE3SmF8v7g6iZwUcWUiL0BDt_H7L5nWwQZBnS4mUwwFs_dRtYNrR_7I8QH-Fs0WwgDujfuzN8H-DY3H9WL9FXmP4q8UcnTg/s600/IMG-9470.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="337" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyAahOzmokwx9p8Yn13cBA2MBRj-LmLp73ZEMfycq5X3qksDu7tx2HVf1PG2BZZMHGqe-ANb_8m_X3QlaH4eos3U1DRuGOE3SmF8v7g6iZwUcWUiL0BDt_H7L5nWwQZBnS4mUwwFs_dRtYNrR_7I8QH-Fs0WwgDujfuzN8H-DY3H9WL9FXmP4q8UcnTg/w113-h200/IMG-9470.jpg" width="113" /></a></div>One individual stands out among the crowd, however—a
woman, young compared even to Aros, her skin much darker than the others with long,
black hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She strikes me as foreign,
clearly not a blood relative to this tribe, though she wears their clothing and is adorned with similar fetishes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It does,
however, appear that she has scars—marks on her arms and face, a lattice of
raised skin.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Aros doesn’t seem particularly talkative, but I decide to
probe the matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I use pantomime and
verbal cues to ask the elder’s name, thumping my chest and voicing the word “Zeb”
before pointing to the elder in the village center.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“<i>Frode</i>,” responds Aros, though whether that is his
name or a title I am yet unsure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Confident in my ability to communicate, albeit crudely, I ask after the
raven-haired woman’s name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>“Vargmenni”</i>
is his response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Satisfied, I sit still
and quiet, awaiting whatever judgment or sentence may come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hours pass.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Finally, people begin to congregate once again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whereas before it was a couple dozen, now it
appears as nearly the whole village has gathered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the sun starts to set and twilight
approaches, I watch as they meet around a large bonfire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The elder man, Frode, seats himself on a log
near the fire, and motions for Aros to bring me forward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The situation reminds me of the <i>keravela</i>
tribes near Dagger’s Deep, Odesia’s kin, where Kezia revealed her reading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shake my head to rid myself of that
particular memory.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bdK06F7k_9foYs-UN01GOfBiwxi0sBzGFsHUrbtt4j7omVFhNczN7Ua9X2BgG-PwTT7Kl5DgdgvZ0-dzA85lx7M0BVU6QevCe4dIOzBliPRWxvn7xkbIyN2pBvOYoqvcdcuqLXr9evtpqSxi11Ipljgae0jCl5SbnhzgU_w-ABA_RfUYgd484ysfYw/s144/bones.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="125" data-original-width="144" height="125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bdK06F7k_9foYs-UN01GOfBiwxi0sBzGFsHUrbtt4j7omVFhNczN7Ua9X2BgG-PwTT7Kl5DgdgvZ0-dzA85lx7M0BVU6QevCe4dIOzBliPRWxvn7xkbIyN2pBvOYoqvcdcuqLXr9evtpqSxi11Ipljgae0jCl5SbnhzgU_w-ABA_RfUYgd484ysfYw/s1600/bones.PNG" width="144" /></a></div>Frode, draws my knife from his belt, setting it down on
the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He begins to speak,
repeating the word “<i>Hota</i><i>.</i><i>”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>After
he says the word, I notice small pieces of bone laid before him and he begins
to utter words I discern as magical in nature—primitive and unorthodox, but
clearly recognizable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He very suddenly
reaches out his left hand and grabs my forearm.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“<i>Hota!</i>” he repeats again, this time pantomiming speech
with his hand.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“You want to speak?” I ask, regretting my slow-witted
response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>“Hota”</i> is the response again,
though this time he nods.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Are you able to understand what I’m saying?” I ask, and
he nods again.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“My apprentice possessed similar magic,” I admit,
gesturing to his grid of bone slivers, “and I am familiar with its use.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No reaction is elicited.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I pause for several moments, constructing my response to
this man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I climbed from my death and
escaped the darkness, only to encounter this warrior Aros, who saved me from
the frozen wastes.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He continues to
stare at me, and I pause in my story, waiting for reaction.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">He turns to speak to Aros, the only word I recognize
being the woman’s name, <i>“Vargmenni</i><i>.</i><i>”</i></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“The woman with the scars,” I state quietly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He repeats her name again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man’s face is unreadable.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Have you any knowledge of a nearby town called
Fireshear?” I ask, not expecting him to have ever heard of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A village on the sea, larger than your own,
with tents made of stone.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">He attempts to speak the word “Fireshear” clumsily, then
shakes his head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>No.</i></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“I seek my wife and my child, though it may be many miles
and many years before I can ever hope to find them.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He continues to regard me without expression,
except perhaps the slightest of nods.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Aros saved me,” I continue, “and I owe him a debt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And you have sheltered me, and for that I owe
you a debt.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At that, he picks my knife
up off the ground, stands, and backs from the circle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aros grabs me again, pulling me away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frode begins to speak to his people,
addressing the circle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He takes the
pouch in one hand and my knife in the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Their attention to his words is absolute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More than once I hear the word <i>“heucuva”</i>
again, each time eliciting sharp intakes of breath, the word clearly disturbing
the villagers.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Rz-DFNi9bZ9G8nHI7wmPGfoGN6Eiixz5EKEIaZSamatWCkpKiQhGDIdGtZiMr8kKBDQFtAjYrVsOR9IytutFluLDWY9pmSvgd7pCcYY2WhVMpRQCn_g7ffTNJvmJ1hWyisfZYLhSi0FcwMqfnTl28OWmuqLgAu9-mHFmi4CkoiG-v82NJ_0lVmZ-OQ/s251/tooth2.PNG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="137" data-original-width="251" height="109" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Rz-DFNi9bZ9G8nHI7wmPGfoGN6Eiixz5EKEIaZSamatWCkpKiQhGDIdGtZiMr8kKBDQFtAjYrVsOR9IytutFluLDWY9pmSvgd7pCcYY2WhVMpRQCn_g7ffTNJvmJ1hWyisfZYLhSi0FcwMqfnTl28OWmuqLgAu9-mHFmi4CkoiG-v82NJ_0lVmZ-OQ/w200-h109/tooth2.PNG" width="200" /></a></div>He returns my blade to his belt for a moment, reaching
into the pouch to withdraw a small stone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m unable to make out much detail, but it is small, no larger than a
pebble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He draws my knife again, slowly
raises it to his lips, then suddenly Frode puts the blade into his mouth,
twisting it and cutting into his gums.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Frode withdraws a tooth in a fountain of blood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is an air of seriousness, though none
of the villagers move or issue anything more than a gasp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All eyes are locked onto Frode as he inserts
the stone into his mouth, replacing the tooth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I can’t help but stare at the ritual in shock and amazement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before I can ask Aros what is going on, Frode
reaches into the pouch, withdrawing another small stone—this one different, appearing
red in color.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">To my dismay he repeats the ritual, drawing my knife
again and exchanging another freshly-extracted tooth with the stone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both bloody teeth are dropped onto the ground
near the fire, Frode’s chest a curtain of dark blood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He walks towards me and offers me my bloody
blade, then closes the pouch and puts it onto his belt before retreating wordlessly
to a nearby tent.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">When Frode departs, the rest of the crowd begins to
disperse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watch the them, curious to
see if Vargmenni is in attendance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
find her standing near the fire and approach, curious if any will bar my way or
if she will avoid me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None stop me, though several eye me carefully, and though she seems wary, she remains, giving
me a cautious stare.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">She is slight of frame, exotic in nature, and younger
perhaps than I imagined before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are you
able to explain what just happened?” I ask, curious if she will comprehend or
respond if she does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looks surprised,
pausing for a moment before responding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her
reply is in broken speech, though recognizable as the basest form common, often
used among traders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You travel far,”
she says awkwardly, taking me a few moments to piece together the meaning
through her heavy accent.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Yes,” I respond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I point to the sky, continuing, “To the heavens and back.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She nods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Good night,” I finish, and return to Aros aside our small fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With nothing more to do or say, I withdraw
the deer hide from my shoulders and start to treat it, scraping it clean and burning away the bits of
flesh to make a more proper hide garment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Frode’s bloody ritual is heavy in my thoughts, though I’m not able to discern
any meaning from it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Once that task is complete, I find a flat rock and a few
bits of bone or sticks lying in the dirt, none more than a finger in length.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Closing my eyes, I contemplate the arrangement
laid down by Frode when casting his spell, for indeed a spell it was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That in itself is surprising, but the nature of
the spell prepared is also surprising—it was not a ward against enemies or the
elements as you’d expect from a barbarian shaman, but something more nuanced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though the method was completely foreign,
arcane sigils bear enough resemblance that I set my mind and hands to
recreating the matrix, piece by piece.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqVPC_69u9d8Ag_AnKtarw6XAUM1P_Yq9049OREpoPxmVgVSI0BcYW8DHdwuWEyJMPyMAHFOIlOhaydNI6WjUKimKFwC_PvHVJhNf87bS_xtf1O9WBEvbMxnYZh-osa5Wk6gITlAdP1o4656jnRPwyjRehu86-ejLxSurjoP1AS6uprb90UEfZZBcC-Q/s486/starless%20sky.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="210" data-original-width="486" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqVPC_69u9d8Ag_AnKtarw6XAUM1P_Yq9049OREpoPxmVgVSI0BcYW8DHdwuWEyJMPyMAHFOIlOhaydNI6WjUKimKFwC_PvHVJhNf87bS_xtf1O9WBEvbMxnYZh-osa5Wk6gITlAdP1o4656jnRPwyjRehu86-ejLxSurjoP1AS6uprb90UEfZZBcC-Q/w320-h138/starless%20sky.PNG" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Once satisfied, I leave it on the rock, curious to see if
Frode will recognize my recreation. I
busy myself about the fire in silence for a few more moments until fatigue
overtakes me, and I pull the skin over my torso as I lay on the ground, staring
up at the starless sky. For some reason
Vargmenni comes to mind, and I am haunted by a phrase from the past. <i>Mortem disfidare</i>.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>Jason Gunderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11206196654542839692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-44054098446261488002022-06-06T23:58:00.009-04:002022-06-07T10:23:12.147-04:00#46: Rebirth<p>I find myself at the top of the ledge alone, standing in the
dark, breathing heavily from exertion.
It is the first moment that I’m able to pause and take stock of my situation,
my physical condition, and the weight of my predicament threatens to crush
me. The air is cold, and early symptoms
of hypothermia and exhaustion begin to settle in. Beyond that, I am alive with knife in hand. I need to start moving.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I sink to my knees, half from exhaustion and half from a
desire to construct a reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mental
images of what I might find, what I hope or perhaps fear to find, cloud my
judgment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remembering the ledge as it
was before my death, instead of feeling my way in the black towards the cave
exit as I should, I crawl in the opposite direction to where the bridge
should exist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Curiosity and desperation
threaten to guide my movements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Long
minutes pass, my chest pressed against the cold stone of the cavern floor, arms
out feeling for the ledge, for any sign of danger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite my efforts, I learn nothing more
about my environment, swimming in a black, featureless sea of rocks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Not allowing desperation to overtake me, I pause for several
breaths, grounding myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Survival
instincts begin settle in, and I rely on my other senses, heightened by my lack
of sight, to get a feel for my environment, seeking any familiar or unfamiliar
scents, sounds, or flow of air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The low
slap of water against stone at the base of the cavern is all I can hear, and nothing
registers to my other senses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need to
keep moving.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Using the rim of the ledge as my guide, I turn around and
crawl the other direction, seeking exit from the cavern.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The darkness is disorienting, even crawling
on my stomach, but my heart nearly leaps when I discover the flat cavern wall
and nearby, a cramped crawlspace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is
perhaps small compared to what I expected to find but losing my ability to
control myself I begin to scramble quickly, desperate for signs of light or exit
to the cave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My memories of the shaft
are unclear, clouded by all that has happened.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB8RIS63T7nmWrW-dd0r1pIpt687tnYH-DxmKuyhSBEIcSgfktnaal4o1LRPjHnmKAp0R4FE7CxQbKe89DpzRxAahQaMFz69YvDqp7pDda5buXAk9IWld-43XD655Kc0yJdOemeMgAUQZvH41CHQA3EOgzwH-rTyYjpQv1JevjAqW5tJDwtfyqO0lO1g/s193/stalagnate.PNG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="193" data-original-width="140" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB8RIS63T7nmWrW-dd0r1pIpt687tnYH-DxmKuyhSBEIcSgfktnaal4o1LRPjHnmKAp0R4FE7CxQbKe89DpzRxAahQaMFz69YvDqp7pDda5buXAk9IWld-43XD655Kc0yJdOemeMgAUQZvH41CHQA3EOgzwH-rTyYjpQv1JevjAqW5tJDwtfyqO0lO1g/w145-h200/stalagnate.PNG" width="145" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, it’s a word.</td></tr></tbody></table>It is a struggle to get through the shaft, and I must will
myself forward, arms and legs straining to win a few inches of progress at a
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several minutes pass, my progress
slow and arduous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the chill of
the cavern, I am dripping with sweat from exertion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My escape is interrupted by a protruding stalagnate in the middle of the shaft spanning the full height of the crawlspace, blocking
my way as prison bars would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is
not enough room to flip to my back to attempt to kick through the obstruction,
and I try to hold off panic as I evaluate my options.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I search desperately for a stone to try and bludgeon the
pillar, not wanting to risk the hilt of my knife, but the rocks I use crumble
against the obstacle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I throw an arm and
shoulder through the gap, desperate to fit through an opening too small for my
upper body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My shoulders are simply too
large to fit, but I try push through anyway, too stubborn and too desperate to
give up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I exhale sharply to collapse my
lungs, pushing and pulling with all my might.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I scream out in pain as my joints threaten to dislocate and as my flesh
is rent by the rough stone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With one
final push, the largest part of my torso slips through and I nearly pass out
from the effort.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It takes a while to shake off the daze before I return to
the fight for my freedom, not knowing if freedom even lies beyond the pillar of
stone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pull the lower half of my body
through and return to crawling on my chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Minutes pass—how many, it is impossible to tell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The darkness seems to distort time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, I emerge into another cave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaX8s4czZr4rAH4QaFw_kqTcALlVIedTwDuXWwgngTcbUfnwcz3Go3KZbEWkMat2mVKVubdQaoFY7wp4LCX9an_9pnF9pKTr2PPtElXQqy4Q9E1mTnleUNMKwYgmPAhGcFGsTsFPnM2wD_nQPS0EXB3URilMDJRgZY0ZMmvDIHfaMjcXcyaMtsg3yoqQ/s311/exit%20only.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="311" data-original-width="297" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaX8s4czZr4rAH4QaFw_kqTcALlVIedTwDuXWwgngTcbUfnwcz3Go3KZbEWkMat2mVKVubdQaoFY7wp4LCX9an_9pnF9pKTr2PPtElXQqy4Q9E1mTnleUNMKwYgmPAhGcFGsTsFPnM2wD_nQPS0EXB3URilMDJRgZY0ZMmvDIHfaMjcXcyaMtsg3yoqQ/w191-h200/exit%20only.PNG" width="191" /></a></div>There is dim light ahead, not bright but enough to provide
definition where there should be nothing but black.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Refusing to entertain that it’s a
hallucination, I crawl forward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My crawl
turns to a crouch as the cavern expands, then to an awkward gait until I’m finally
able to stand at full height.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Natural
light is perceptible at the end of the cave, but it is dark—either twilight or
early dawn, and though desperate to learn more of my surroundings I compose
myself, controlling my breaths before walking forward quietly.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My senses perceive no threat, no hint of woodsmoke on the
wind from a nearby campfire or noise from a potential enemy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only a chill wind carrying a light dusting of
snow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peering outside, I find the
natural ledge of rock I expect to find, confirming with a high degree of
likelihood that this is the cave where I died—though where I am in respect to
time is yet a mystery.<i><o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If I am correct and my memory sound, it is two day’s travel
to Fireshear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With no supplies other
than water provided by melting snow, I evaluate my resources and options
available.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether Nobanion will answer
appeals for divine magic is as of yet untested, and I had hoped not to rely on
it so soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lacking proper clothing to
prevent exposure, I step out into the cold, fall to my knees, and appeal to
Nobanion for aid.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3MXE8lpuEX4g3XJQApiZzNg60Vtfmlgd0NY_cDMs1ByMZXTokj-Z-xW3YZAaR5GYHo329LMqpt6K4j6_h9nNUcqDVsSVvD6Kw8DN7GgzEa45BtSCgJcFOZaUfVUNpkzbSaVE7jmQzhnKLEqrveYWOU_nFtQgzZOokVpU8OW4wvOKhmVIVZ-BzWWbvBg/s158/supplication%20gray.PNG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="158" data-original-width="153" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3MXE8lpuEX4g3XJQApiZzNg60Vtfmlgd0NY_cDMs1ByMZXTokj-Z-xW3YZAaR5GYHo329LMqpt6K4j6_h9nNUcqDVsSVvD6Kw8DN7GgzEa45BtSCgJcFOZaUfVUNpkzbSaVE7jmQzhnKLEqrveYWOU_nFtQgzZOokVpU8OW4wvOKhmVIVZ-BzWWbvBg/w194-h200/supplication%20gray.PNG" width="194" /></a></div>I settle into a meditative state, seeking the familiar
contact I expect to find from my deity, unsure how it may differ from my
prayers to Malar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> T</span>rying
to consciously avoid thinking of Malar brings him to mind nonetheless, and I
struggle to clear my head and focus on my new pronouncement of faith to the King
of Beasts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An unfamiliar sensation
washes over me, that of shedding spiritual soil as I separate myself from Malar,
and a new presence is felt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is
bestial, though in a purer, less malevolent form, and when my trance breaks,
I feel a sense of accomplishment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nevertheless,
I resign not to test Nobanion’s grace, and to rely on my own strength as long
as I am able.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What is faith, if I don’t
test it?” I grumble to myself, starting to climb down the ledge into the
elements, into the cold night, committing everything to Nobanion’s will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only when I am not physically able to go
forward any more on my own endurance will I reach out for his strength.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I examine the ledge for anything that might aid in my
descent, ropes or ladders leading to the ledge, but find nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recall mine carts that were on the ground
below, but if they ever existed, there is no sign of them now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are no clear paths down, but after
climbing up from my death below the cave, I will not let this descent be the
end of my story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the dark and
wet conditions, abundant handholds are present and I’m able to scramble to the
bottom of the ledge with only a few bumps or bruises.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With little more than a vague indication of
what direction Fireshear lies, I begin my journey.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There is but a single trail, if it can be called that, that
is traversable at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am given hope
by the sun peaking over the horizon to the east, heralding the dawn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sun’s warmth will be a welcome boon,
though there is still much danger of exposure in this rugged environment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been in this situation before, when
first cast out from the beast cults, and survived, and that at least is
comforting.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Little of my environment is familiar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When last I traversed these paths it was in
the company of a guide and large group of people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I head south and east as best I can, following
what paths present themselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That I
continue to sweat is encouraging, and I stop only to grab handfuls of snow to
keep hydrated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I descend into a primal
state, relying on instinct to remain on target.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A set of deer tracks converge on my path, perhaps a game
trail, as the terrain begins to level and slopes fade into open land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Snow has collected on the ground, not enough
to slow my travel, though enough to reveal signs of nature or any recent
passage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Encouraged by this, I continue
to follow the tracks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
trail bends several times, following what appears to be the easiest path through inconsistent terrain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are
moments of caution when I need to cut through brush, but no other obstacles
present as I press through the chill towards my goal.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv7IF7PLLRcdiGOCLt1mkWObNg6oDyIfY-nPD3GBUxmFBUT6ne-M4wCSmfHtojxWGGOI8zpNk0WA-MrDojH0P15kpriHQApN2oPyfTY-qE7sdVRsXq3Ufgg-GDmUpLMwz7Ku63r4vkhcSn-0At6HfrlSlpeFQsvJ4KcepydRZ6E-FGR1ELDRkAbonjtQ/s366/aros2.PNG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="272" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv7IF7PLLRcdiGOCLt1mkWObNg6oDyIfY-nPD3GBUxmFBUT6ne-M4wCSmfHtojxWGGOI8zpNk0WA-MrDojH0P15kpriHQApN2oPyfTY-qE7sdVRsXq3Ufgg-GDmUpLMwz7Ku63r4vkhcSn-0At6HfrlSlpeFQsvJ4KcepydRZ6E-FGR1ELDRkAbonjtQ/w149-h200/aros2.PNG" width="149" /></a></div>After some time, I catch glimpse of a shadow ahead, a large
form that disappears before I can determine more detail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I give the potential threat a wide berth,
unwilling to risk an encounter that may lead to injury.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cut across terrain,
hoping that I’ll be able to pick up my path again later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though I see no signs of the creature, when I
near the area where I last saw it cross, it emerges swiftly from cover and
starts rushing towards me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The creature
is bipedal, perhaps a man or ogre, much larger than me, and raises a large,
bladed weapon as it charges.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In a panic I examine my surroundings, looking for a path
that will be more traversable by someone of my size in hopes that I can delay
it and escape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I dart ahead, changing
directions seeking favorable paths, but the creature takes a single stride for
each two of mine and closes the distance quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My attempts to evade it fail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In brief glances stolen over my shoulder, it
seems more a man than an ogre or giant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The leafless trees and rocky terrain provide little in the
way of advantage, though ahead I see a pair of boulders that narrow into a funnel,
which seems like my best chance at a defensible position.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As expected, he closes distance fast but not
before I reach the boulders and draw my knife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“One of our lives does not have to end here,” I shout in an attempt to
parley and avoid combat.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The large man stops suddenly, holding his bladed cudgel in
front of him in a defensive, warding gesture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His eyes are gray, the color of the sky, and he wears layered hides
suitable for the environment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is
hardly breathing heavily where I am nearly ready to collapse from exhaustion.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I am not your enemy, but you will not take me easily.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pause for a reaction, clearly overmatched,
desperate to avoid a fight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He makes no
sign of recognition, instead holding his cudgel out and pointing it silently in
the direction I was headed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I make a few
cautious steps in that direction, lowering my blade, in the hopes that my life
will be spared.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Are you letting me go?” I ask suspiciously, backing away
from him and heading in the way he is pointing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He follows me, step for step, uncomfortably close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Curious, I ask his name, not knowing if he
comprehends or has the ability to respond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It seems clear he can hear me, but voices no response.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">On a hunch, I utter a few words that I recall from the
language of the barbarian Anaithnid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Whether or not he comprehends I am unsure, but he elicits a few guttural
words in response that are unintelligible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He points again with his club, so I continue in that direction, always
keeping him in front of me or to my side.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He makes an expression I could almost mistake for a
smirk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I accept his smugness or
derision, letting him guide the way, careful not to turn my back to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We proceed along the trail in silence, and I
can’t help but feel slightly emasculated by the immense warrior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The effects of cold and hunger begin to set
in fully, and even at my new companion’s normal walking pace I have to strain
to keep up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We wind through unfamiliar
terrain for nearly an hour before finally he stops.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I put a few more steps between us cautiously as he looks to the ground—more deer tracks are present, and these are erratic, the
snow making them easy to see and follow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is as if the deer were feeding or gathering before separating in different
directions, as if they ran off in a panic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The man looks up at me, pointing his cudgel between the forked
tracks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Are you coming with me?” I ask, not expecting an
answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His unwavering stare is his only
response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I make a few cautious steps in
that direction, and he makes to follow.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hope you know where we’re going, because even if you don’t
kill me, this cold eventually will.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I eye
his layered hides enviously, but decide to press ahead without another word,
continuing my travel with the stranger.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The sun starts to set, the day seeming to pass too quickly,
hinting that the winter season might be coming or already upon us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the night will come deeper cold, and
without shelter it is unlikely I will make it through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We approach a small ridge, and beyond
it is visible a cluster of boulders or menhirs in a small circle at the top
of the hill.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVI8uc4fKCE5Ty5BeiDYoEL4AcB31R8J6z3n3k6SiqWTr90tPClIR6-treJxtD9P6pmUn5N0jAFdKhk9mFsHxXtAu-jPannQYg2pzR19xax28NIXT_iDfC62Xuo8Fhnc_AyAl6tu8u9RYDyoxpVFqK3eqBv6KmhfuiTF7x76rLFNj-4xeKMQIJ2bJbQ/s2184/menhircircle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="689" data-original-width="2184" height="101" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVI8uc4fKCE5Ty5BeiDYoEL4AcB31R8J6z3n3k6SiqWTr90tPClIR6-treJxtD9P6pmUn5N0jAFdKhk9mFsHxXtAu-jPannQYg2pzR19xax28NIXT_iDfC62Xuo8Fhnc_AyAl6tu8u9RYDyoxpVFqK3eqBv6KmhfuiTF7x76rLFNj-4xeKMQIJ2bJbQ/s320/menhircircle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">There are no lights ahead
or hint of smoke on the wind, but it looks as though there may be a person
outfitted in traveling clothes and leathers standing among the stones. “Friend of yours?” I ask, not expecting an answer. There is a scattering of debris on the ground
within the stone circle where even the snow seems unable to penetrate. My large companion gazes ahead, poking his
cudgel the direction of the man, uttering “<i>heucuva</i>.”</p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s the first time that anything resembling speech comes from my new friend, and for the first time since my rebirth, I smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So now you’re talkative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s go introduce ourselves.” I stumble up
the rocky hill as best I can.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The figure stands idly as we approach, motionless and
expressionless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s no reason any of
this should be here, and I’m curious to understand what’s going on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The faces of the ringed stones are etched
with glyphs or runes, but I can’t make much of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is then that I notice the ground
surrounding the stones is barren of snow, littered instead with rocks, sticks and
other debris. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I peer at the stones, trying
to make some magical sense of them.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The runes are etched clearly and deeply in the stone,
reminiscent of runes used by the dwarves of Mirabar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I search the runes for signs of similarity to
those discovered in Moonglow Cave or Oldkeep, though if there is any
resemblance, it is slim.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Is it safe to enter?” I ask the new stranger, curious to
see if he’ll understand or respond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
large companion strides forward into the circle, raising his cudgel toward the
new stranger repeating the word “<i>heucuva</i>,” this time in a seemingly more
serious stone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The stranger makes no
response.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMpLUXK78ax9CCrvNd_vYaMwe0MLU5UJkVcJ2xLU-nOZ7rLrzn9A64ZGHqK4-TfiqSIZomxBqXCHIaY0WjzQTVcyzvljpWefWAG490OMJwh1m2SGW8myhqcABSxEW4LAkYR6JLbyhUix6eb4EaWpX9XeQ0drAcnGIL765le4ue_lcz3SYpNHNeLFDnTA/s369/heucuva.PNG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="369" data-original-width="350" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMpLUXK78ax9CCrvNd_vYaMwe0MLU5UJkVcJ2xLU-nOZ7rLrzn9A64ZGHqK4-TfiqSIZomxBqXCHIaY0WjzQTVcyzvljpWefWAG490OMJwh1m2SGW8myhqcABSxEW4LAkYR6JLbyhUix6eb4EaWpX9XeQ0drAcnGIL765le4ue_lcz3SYpNHNeLFDnTA/w190-h200/heucuva.PNG" width="190" /></a></div>The debris on the ground, upon closer inspection, appears to
be shards of bone—when I look up at the new stranger to discern more
about him, his appearance is changed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A hooded figure with a skeletal visage
has replaced the stranger, and lunges at the barbarian.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In an instant, I throw myself at the creature, attempting to
foul its charge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am faster, interposing myself between the creature and the barbarian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No contact is made, and instead the creature
stumbles backwards hissing and clawing, almost as if it’s repelled by my presence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hold my knife in front of me, keeping
myself between it and the barbarian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
steal a glance to see the barbarian’s surprise—whatever he expected to happen,
it was clearly not this.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When it’s evident that the creature won’t approach me, for
whatever reason, my companion stoops to the ground and starts picking through
the bones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He grabs a leather pouch from the morbid debris, mutters “<i>heucuva</i>” again, this time with disgust in
his tone, and begins to slowly withdraw from the circle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I keep myself between him and the creature,
slowly backing away.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">While we escape the circle, the undead creature remains, seemingly
trapped within the ring of stones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
companion begins walking back the way we came, gesturing for me to follow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We distance ourselves from the circle, only
pausing for the barbarian to sneer one last time and repeat the word “<i>heucuva</i>”
disdainfully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My exhaustion is apparent,
and I am on the brink of unconsciousness from exposure. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unsure if my new companion acknowledges this
or cares, I follow in the dark by instinct alone, putting one frozen boot in front of
the other in silence, my breaths becoming shallow, my steps unsteady.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We reach a plateau, and the man begins to gather wood for a fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am too weak to even offer
help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looks me in the eyes, thumping
his chest and uttering a single word, “Aros.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It appears to be this massive barbarian’s name.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">On the brink of collapse, I weakly pound my own chest,
responding “Zeb” before letting darkness and cold overtake me.<o:p></o:p></p>Jason Gunderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11206196654542839692noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-56801855964129890792022-06-06T13:27:00.000-04:002022-06-06T13:27:21.860-04:00Paths diverged (the future of D&D)<p>A few years back, I wrote about my long-term vision for D&D in <a href="https://1eadventures.blogspot.com/2019/03/longevity.html">this post</a>. As I reimmerse myself in the game after some time away, and after having spent many, many hours reflecting on settings, homebrew vs. published worlds, and <a href="https://1eadventures.blogspot.com/2021/08/map-of-pcs-in-forgotten-realms.html">previous campaigns</a> prior to launching with Phelan, Khadhras, and Ged, I finally feel a true framework for my future DM endeavors beginning to unfold.</p><p>For months (even years), I’ve been at odds with the ideas of building out my own world vs. giving up the massive investments I’ve made (and continue to make) in Forgotten Realms (and, to a lesser extent, Ravenloft). Though it’s early, I’ve started to bridge these opposing forces in the <a href="https://1eadventures.blogspot.com/2022/03/index-of-high-forest.html">High Forest campaign</a>, while also stirring the longevity cauldron by forging a path with Jason to further Zeb’s legacy. I don’t want these efforts to be mutually exclusive, nor do I want either of them to prevent me from executing on other D&D initiatives that I’ve placed on the backburner for so long.</p><p>In short, just because I’m actively working on a particular D&D project doesn’t mean that other campaigns should retire, will retire, aren’t “canon” within the space I run, or won’t be allowed to come to fruition. This isn’t a complex idea, but it’s something I’ve had difficulty believing and coming to terms with. Kicking off the latest 1:1 track with Zeb* has been an essential catalyst: our content is too good, too deep, too historied to not continue on with for as long as we want it to go. But neither should the greatness of Zeb’s story preclude other arcs from being played, nor other worlds from being developed for the long term.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhifvHeFyXFfM3x32u4MH9oDwwuWbRYBkRLJXEQ1wJpUotWj69T43Ch2Nn90mNjxa79yCoDbcQDgGSM-0X8koSL1Gt7V6g6IRnR2VS4zeIg1-YFLTpWiDDgYGDnGSQfYE__b3c2jzj7KVYBPrrMqNUvGFsLjrQxTsGvm2WnA7me88JB_1RsRBc5ZK3Kdg/s1024/fork.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="649" data-original-width="1024" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhifvHeFyXFfM3x32u4MH9oDwwuWbRYBkRLJXEQ1wJpUotWj69T43Ch2Nn90mNjxa79yCoDbcQDgGSM-0X8koSL1Gt7V6g6IRnR2VS4zeIg1-YFLTpWiDDgYGDnGSQfYE__b3c2jzj7KVYBPrrMqNUvGFsLjrQxTsGvm2WnA7me88JB_1RsRBc5ZK3Kdg/s320/fork.webp" width="320" /></a></div><p>The missing piece that I’ve talked about for years is a gritty, in-person AD&D game in the spirit of “<a href="https://1eadventures.blogspot.com/2011/02/bx-scenario-halflings-vs-ogres.html">halflings vs. ogres</a>” (maybe even using <a href="https://www.basicfantasy.org/">Basic Fantasy</a>!) that pulls hard on the simulationist strings. This would almost certainly <i>not </i>be in Realms, and when the time is right for such a game to begin, I’m not going to defer it because it would spell the end for Zeb, Phelan, Khadhras, or Ged... because it won’t.</p><p>Rather, what I see myself doing is having a few separate, ongoing DM tracks. They may not all move quickly, and each may wax and wane based on real-world happenings and where I’m most keen to invest at a given time. We’re all adults with families, jobs, and responsibilities, after all. In truth, I’ve already started down this road, but I think it’s important to disclaim it going forward, lest any players start to feel that their current campaign is in its death throes or that there won’t be additional opportunities to get involved in games I decide to run.</p><p>This post is little more than an introspective exercise for me to look back on later. When I think about D&D games that have been <a href="https://nerdist.com/article/dungeons-and-dragons-campaign-running-for-over-40-years/">running for 40 years</a>, the work of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steven_Erikson">Erikson</a>/<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ian_C._Esslemont">Esslemont</a>, <a href="https://tao-dnd.blogspot.com/">Alexis Smolensk</a>, and others, the value in history, consistency, richness, and depth is abundantly clear, and something I want to continue to strive for over time. It won’t be achieved by throwing away my last 20 years of DMing and starting from scratch, nor by failing to forge new paths into new endeavors and even new worlds for fear of losing all that's come before. The key is for it all to be interconnected in some way, even if subtle—as this is what will enable the web of time and space within and between campaigns to expand as the years go on.</p><p><br /></p><p><i>* By the way, I know I wrote in the “Longevity” post that “If a PC dies based on dice rolls, I’m not going to intervene.” And, to be fair, I didn’t. The <a href="https://1eadventures.blogspot.com/2021/07/45-to-victors.html">TPK happened</a> and we moved on, started a new campaign arc with different characters. The party and campaign as we knew them were no more. In a high fantasy setting, though, with gods, magic, and other preternatural forces directly involved, I don’t feel in the wrong for having left a door open for Jason (or Sean, though he elected to close it). Zeb’s “rebirth” has come at great personal cost (both story and mechanical) and allows us to continue chronicling an epic character in an organic and nondisruptive way. Know that I didn’t take this decision lightly, and nothing short of the monumental set of circumstances surrounding these events would have allowed it to occur. If anyone believes otherwise, feel free to throw your current character in front of a raging orc horde and see what happens. :) </i></p>Matt Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18195243799773565579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-91957489020124270302022-06-03T09:54:00.000-04:002022-06-03T09:54:16.961-04:00The Hunted<p>The Beastlord stalked amid the ocean of departed souls, seeking his prize. Wading in the tide of spiritual essence, unfathomably powerful claws sifted through that which once was, and that which had yet to be. </p><p>Malar found his quarry, feebly bound to the former champion of Mystra, the tethers loosening, dissipating to nothingness.</p><p>As if they’d never been.</p><p>The Black-Blooded One bore down upon his subject, the Beastlord’s closeness demanding fealty, submission, acquiescence.</p><p>What it found was… <i>betrayal</i>.</p><p>“The Hunter becomes the Hunted,” a guttural call resonated behind him. The Beastlord turned to face his adversary, his near-equal in stature and power, whose primal utterance crescendoed to a godly roar.</p><p>Malar was not amused.</p><p>“A priest, abandoned his god at the hour of death—”</p><p>Nobanion’s voice was calm, baiting. The Beastlord spat.</p><p>“I know well what he would become!”</p><p>“A soul that serves no master,” Nobanion continued. “The most wasteful of wastes, what before us you have sown.”</p><p>Malar snarled, bearing enormous fangs that glistened with the lifeblood of a thousand worlds, poisoned by the Beastlord’s unyielding malice over a thousand eons. Sentience swirled around them, goading a battle fought thousands of times before, and yet to be waged as many times and more again.</p><p>“Claim the soul, then, Firemane.”</p><p>All awaited Nobanion’s reply.</p><p>“It is claimed.”</p>Matt Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18195243799773565579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-29978799939503153742022-05-19T15:31:00.001-04:002022-06-06T12:48:52.226-04:00The Ascent<p>The handholds were slick, wet with moss and algae. It took several attempts to find his grip, then he managed to hoist himself upward, muscular arms and legs unburdened by the heavy pack he was used to carrying. Though his eyes had adjusted to the near-pitch blackness, the rock wall demanded naught but his sense of touch to aid his climb.</p><p>His senses left him entirely, ere he became innately aware of a wolf. Circling. Then another. Another. Silent paws padding across that which was neither earth nor air. Eyes of bright yellow fading to deep crimson.</p><p><i>Seven.</i></p><p>Zeb came to, one-third of the way up the steep ascent, feeling weightless. Hands and feet continued to move without instruction, fingers clutching the rocks like claws.</p><p>Seven wolves in all, circling him in the darkness. But they were not alone. Bipedal figures stalked their footfalls, hooded and robed in shadow. Each brandished the hilt of a rusted knife, the blades outstretched and closing in on their quarry. A wraith to every wolf...</p><p><i>Seven.</i></p><p>Zeb lulled as he found himself closer to the top of the cliff. The air was thick, stagnant, penetrating his eyes, nose, and throat. Somehow, his limbs continued to climb. He closed his eyes.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9iYtD_nm4rwZ4hTBJ7MfselcIpDM0baK1Ov7s7duAwljcB0zkgA5kDKVnU2CypSAZ6hKb7RoA7IzlZ48qpTItSL9cuanuhzwQlIOt37aS0bFic-2-g7g9JcSJVVPnDcPbA_tjU3wIbW0Ucrh4qRAbFQlTA9kgaO1E5O-uGd_P-N2Yh3c2EqDmG-nz1Q/s1328/shadow-wolves.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1328" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9iYtD_nm4rwZ4hTBJ7MfselcIpDM0baK1Ov7s7duAwljcB0zkgA5kDKVnU2CypSAZ6hKb7RoA7IzlZ48qpTItSL9cuanuhzwQlIOt37aS0bFic-2-g7g9JcSJVVPnDcPbA_tjU3wIbW0Ucrh4qRAbFQlTA9kgaO1E5O-uGd_P-N2Yh3c2EqDmG-nz1Q/w181-h400/shadow-wolves.jpg" width="181" /></a></div><p>The wraiths overtook the wolves in perfect synchronicity. Seven pairs of forms each melded into one, black dissipating into blackness. They were gone and, for a moment, Zeb’s mind was empty. Then, from oblivion emerged a lithe figure with raven hair, adorned with fetishes of feather and bone. She drew forward, her image mirrored on either side. Three women, matching stride for stride, pervading the very depths of Zeb’s soul. <i>Behold. Your destiny dawns.</i></p><p><i>Three.</i></p><p>Zeb awoke, climbing with all his might, feeling again his wet hands and boots as they overcame the impossible, jagged ledge. He crested the top, bringing himself to stand before the trio of <i>keravela</i> witches that he knew haunted his every movement.</p><p>And saw nothing.</p>Matt Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18195243799773565579noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-45467132798049037892022-05-17T10:09:00.005-04:002022-05-17T10:09:49.695-04:00XP awards for sessions 2-5<p>Sorry for the long delay in getting this posted. Not a ton of minutiae to review, but a couple key milestones worthy of acknowledging:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Eluding the forest bear - 175</li><li>Escorting “the three” to Aryen’s Hope - 1,000</li><li>Wolf attack amid the barrows - 650</li><li>News/company returned from the Deadwalk - 2,000</li></ul><div>In total, 3,825 points divided three ways makes for 1,278 each, with Ged also receiving a 10% prime requisite bonus (128 additional points, 1,406 in total). Updated party totals:</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Khadhras - 1,553</li><li>Phelan - 1,553</li><li>Ged - 1,709</li></ul><div>With these additions, Ged crosses the threshold for 2nd level and may ascend upon training for two dedicated (in-game) days. Even if we don’t end up playing soon, I didn’t want to let this go any longer.</div></div><p></p>Matt Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18195243799773565579noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-49207642865412346532022-04-26T23:53:00.008-04:002022-05-16T23:43:43.630-04:00Wolf Dreams<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAanw8xEnryPJGWvaNyHqRUmI_vR-sMRe2fnYbmBlRD0PrBOvmqXVNJBT2V7bXPgNnvhVtw837EAB0cHH3tG4nmJo1WpISRFZZ10XlUzsCLQy8lFMpiGy2ZbhcTM16iAixp0k0lfkU4Kr6zX9zVVLroB08CkaqzYJviMAz764-vmNzqX-I_sEwvNp5Zw/s249/undead%20wolf.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="249" data-original-width="171" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAanw8xEnryPJGWvaNyHqRUmI_vR-sMRe2fnYbmBlRD0PrBOvmqXVNJBT2V7bXPgNnvhVtw837EAB0cHH3tG4nmJo1WpISRFZZ10XlUzsCLQy8lFMpiGy2ZbhcTM16iAixp0k0lfkU4Kr6zX9zVVLroB08CkaqzYJviMAz764-vmNzqX-I_sEwvNp5Zw/w137-h200/undead%20wolf.PNG" width="137" /></a></div>Phelan woke, startled, his hair damp with sweat despite the evening chill. His heart was racing, his skin cold and clammy—the aftereffects of an adrenaline rush, not unlike that found in battle. <p></p><p>The dream had followed him ever since that night at the Deadwalk—sanguine, glowing eyes piercing the night, dim though somehow penetrating—an enemy poised to strike, to tear out his throat as it had Pyr’s. It was stalking his dreams, getting ever closer. It was hard for Phelan not to worry. Sleep found Phelan again eventually, though it was fitful, restless. Time passed.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk0XFMnvysOQdaNsYtpqAIzIaWvXLq3nGAkn4IhbDxnOFsf7T1yw4Q4HTIgP2xGDnfYmvgig1-4PYruR3T3SApAct-ERTFcP_DFTgZF0Y7Y1i7bBDlif_HSLnGMyke8nSwSm_Eh5ntycCydIzDUBYIL7Z0PfrzFFcqRyn85Qvgxiivf-TxTIUbCaRQbg/s279/wolf%20eyes.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="156" data-original-width="279" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk0XFMnvysOQdaNsYtpqAIzIaWvXLq3nGAkn4IhbDxnOFsf7T1yw4Q4HTIgP2xGDnfYmvgig1-4PYruR3T3SApAct-ERTFcP_DFTgZF0Y7Y1i7bBDlif_HSLnGMyke8nSwSm_Eh5ntycCydIzDUBYIL7Z0PfrzFFcqRyn85Qvgxiivf-TxTIUbCaRQbg/w200-h112/wolf%20eyes.PNG" width="200" /></a></div><p>Phelan startled again, this time nearly waking the mage Khadhras, though no one else seemed disturbed by Phelan’s sudden spasm into wakefulness. Again he was sweating...but this time the dream was different. His skin was not cold or clammy—this time he was warm, as if having just finished a run. </p><p>The wolf had once again found his dreams...but this time it was different. Eyes of clear amber, reflecting the night of the moon—this was not the undead monstrosity that had awakened him each night, this time his companion was natural. Phelan felt not hunted, but guarded. His mind was tired, and sleep overtook him again quickly.</p><p>Another dream followed, though this time it was a fragmented memory, a scene from Phelan’s past. No wolf haunted this dream, and Phelan’s surroundings were familiar—the village circle where he grew up, and across from him was his uncle, his breath heavy after a bout of swordplay with his young nephew where Phelan had nearly seized the upper hand. His uncle looked happy, though his brow was furrowed with recognizable stress, worry. The moment did not last long.</p><p>Nearby, Phelan’s mother emerged from her tent. Her hair was bedraggled, her skin pale and sickly. She had been drinking again, this time heavily. She stumbled into the daylight, ignoring concerned looks of neighbors and passers by. The doeskin tunic his uncle had made for her was dirty, hanging loose on her where once lithe muscles and curves had filled it. She did not look well. She pitched forward, nearly falling, and when she caught herself, she began to meander towards Phelan and his uncle.</p><p>Phelan stood, throwing back his sweat-soaked hair, which he had let grow to nearly shoulder length, emulating his uncle. His mother did not seem impressed. When she approached, she reeked of alcohol. Her cheekbones were prominent, her hair dirty.</p><p>“You look like your father,” she cursed, the vehemence of her statement catching Phelan off guard and ruining any chance of a pleasant conversation. His uncle winced, stepping forward to intercede, reaching out an arm to offer her support.</p><p>“Don’t you touch me,” she nearly spat, drawing glares from women tending pots and beating rugs in front of their tents nearby. “Don’t...touch me.” She reeled from his outstretched arm, giving Phelan one more cold, unapologetic glare before turning away and lurching towards the river to wash herself.</p><p>There was silence between Phelan and his uncle then, long and uncomfortable. Phelan let it linger before speaking. “She lose a baby again?”</p><p>His uncle tensed, taking a step away from Phelan and turning to face him. “What?” he asked, dumfounded. “How did you...”</p><p>“Everyone knows, don’t be an idiot,” Phelan replied perhaps a little too harshly. “Everyone knows when you’re arguing. And everyone knows when you’re not. It’s a small village. Most don’t care, the rest were actually hopeful this time that it would happen, that perhaps it would help things.”</p><p>Another long silence before his uncle replied. “And you? What do you think?”</p><p>“It’s none of my business,” Phelan replied, unsure how to respond. He honestly hadn’t given it much thought. “Another round?” he asked, hoping to break the tension.</p><p>“No,” his uncle said after thinking on it. “No...I should go see to her. Perhaps you should...”</p><p>“Take a walk? Disappear for a while?” Phelan interrupted. “Don’t worry, I had planned on it.” His uncle was obviously concerned, searching for hurt on Phelan’s face apologetically, and finding none, he smiled—if only a little.</p><p>“She’s wrong, you know.” A pause, and then his uncle continued. “You’re nothing like your father.” The lie was evident on his uncle’s face though, and Phelan knew not what to make of it.</p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p>When next Phelan woke, there was no wolf—whether that was for good or ill, Phelan did not know. Memory of the dream began to fade quickly, as dreams do, but the eyes—brilliant amber in the blackest night—Phelan could not shake the way they made him feel.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__nEtCQ7-EVGr7l-LKJr9R-ij7jqO6DmoFDbSts3xlbrMXx-tYzSaZxwaKPh9Vw8xX5DFUAZDc6MaRHWNWWzsEUIwNZC7zWbfElujLeGf-Wx56V9OXsZkAUjnvzbPY7MxSgAk6kXgzGGKKYfmUyRMJkaVA6YR-dpWbHxWyRlp1NKfPCmaqDXMR0c1cA/s700/wolf.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="700" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__nEtCQ7-EVGr7l-LKJr9R-ij7jqO6DmoFDbSts3xlbrMXx-tYzSaZxwaKPh9Vw8xX5DFUAZDc6MaRHWNWWzsEUIwNZC7zWbfElujLeGf-Wx56V9OXsZkAUjnvzbPY7MxSgAk6kXgzGGKKYfmUyRMJkaVA6YR-dpWbHxWyRlp1NKfPCmaqDXMR0c1cA/s320/wolf.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Jason Gunderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11206196654542839692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-70127848499627210182022-03-27T23:06:00.000-04:002022-03-27T23:05:59.972-04:00Index of the High ForestFollowing are links to each session recap from the campaign. Access this post quickly using the “~index” label on the right, or use the “session recaps” label for all recap posts.<div><br /></div><div><a href="https://1eadventures.blogspot.com/2021/08/the-darkness-borne-prologue.html">The Darkness Borne: Prologue</a></div><div><a href="https://1eadventures.blogspot.com/2021/08/the-silver-prayer.html">The Silver Prayer</a></div><div><br /><div>
<i>(1275 DR)</i><br />
<ol>
<li><a href="https://1eadventures.blogspot.com/2021/09/1-stirrings.html">Stirrings</a></li>
<li><a href="https://1eadventures.blogspot.com/2021/10/2-aryens-hope.html">Aryen's Hope</a></li>
<li><a href="https://1eadventures.blogspot.com/2021/11/3-three.html">The Three</a></li>
<li><a href="https://1eadventures.blogspot.com/2021/12/4-deadwalk.html">Deadwalk</a></li>
<li><a href="https://1eadventures.blogspot.com/2022/03/5-false-prophet.html">The False Prophet</a></li>
</ol>
</div></div>Matt Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18195243799773565579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-71699845119862251112022-03-27T22:11:00.005-04:002022-03-27T22:50:27.146-04:00#5: The False Prophet<p><i></i></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxsQLjfR-YzJHG_x7BPfJFn_8CuuNFDCOwwixL_hu1Z50JCSo4atrwRtA6IyrPvFJNy9dY_JEXtZ3HLPLwuNph2pzk-2xYH1iW-yh8eI_ZyS-_ZBE4SE3mYa9RmAzUeU-vNOcfX1UFoBbfZx0_v46brDJtGtieTZh5FvQE1A7BZUcA5f6WCsI0Ip4Rg/s700/two%20sisters.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="459" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxsQLjfR-YzJHG_x7BPfJFn_8CuuNFDCOwwixL_hu1Z50JCSo4atrwRtA6IyrPvFJNy9dY_JEXtZ3HLPLwuNph2pzk-2xYH1iW-yh8eI_ZyS-_ZBE4SE3mYa9RmAzUeU-vNOcfX1UFoBbfZx0_v46brDJtGtieTZh5FvQE1A7BZUcA5f6WCsI0Ip4Rg/w131-h200/two%20sisters.jpg" width="131" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Phelan's rather<br />literal<br />interpretation</td></tr></tbody></table><i>"Two sisters, tethered by blood. A poison flows
within the vein, borne by the worshipper of a false prophet. Sever the mortal
chain to cripple he who would wreak destruction over this forest... and
disturbs our eternal rest."</i><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Nothing good will come of this.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That comment continues to resonate as Ged
communes with the ghostly elven figure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“And now prophecies and demands,” I mutter to myself quietly, trying
hard to feign disinterest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The heaviness
of the surrounding darkness is lost on none as our flickering torches struggle
to hold it at bay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the elven apparition
imparts its final words, it dissipates, solidifying the sense of dread that had
started to form in my bowels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRKqsptQj7eSf2ONBj4lo8xhLTAAcIkQxxVSGcMsmSm13ravjcoi8hOemIw3SiyDQ1larcTvyD6Gojo0U_xRMWbBn1XqxP2FGKuOSGDtbEGXoy5NKBCNj0T8pOEfNmVTBHaVMhsXwCKhlUVqKZIryZ7w3a-g5XjoFFeYcFzd3NNw_ZQ0KKG6sx1Ooiw/s513/pyre.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="513" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRKqsptQj7eSf2ONBj4lo8xhLTAAcIkQxxVSGcMsmSm13ravjcoi8hOemIw3SiyDQ1larcTvyD6Gojo0U_xRMWbBn1XqxP2FGKuOSGDtbEGXoy5NKBCNj0T8pOEfNmVTBHaVMhsXwCKhlUVqKZIryZ7w3a-g5XjoFFeYcFzd3NNw_ZQ0KKG6sx1Ooiw/w200-h166/pyre.PNG" width="200" /></a></div>Ged seems frustrated by the exchange with the spirit,
having been provided more questions where we sought answers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Khadhras seems at a loss for words as well,
but there is recognition that we have now stepped fully into something bigger
than ourselves, something deeper than perhaps we had meant to become entangled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The silence is broken by Ailthar, who stands
over the bodies of his fallen comrades and begins chanting—the dialect is
unfamiliar even compared to his normal, foreign tongue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While he conducts his rituals, I lend my
strength to seeing to the treatment of Ganor’s fallen tracker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though leaving our dead in this disturbed
glade is perhaps not ideal, we feel it important to provide an honorable ceremony
and begin construction of a pyre, assuming that Ailthar will let us knows if he
feels it inappropriate for his own fallen friends.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">There is a brief exchange between Khadhras and Ailthar,
aided by use of the stone, regarding the belongings of Talas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is recognition of the arrangement
between the two mages, and the gear that Khadhras does not claim is taken by
Ailthar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ailthar pockets the folded
letter along with the bone-hilted dagger and chain, indicating that he’ll
return them to Khadhras if the request his made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both appear to want to honor Talas’ bequest.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Before separating, Ailthar peers at Khadhras seriously,
imparting a final statement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“In our
realm exist sects devoted to Llathlu, the Pale Hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are… impostor priests…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is more to the cryptic message, but
its meaning is lost on me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this
land, apparently, Llathlu is referred to as the “false prophet.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We recall a similar, if indeed not the same
name invoked by the witch on the outskirts of Pelanor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reference to this being by the elven spirit
is too convenient to be coincidence, and already the gears in our heads start
turning as we consider an eventual return trip to Pelanor.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“As much as I hate this,” I admit, “this is as good a
place as any to set up camp for the night.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The presence of elven spirits and the burial mounds is unsettling, but
perhaps there is some measure of protection provided by them now that we’ve
been committed—voluntarily or no—by those very spirits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The protection, if it exists, is likely not
absolute, as the wolves were able to pierce it, but it seems as reasonable as
any place to seek rest in the dark forest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirUuDmrrKaU2ozGYgLOx8m6JLmAWVpQENJoRa7mPHeST1iwFwMruZ_twUu-UrVOPPotg8zzm65oyOBs2IHemaWRTgBRWIMabqC4jTXLnAI-a3ZxPcGPcpQfkHaqCO7Lj8AteL0kcel2l9TI4JExOE8jLDB_0L-j1aHbz5MK4srXZWJ7NHYqWprpZRCrA/s757/dark%20forest.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="757" height="109" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirUuDmrrKaU2ozGYgLOx8m6JLmAWVpQENJoRa7mPHeST1iwFwMruZ_twUu-UrVOPPotg8zzm65oyOBs2IHemaWRTgBRWIMabqC4jTXLnAI-a3ZxPcGPcpQfkHaqCO7Lj8AteL0kcel2l9TI4JExOE8jLDB_0L-j1aHbz5MK4srXZWJ7NHYqWprpZRCrA/s320/dark%20forest.PNG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>We set guard nonetheless and do our best to settle in
despite our surroundings. We discuss
potential paths forward—revelation of the possible connection between Ailthar,
the witch from Pelanor and the elven spirit changes little, at least as far as
our patrol of the High Forest is concerned. Ganor
feels it critical that everything transpired this last day is relayed back to Aryen’s Hope, and we are in agreement.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The night passes slowly, passage of time marked by the
dwindling crackle of the pyre.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All who are able to achieve sleep do so fitfully and without much in the
way of rejuvenation, but our anxiety proves unfounded as the night passes
without interruption.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sun rises, and
we hastily break camp and prepare to continue our journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ganor provides the suggestion that we head
north, hoping to come upon a game trail that will lead us back to Aryen’s
Hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woods are dense as we are far
from established trails, and before long we would not easily be able to find
our way back to the Deadwalk, let alone Aryen’s Hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately, we have Ged’s keen sense of direction
and Ganor’s experience to lean upon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ganor,
for his part, bears the burden of his fallen comrades, and it affects him
visibly as the day wears on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The others
maintain reasonably high spirits.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">By late morning the sky is overcast, creating long shadows
in the forest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stay to the front of
our group, doing my best not to interfere with Ganor, but fearful of getting
lost should anything befall the tracker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We encounter no passable trails, struggling for every quarter mile
gained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our
march is halted suddenly as we hear rustling to the east, its source
hidden by the shadows.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVVG55z9zJZzW2tPWCqJOgEKSsilAjlSqH0ZpMDcQpBX9o4hgS76DB4b6k4hcd0pew2OPkkOU-p2C1DA97BWiYIDF5VIaFPVJ7dcmrjH_0hhBEch_voTcmspi2XmQhOEeq7--NWOKaMfT6AAOukqIXRiKz5ecM8gn5JqJusuN0AuuljppcFVSnSo8meQ/s504/hunter.PNG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="448" data-original-width="504" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVVG55z9zJZzW2tPWCqJOgEKSsilAjlSqH0ZpMDcQpBX9o4hgS76DB4b6k4hcd0pew2OPkkOU-p2C1DA97BWiYIDF5VIaFPVJ7dcmrjH_0hhBEch_voTcmspi2XmQhOEeq7--NWOKaMfT6AAOukqIXRiKz5ecM8gn5JqJusuN0AuuljppcFVSnSo8meQ/w200-h178/hunter.PNG" width="200" /></a></div>“Bear?” I whisper, crouching along with the rest of the
party, drawing an arrow to my cheek.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we stop, however, so too does
the sound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I signal for those with bows
to remain in what cover they can find, offering myself as volunteer to
investigate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a few dozen yards, there is another sudden burst of rustling, indicative of someone…or
something…fleeing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the distinct possibility that it’s multiple somethings, even potentially an
ambush, I rush into the forest after it, hoping to catch a glimpse of what may
have been following us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In an instant, I
have left Ganor and the others behind.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Whatever it is I have given chase to is nearly as fast as
I, but I apparently gain a little ground and catch sight of a humanoid figure
at the edge of my vision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having gotten
what I wanted and not wanting to risk my safety any more than I already have, I
pursue my quarry no more and turn back to the group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I encounter Ged, who followed me, and spare a
few breaths to explain the situation before we trot back and share the tale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ganor grunts,
sharing the opinion that we should proceed on high alert.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ged suggests that we should track our followers, and
surprisingly Ganor calls a halt to the group awaiting our disposition on the
matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The discussion is short,
however, before we decide to continue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We march throughout the rest of the day, passing through a few hilly
areas before eventually finding a game trail the trackers feel is
recognizable, one that might take us back to Aryen’s Hope.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5n8RH9RpMKFnqt8C6-7XEI08mOLz7Ro5a7B1VQN-6KdQTWC52RCX6-XZWfEAluMu5T8T4dzkjYjCkIAYBu7Wp1JQuZAn9xdgVy_cjSg1KUTEdXQJlEKe0t_qt8unMNDUpzxXjlDsTetCUhnmvUeQYjcZKo8zYGIfXNaTHmg3JmLQX9vSV2iTk-uxSqw/s452/tripwire.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="349" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5n8RH9RpMKFnqt8C6-7XEI08mOLz7Ro5a7B1VQN-6KdQTWC52RCX6-XZWfEAluMu5T8T4dzkjYjCkIAYBu7Wp1JQuZAn9xdgVy_cjSg1KUTEdXQJlEKe0t_qt8unMNDUpzxXjlDsTetCUhnmvUeQYjcZKo8zYGIfXNaTHmg3JmLQX9vSV2iTk-uxSqw/w154-h200/tripwire.PNG" width="154" /></a></div>We decide to camp for the night, taking the time
to add a few extra layers of protection to our camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We set tripwires to our front and back across
the trail, Khadhras supplementing these with caltrops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ged stages a tent near one of the tripwires
as well, which we plan to leave abandoned throughout the night, hoping that
it might draw any attention and give us some awareness of any potential threat.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The first watch is interrupted by the sounds of animal
noises in the distance, loud enough to awaken several
others from their sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are already
on high alert, so there isn’t much more we can do in the way of preparation,
and by the time we have discussed the matter, the noises have subsided.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The watches continue and the remainder of the
night passes without incident.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">When morning comes, we reclaim the supplies used in our
traps and break camp quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not long
after we set off, it begins to rain, and a fatigue both physical and mental
begins to set in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though the weather
hides noise of our passage, so too does it obscure any signs of our followers
and of any potential ambush ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Fortunately, by noon the rain begins to subside, though by then we are
weary and soaked to the bone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is
therefore with great relief that we catch sight of Aryen’s Hope.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">There is an expected level of commotion as our party
returns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We learn quickly that Aryen’s
Hope is safe with no news, and Iphan meets us in the center of camp, eager to
hear our tale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Recognition that we are short
multiple companions comes quickly, and his brow furrows in concern.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We describe everything that happened in full,
only omitting the potential connection between Llathlu and the strange witch
in Pelanor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ganor goes so far as to
share some of the elven spirit’s words, maintaining the spirit of the words
imparted if not full accuracy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Iphan
does not seem to have any revelations on the queer prophecy, though it does
nothing to diminish his concern.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
share our intention to return to Pelanor, and Iphan seems to recognize that we
may have some purpose and seeks to learn of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Do you plan to return?” he asks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“And is Ailthar to accompany you?”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ged is vague and explains that we have unfinished
business, but we share our intentions to return once settled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We made a promise to Kayd as well,” Ged
explains, “and responsibility of it weighs heavily upon us.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether Kayd the younger intends to return to
his father is yet undetermined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
confronted on the matter, Kayd replies, “I truly owe you my life, but can I ask
one more favor?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tell my father that his son is
well and that I will return before long.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We do not ask his motivations—whether it is some affinity or sense of
responsibility towards the camp, or by virtue of his relationship with Hinter, both are honorable pursuits.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Iphan’s concern grows—it is as if each piece of news,
each occurrence, adds to the grimness of the situation, and the fate of Aryen’s
Hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Travel safely and return
quickly,” is his eventual stoic response.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizXzRrLncDHqmCDxCrc5mYHS8u38J0HTtdjAev3DYxqoBI0IBtH5xcZuQl6vU-tKyg2V6cxUKv45swQy785kA-ItSc_qbaVF2LPVABz4YPMRw9lD9xUgtfYmEvBY5PW-uQziF6-AmbISH4KBwx-C1IokA7iMPjYyRu0R4eRxZFdDGbQ-3IOwBsfzSX3Q/s475/lathlu.PNG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="265" data-original-width="475" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizXzRrLncDHqmCDxCrc5mYHS8u38J0HTtdjAev3DYxqoBI0IBtH5xcZuQl6vU-tKyg2V6cxUKv45swQy785kA-ItSc_qbaVF2LPVABz4YPMRw9lD9xUgtfYmEvBY5PW-uQziF6-AmbISH4KBwx-C1IokA7iMPjYyRu0R4eRxZFdDGbQ-3IOwBsfzSX3Q/w200-h112/lathlu.PNG" width="200" /></a></div>When our conversation with Iphan concludes, we ask
Ailthar his thoughts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am here to
defeat Othal,” he responds, “and prevent an evil incursion upon this
land.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is resolute in his attention
to accompany us to Pelanor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ged asks
Ailthar about the “Llathlu healer” and the event we witnessed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He shares what he knows, that they are more a
plague than a blessing, forming sects in the lands they travel to leech upon
those who buy into their fanatical teachings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“They are a scourge that my world cannot cleanse itself of,” explaining
that they are an insidious nuisance at best, and at worst, wont to influence
the populace or politics of an area and foment conflict.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">That there could be others aside from Othal himself in
this realm was not a topic discussed between Ailthar, Talas, and Pyr—and we are
all curious to learn more about this Llathlu healer’s presence, and how she came
to be here as well.<o:p></o:p></p>Jason Gunderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11206196654542839692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-35473238306095012302021-12-17T14:50:00.007-05:002021-12-17T18:50:11.559-05:00#4: Deadwalk<p>Having sealed the deal with Iphan and having secured help
from Ailthar and his comrades, we find that sleep comes easily. When we awaken, however, it is with the
business at hand in the front of our minds.
Ganor’s recounting of his encounter with the wolves is cause for
concern; it’s too much to believe that this is a coincidence, there is likely
some greater power at work in the High Forest.
Whether there is correlation between these occurrences and with Ailthar’s
band and their pursuit of Othal remains unknown.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">A bond seems to have formed between Talas and Khadhras,
and the two spend much time with hands entwined over the stone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The nature of their relationship remains
uncertain, though whatever the source of their connection, it bodes well for
our two parties working together in tandem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We are not left to curiosity long, however—Khadhras shares bits of his
conversation with her, and news of her apprentice Fellad and desire for him to
pass on her legacy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s hard for me to
have an opinion on the matter, though Ged is eager to discuss the magical
stone, as Talas and Pyr seem to exist on “borrowed time,” in his words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though the novelty and utility of the stone
is not lost on me, it seems like Ailthar would be the most likely heir, should
Talas and Pyr indeed succumb to their sickness.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsJC8zH2YtlH-w0HVFp2F7R7k43unsufsH005WgEi3jlzYD1n7l-JUSPKmieN0E2AewD4i-ZC4sqf8Wk8ofGT02IFzz7KzfL4lqqMCtdFNyTKo6wP9FVsNNoqKBEtzd7TNRkDi5rHbPgbgMl6WvcxgA1JuTJHFIBgTkVlM9ioLzsgggKn0Yd4Nv7UhJw=s552" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="249" data-original-width="552" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsJC8zH2YtlH-w0HVFp2F7R7k43unsufsH005WgEi3jlzYD1n7l-JUSPKmieN0E2AewD4i-ZC4sqf8Wk8ofGT02IFzz7KzfL4lqqMCtdFNyTKo6wP9FVsNNoqKBEtzd7TNRkDi5rHbPgbgMl6WvcxgA1JuTJHFIBgTkVlM9ioLzsgggKn0Yd4Nv7UhJw=w320-h144" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>We learn that Ganor and young Kayd are among those who
will accompany the party from Aryen’s Hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Our preparations do not take long to complete—having just recently
resupplied in Pelanor, we are well used to travel and carry most of what we
need on our backs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Iphan makes rations
for our journey available, and we are pleased to see that Ganor’s men are
suitably armed and equipped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aside from
Ganor there are two other trackers that are familiar with the High Forest, and
we put our faith in their talents and training.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Our patrol will take us far from Aryen’s Hope for several days, and
while we are eager to begin, we are also cognizant of the potential danger that
awaits.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Iphan meets us at the gate, wishing us well and shares
his hopes for our safe return.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Deploying
so many hunters and able men and women leaves the security of Aryen’s Hope
diminished, though not without good cause.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We leave the encampment behind us, heading south under the dark canopy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Traveling conditions are comfortable, if
somewhat hindered by long shadows as the sun struggles to penetrate the heavy
foliage above.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kayd is talkative during
the first part of the journey, and seems eager to prove himself after being
rescued—it seems as if there may be some survivor’s guilt, and I make note to
keep an eye on him should we encounter trouble.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ailthar and his companions are quiet throughout the
morning, which is not unexpected, and only communicate via the stone when
necessary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The disease that attacks
Talas and Pyr, even in this short amount of time, seems to have noticeably
progressed, enough so that Ganor’s men give them a wide berth, whether due to
superstition or fear of contracting their malady.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjltQnReHlYKUXqJ0YU4mBeadio3DOsj5qm3FgsX-fC-Io_xRKCDdYn1ORTzC4ae-G0E_R1K1Dv7QRs0M4pBFb75XZxnBVn98Lhavp4PTFyvOh-rXLrnn7vxtNAxeISvi9FajJXSnX9dM7ZeDSNctgFdSFH8vLhUUdhYvTZqUg8wxRdFh9apLXJOjOoUA=s132" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="132" data-original-width="107" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjltQnReHlYKUXqJ0YU4mBeadio3DOsj5qm3FgsX-fC-Io_xRKCDdYn1ORTzC4ae-G0E_R1K1Dv7QRs0M4pBFb75XZxnBVn98Lhavp4PTFyvOh-rXLrnn7vxtNAxeISvi9FajJXSnX9dM7ZeDSNctgFdSFH8vLhUUdhYvTZqUg8wxRdFh9apLXJOjOoUA" width="107" /></a></div>After some time, we come to a high ridge and our travel
is halted as the scouting party calls back that a large, shaggy brown bear has
been spotted ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ganor has us lay
low, seeking cover in the brush, as he watches the bear rummage through piles
of dirt and deadfall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The creature
doesn’t seem agitated or to be particularly interested in our presence, and
after some time it wanders away to the north.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ganor lets several minutes pass before standing, waving us forward and
indicates that we’ll take a route to hopefully avoid any encounter with the
creature should we be near its den.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">At several points the trail becomes rocky and
treacherous, and we are forced to move slowly and carefully so as not to
slip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the trackers lead us back to
the small game trail on which we had been traveling, we manage to avoid any
reencounter with the large bear.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">After some time bringing up the rear of the group, paying
particular attention to the endurance of Talas and Pyr, I decide to head toward
Ged and Khadhras for a discussion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What
do we do,” I ask, having trouble being polite or nuanced, “when Talas and Pyr
are too weak to continue?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ravages
of the disease being obvious, should they succumb to it to the point that they
can no longer travel, it seems like we should have a plan for that eventuality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Likewise, should one of them become wounded,
to what extent should we sacrifice our own safety to save them?</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">We agree that this is a conversation best had with
Ailthar, and that it should wait until we break for camp for the evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the sun begins to descend and a defensible
site is found, we help in fortifying the grounds and gathering wood for a fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fatigue of Talas and Pyr is obvious, and
it’s impossible not to notice sidelong, questioning glances thrown their way by
other members of Ganor’s party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">We elect Ged to pursue the conversation with Ailthar, and
when dividing watches, we make sure they are assigned watch together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When confronted with the question, Ailthar
explains “Sairy’k’s curse is weakening them, gradually.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My efforts to help treat the affliction have
been unsuccessful.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While he
holds out hope that they may be spared or cured, he admits that right now he
does not see a clear path towards that resolution.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">He explains that he has had this conversation with them
already, and that Talas and Pyr have both committed to this quest
willingly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He shares that Talas has lost
her ability to perform spellcraft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If
something should happen that Talas and Pyr are unable to continue, I
will accept responsibility for their care so that the rest of the group may
carry on.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Is there anything we need to know,” Ged asks, “if we get
separated or if you or your companions should meet an untimely end?” Ailthar explains that he does not comprehend the extent
of Othal’s power, but that as long as the dark spirit Sairy’k has Othal as an
instrument, his power and the danger he presents is amplified. Their ability to remain focused on the pursuit of
Othal in face of their diminishing condition and plight is admirable. The conversation, occurring at the end of a
hard day of travel and being laced with heavy emotion, takes a toll on Ged.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Kayd and one of the huntresses from Aryen’s Hope, a young woman named Hinter, seem to spend a lot of time in conversation around camp, and it’s
hard not to smile watching their awkward attempts at flirtation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a bit of levity that helps reduce the gravity
of our situation, but it does not last long as Ganor calls for the first watch
and instructs the rest of us to seek our bedrolls for rest.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxI7lo9nBf_yIFfcJEb_pyzcTw9Wx1q887wcI36LeGYZ_rFiCZbTchho4Wat0oA8QJgRQwuukFyzpIzjzcLzXg4LQj-xJK3GBydQNRjAfen4quj73-SnxTOdzYA7oXYz73MDTOe8MrtmBoldTfwSoInHPkER9Rr3kcIpW9363misKee7eq9mortFwAbg=s200" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="200" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxI7lo9nBf_yIFfcJEb_pyzcTw9Wx1q887wcI36LeGYZ_rFiCZbTchho4Wat0oA8QJgRQwuukFyzpIzjzcLzXg4LQj-xJK3GBydQNRjAfen4quj73-SnxTOdzYA7oXYz73MDTOe8MrtmBoldTfwSoInHPkER9Rr3kcIpW9363misKee7eq9mortFwAbg=w200-h192" width="200" /></a></div>I share my watch with Ganor and Kayd, seated around the
fire in silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ganor occasionally
rises to pace and patrol the camp, but the impenetrable darkness of the forest
makes such a pursuit more ritual than effective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The silence of the forest is broken, however,
as we perceive distant sounds from the east.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There are squealing noises followed by the howling of wolves, and the
ring of metal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sounds echo through
the forest—not loud enough to awaken those who sleep, but impossible for
us to ignore.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I look to Ganor for instruction, seeking confirmation
that we will remain on guard but that we can do little more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The proposition of investigating in the dark
of night does not sit well with anyone, nor does splitting the camp seem
safe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The direction of the disturbance may
lie on our path the following morning, and Ganor indicates that we should investigate
it tomorrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I nod in agreement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sounds fade shortly after and do not
resurface, and after some time we rouse the final watch and alert them to the
situation.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Word spreads quickly over the morning fires, and we ready
ourselves for whatever we may encounter on our journey this day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unlike the previous day, the sun is out in
full force in a cloudless sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
temperature is warmer, and the shadows seem to recede under the sun’s
warmth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems a good omen, and we
make good time as we follow the game trail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A few hours into the morning, the forward trackers return with news of a
blood trail ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we stop to
question whether to follow it, I mutter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“That’s what we’re here for, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Let’s investigate.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The trackers reveal wolf tracks in the area, and we ready
ourselves for danger as we follow them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Within a short time, the source of the blood trail becomes apparent—we
stumble into a glade that reeks of carnage, the low buzz of flies audible as
they swarm mauled bodies that litter the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bodies are small, dark-skinned, and scaly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Goblins,” growls one of the hunters.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzUfpXpBjVGZlSz-7jfsIWmrEu9GC9gpw7D8nSrSJR0reZb_C-UOCOFBlJhU0nAlYzANRcMo3PPLWGIzNkdBdHBhRXetxTmT2W8PTWmHokP4IMtMA10Huxg-DGyuQqHYnoPTNyRbpde1r5EKtrhMUy9UDE_a_zf72HN4kpzWcsB0krzS1sqzz-qqtDRQ=s248" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="138" data-original-width="248" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzUfpXpBjVGZlSz-7jfsIWmrEu9GC9gpw7D8nSrSJR0reZb_C-UOCOFBlJhU0nAlYzANRcMo3PPLWGIzNkdBdHBhRXetxTmT2W8PTWmHokP4IMtMA10Huxg-DGyuQqHYnoPTNyRbpde1r5EKtrhMUy9UDE_a_zf72HN4kpzWcsB0krzS1sqzz-qqtDRQ=w200-h111" width="200" /></a></div>Their ragged wounds, rended and torn flesh, and the
spread of wolf tracks and splatters of blood make it seem obvious that they
fell prey to wolves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are enough
goblin corpses, perhaps eight to ten in all, indicative of a small
warband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It could be a sign of a larger
force dispatched from the Greypeaks, which is a matter of some concern for
Aryen’s Hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are signs that the
warband was traveling from the mountains to the east, but there is no easy return
trail to follow.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Are there any dead wolves?” I ask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the trackers shake their heads, I can’t
help but be surprised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The assault of
the wolves upon the goblins was total, though by the amount of blood, it’s hard
to believe some of the wolves weren’t at least wounded.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“This one’s still alive,” we hear, as Ganor stands over a
twitching goblin body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has been
disemboweled, guts spilled onto the open earth, and the fact that it survived
the night surprises everyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ged
approaches Talas, holding out his hand for the stone that he might communicate
with the creature before it expires.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There is no resistance, and she hands it to him gently.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ged bends over the creature, cupping its scaly hand in
his own, pressing the stone between.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Show me what happened here,” he verbalizes, focusing his thoughts on
the incoherent and fleeting visions that come from the dying goblin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The visions relate the horror of an attack by
wolves in the night, and once it becomes apparent that there is no more to
learn, he stands and delivers a swift killing blow to the creature, collapsing
its skull with his morning star with a sickening crunch.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">An item catches Ged’s interest—beneath the goblin is a broadsword,
well-fashioned compared to the usual rusted steel and other improvised weapons such
creatures use.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is an amber stone
in the hilt, making it noteworthy among the detritus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rest of the group examines the other
corpses for anything useful or valuable, many harvesting small trinkets and coins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ged takes the sword,
wrapping the hilt in cloth before sticking it in his pack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ganor takes notice but says nothing.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Another trail of blood leads away from the carnage of the
glade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It could have been made by wolves
that were injured in the attack, though that is by no means certain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For me, it doesn’t make sense to stop our
investigation halfway—we will either overtake a wounded or dead wolf, or they will
outpace us and we’ll lose the trail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
there’s always the possibility that it’s something more sinister than wolves—either
way, investigating the path to its fullest seems of best interest to Aryen’s
Hope, which is our mission in the High Forest.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">We form a protective circle with bows and weapons drawn, cautious against ambush or any other dangers of the
forest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only the trackers are outside
this circle, as necessary for them to follow the trail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Signs of wolf tracks and tufts of fur are
discovered, lending credence to the notion that the wounded wolves have
retreated this direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sun begins
to wane, however, before we find any other sign of our quarry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shadows lengthen and the trail becomes
harder to follow, the blood beginning to dry as time passes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ganor orders the trackers to continue so long
as there are still tracks to follow.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqR5Hu-Lfcapk2Bezl9FqIn_hr7ksxddEk0Ojwj7DghL3YPU49869JJ2RE9ttnKeJjWfTRa7TobJn5U5KBFuzP8tEyZjmmDBzkosgZGsyLLIfYn9JOKiyHQi_E6y8ik126RWR055P2fu0IVG6rptlI0_oJ-pRBInKVTFq2808xkOQ4XZY_m22mipp0JQ=s1265" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="1265" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqR5Hu-Lfcapk2Bezl9FqIn_hr7ksxddEk0Ojwj7DghL3YPU49869JJ2RE9ttnKeJjWfTRa7TobJn5U5KBFuzP8tEyZjmmDBzkosgZGsyLLIfYn9JOKiyHQi_E6y8ik126RWR055P2fu0IVG6rptlI0_oJ-pRBInKVTFq2808xkOQ4XZY_m22mipp0JQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Suddenly ahead, the trackers stop and inform us that the
trail has dispersed, almost as if the pack separated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stranger still, while taking in our
surroundings, we notice that the land formations have taken on an unnatural
layout, several tall hills or mounds arranged in rows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Khadhras starts, knowledge of the High Forest
and recognition coming to mind, and he indicates that we have likely stumbled
into the Deadwalk—ancient burial mounds leftover from battles between elves and
evil humanoids in ages past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of the
barrows could be from a millennia ago, if not older.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ganor and the trackers seem nearly as surprised as we
are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has heard of the Deadwalk,
though didn’t know that it could lie so close to Aryen’s Hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His own patrols seldom range more than a day
from the encampment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How long until
dark?” I ask, knowing that time is against us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“At least we’ve found a safe place to camp,” I mutter sarcastically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m not the most superstitious,” I admit
sheepishly, “but sleeping in the shadow of an elven burial mound doesn’t seem
like a great idea.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">While investigating one of the nearby mounds, Hinter
calls out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kayd rushes to her side, and
we can see that the barrow appears to have been excavated, sticks
and dirt littering a black opening in the earth.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">There is some talk of the potential gains from looting
the graves, and I shake my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You do
what you want, but I want nothing to do with this.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Disturbing the dead is never a good
idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone mentions that the sword
found by Ged could have originated from this looted barrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shake my head again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nothing good can come of this.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">We don’t have long to discuss the matter, however, before
Kayd cries out in alarm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a
look of fear in his face as he stares into the shadows—atop a nearby barrow is
a wolf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looking around, we can see
others begin to appear alongside mounds or atop others in the
distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are surrounded, several
sets of yellow eyes following our every move.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">From either flank, a pair of unnaturally still and silent
wolves regard us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their matted hides
drip with blood from ragged wounds, and their eyes burn with a supernatural
hatred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A sense of death and decay turns
our stomach as we look upon them, and we recognize them for what they are—undead
creatures like the one we encountered on our way to Aryen’s Hope.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ganor orders anyone with a bow to draw arrows and
fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nearly a dozen wolves begin to
circle around us, the exact number difficult to determine in the shadows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Khadhras asks what our options are—in answer,
I pull out my bow and set an arrow to string, giving him a grim look as I shake
my head.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">As I pull the bowstring to my cheek, Ged rummages in his
pack, withdrawing two large flasks as he begins speaking quickly to those
nearby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Khadhras begins muttering an
incantation, his hands working in intricate patterns as a spell takes
form.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ganor’s hunters release a volley
of arrows, focusing fire on the flanking wolves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two arrows strike the creature though it issues
no cry, instead slinking into the shadows of the barrow in eerie silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ailthar and Pyr draw blades, positioning themselves between two barrows to prevent flanking attacks from either side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the undead wolves launches itself at young Kayd, who flails
wildly with his sword to deflect the attack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ailthar meets the charge of the other, cutting away a large chunk of the
creature’s flesh as he pushes it back.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ged narrowly avoids an attack as he and Hinter begin to
spread oil from his flasks, the substance igniting upon
contact with air to form a burgeoning semicircle of fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talas and Pyr attract the attention of
several wolves, putting themselves in harm’s way—and they pay the price as the
creatures bite and rip at their flesh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Talas falls to the ground, her throat torn out by a trio of savage
wolves.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">One of Ganor’s trackers meets a similar fate, blood spraying
forth before she collapses in a heap before one of the undead wolves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fire an arrow at the creature but miss, and
when Khadhras completes his incantation an arcane missile streaks through the
shadows and strikes it in the chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
hunters release a second volley of arrows as I send forth my own, this one
sinking into the nearest wolf with a satisfying sound.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjN5hlFq9gUhlMs4K_D2JNQgb71L1KzsNZZ3iTe2zgV5v6l5-w04gMWRq_0L01S9vX9n_lzt-lG6XBdpNsyms9pDJk8lJwXJAsJBBDI0TVB05NhjpoTmSxuDlIShrJJZcYkGoed-SnCPlDmWJPUbggvNDyr8PX2aozSxa3KnZ3Xo8sV9hTQo_r0o-efiQ=s375" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="335" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjN5hlFq9gUhlMs4K_D2JNQgb71L1KzsNZZ3iTe2zgV5v6l5-w04gMWRq_0L01S9vX9n_lzt-lG6XBdpNsyms9pDJk8lJwXJAsJBBDI0TVB05NhjpoTmSxuDlIShrJJZcYkGoed-SnCPlDmWJPUbggvNDyr8PX2aozSxa3KnZ3Xo8sV9hTQo_r0o-efiQ=w179-h200" width="179" /></a></div>I exchange my bow for my longsword, making ready to leap
to Kayd’s defense as the undead wolf turns upon him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not arrive in time, however, as the wolf
bears Kayd to the ground. Nearby, Ganor holds his own against a wolf, parrying the
creature’s attacks, shaking off one that has bitten into his leather
gauntlet. Pyr, however, is eviscerated
by the attack of several wolves, falling to the ground opposite Talas.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ailthar swings his blade savagely, cleaving one of the undead
wolves in two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon its death, half the
pack suddenly disperses. One of the trackers joins the defense of Kayd, plunging
his blade into the burnt fur of the undead creature, twisting until it stirs no more. The other half of the
attacking wolf pack disbands, leaving us in silence. I immediately drop to apply
pressure to Kayd’s wounds, the young warrior flitting in and out of
consciousness.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ged moves to treat Talas and Pyr.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both have succumbed to their wounds, their
eyes staring out, glassy and lifeless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ganor’s
huntress was eviscerated by the wolf that attacked her, her entrails spilling
from her midsection onto the ground. Abandoning care for those that cannot be saved, Ged comes
to my side to treat Kayd. He stops the
bleeding and stabilizes the wounds, but not before Kayd falls unconscious. There are other minor injuries among
the surviving hunters, but nothing that demands immediate attention.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The glade is dark and silent, and as the adrenaline fades
we assess our situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Khadhras walks
solemnly to Talas, honoring his promise to the sorceress as he kneels to collect
her belongings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ailthar is quiet,
stoic—his grief is evident in his eyes, but otherwise he expresses no outward
emotion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talas and Pyr’s sacrifice for
the group is evident, and there is a moment of recognition by all
present what was given in defense of the hunters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They died honorably for a cause that was not
their own. Interrupting the silence, I hack the head from one of the undead wolves. “Can’t be too careful,” I mutter.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFy4KgcQ_KxBcV1Mgb7IdsS5XI4oJKyAsQqf5zI38kwSiXNAyrvTOtFPxuoYDnG8bdBjXG-MzUnkoqOoFmdbF-uOarZbls2BfYqs3vVey8KaF8gdHezSIHbiAcGPRyk-EYmnCMybYVc6ydS-8Epmr2Nem46-SK-QEq0Yza4dipjgE5-uhZYwU9G9RYRg=s849" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="849" data-original-width="606" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFy4KgcQ_KxBcV1Mgb7IdsS5XI4oJKyAsQqf5zI38kwSiXNAyrvTOtFPxuoYDnG8bdBjXG-MzUnkoqOoFmdbF-uOarZbls2BfYqs3vVey8KaF8gdHezSIHbiAcGPRyk-EYmnCMybYVc6ydS-8Epmr2Nem46-SK-QEq0Yza4dipjgE5-uhZYwU9G9RYRg=s320" width="228" /></a></div></div>Ged performs rites for the dead according to his own
faith, not knowing where the souls of the departed are bound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he completes the act, he notices a pair of ephemeral boots before him—raising his gaze, he makes out the
translucent form of a lithe, feminine figure—a ghostly elf, standing before her
barrow.<p></p>Jason Gunderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11206196654542839692noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-15283329911621608962021-11-12T14:44:00.007-05:002021-12-08T14:05:26.251-05:00#3: The Three<p>Intrigued by our new friends and their situation but unable
to effectively communicate, I try my best to pantomime basic concepts, hoping
for some insight as to their history.
Where are they from? How did they
get here, and how do they sustain themselves?
What danger lurks in the forest?
And, without wanting to appear rude, what is the nature of the
putrefying disease that afflicts two of them?
Talas and Pyr remain silent throughout, occasionally swatting at small
insects that try to land in the patches of putrefying flesh on their faces.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZJ5mNY7IRGBlrOIU0JhHBOZ41gvN8Pq1vhCpB0ivVZoSje5DmTS2wUOjo71VSEcrpg8L6U6UAsKs1OGik46vDk1Be50RytF0T-VCF_2U1iwkCpZbZxYksbVV3BOWzYro_0aKQWIbq15vw/s1024/blue+copper.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="820" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZJ5mNY7IRGBlrOIU0JhHBOZ41gvN8Pq1vhCpB0ivVZoSje5DmTS2wUOjo71VSEcrpg8L6U6UAsKs1OGik46vDk1Be50RytF0T-VCF_2U1iwkCpZbZxYksbVV3BOWzYro_0aKQWIbq15vw/w160-h200/blue+copper.jpg" width="160" /></a></div>My pantomime produces little in the way of results, but
it does incite them to have a conversation amongst themselves in their unknown
language.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The discussion is heated,
apparently some disagreement separating the three, but eventually Ailthar
returns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He approaches Ged, holding in
his hand a deep turquoise stone with veins of copper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He seats himself upon the ground in front of
Ged, cross-legged, and gestures to Ged to do the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a shrug, Ged looks to us and then takes
a seat across from the warrior.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">There is a moment of awkward silence between the two, Ailthar
focused and Ged with a skeptical look on his face, before Ged suddenly twitches
and locks eyes with the man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The stone
seems to create an empathic link between the two, allowing basic communication.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We have connected,” Ged says.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He says his name is Ailthar of Kamynder, and
that they hail from the city of Fahl.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Khadhras,
despite his studies of the forest and its history, has never heard of the city.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“My companions and I traveled here through a forest
cave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cave’s entry was cursed by an
evil spirit.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no tone or
inflection in the responses Ged receives—communicating telepathically, the
nuances of conversation are lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ged
asks if the spirit is a god, prying for a deeper understanding, remembering
that one word we were able to understand previously was the name of one of the
elder gods of nature, “Silvanus”.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“It is known to us as Sairy’k, death’s harbinger.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Khadhras shrugs again, unfamiliar with the
name.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ged asks if they know where they are, trying to determine
if they are from a remote barbarian tribe that Khadhras may be unaware of,
or if there is something more to the story of how they arrived in these lands,
suspecting magic.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“No, aside from the area we’ve explored over several
days.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ged looks to us, asking if we have other questions to
ask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I point to Talas’ face, suggesting
that Ged ask them if she is cursed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
question seems pointed and potentially inflammatory, but for me, cutting
straight to the heart of the issue seems most important.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“The curse was bestowed by the god of the one we seek
amid this forest.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Khadhras suggests
that Ged ask whom they seek.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“My companions and I pursue a <i>wichlar</i>, a forest-druid,
who severed ranks from his kin, slaying many in his wake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This foe, Othal, took on the name
‘Silvanus’…we believe he was led here for a purpose that we do not yet
understand…by someone, or something…embraced by the power of fell spirits. A dangerous adversary.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I snort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It might
be worth pointing out that here, Silvanus is a god.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do they feel up to that task?”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Is this Silvanus a god or a man?” Ged asks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The Silvanus we know is a god, but it sounds
as if you speak of a man.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Their reply is confusing, contrary to what little we know
of Silvanus in our realm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He is a man,
but is perhaps being led, or empowered, by something much stronger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before we entered the Maw of Shadow’s Breach,
local druids spoke of a healer who transcended to a higher realm through this
forest.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“And how do you expect to defeat such a foe?” I suggest Ged
ask.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“We have no choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The druids of our realm believe that Othal is gathering forces to usurp
their power.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I snort again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“What does any of this have to do with us?” I ask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Either we join them in a hopeless cause, or
we leave them here to rot.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I point at
the woman again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Aryen’s Hope will not
open its doors to them, not in this condition.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Khadhras seems to agree to an extent but doesn’t seem keen on leaving
them to their fates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ged continues his silent
conversation.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“We understand that you have no choice, but we do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To battle a foe of this
magnitude is a fool’s errand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What do
you hope to accomplish?”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“While Othal may conquer our land, he may well enact
great destruction here first.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“So what have you been doing on this rock for a week?” I
ask derisively.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If it’s praying for
heroes to arrive, they’re going to be deeply disappointed.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Do they even know how to find this Othal?” Khadhras
asks.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ged relays our doubts, adding, “How do you expect us to
help?”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“We lost Othal’s trail in the wake of the curse afflicted
upon Talas and Pyr.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We seek signs of his
passage, but are wary of your settlement to the south.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“As you should be,” I say under my breath.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ged explains, “The settlement to the south is of no
concern to you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The people there are
good and honest folk.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Would Iphan even grant them an audience?” I ask,
honestly not knowing what to do with the information we’ve been provided and
growing slightly frustrated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Khadhras
seems to think Iphan may at least hear them out, but he’s unsure what the point
of such a conversation would even be.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“What about the bear?” Khadhras provides a line of
questions, through Ged, that seem to imply that the feral bear we encountered
may have something to do with this Othal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Could Othal be behind such evil magic?”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUYkKn8GCO33jUQIvjw_N3b8QXZQrGdb7jDWAn0zthCa-nQ7yPQ2I67vsGRy4llMe8bnQuP3lpw4hAQM1fMhP1ZeP-n5Q0VDRTNLFwvSPbGeCjRSsjLYpOWcG8DyfWleDhO6woqm-ALDTZ/s407/power+to+bear.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="362" data-original-width="407" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUYkKn8GCO33jUQIvjw_N3b8QXZQrGdb7jDWAn0zthCa-nQ7yPQ2I67vsGRy4llMe8bnQuP3lpw4hAQM1fMhP1ZeP-n5Q0VDRTNLFwvSPbGeCjRSsjLYpOWcG8DyfWleDhO6woqm-ALDTZ/w200-h178/power+to+bear.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bear pun!</td></tr></tbody></table>“It is possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Othal is an agent of unnatural power.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We will proceed with our hunt without encroaching upon your
village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beware should Othal bring his
power to bear upon you first.”<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“So…what do we do?” I ask the others, unclear how to
proceed.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“What impacts them is going to impact us,” Ged shares,
indicating his desire to escort them to Aryen’s Hope to meet Iphan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have my doubts, but it seems like the only
reasonable plan.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ailthar stares at Ged, communicating more with the
priest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“In our realm, the Maw of
Shadow’s Breach is located near an ancient battleground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The power of the dead stirs within its
darkness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are there any such places
here?”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“The High Forest in general is littered with such places,
having been home to elves and other races for millennia,” Khadhras explains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though no specific knowledge jumps to mind,
there are myriad possibilities.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Then it is settled,” Ged replies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Come back with us to speak with the leader
of our settlement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are no match for
Othal alone and your friends are weak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You need to recover, and if what you say is true, then this is an issue
that impacts us all.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Agreed,” Ailthar concedes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Lead, and we will follow.”</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgb5ZTarBkOayM8DP_o_QN2qhWKWzLdVnwg0PHlj6_-Vm4kBoX_eDKlVu3MxTLxkh0lrx2yuXiJxqJHtdB89a2ht9vqYwt4qKC4cKdWZG6hWHKjtD94fJmObSCE6j3hnBGHCh1u9rCOW6Ed5uDy1c5h00_EoO96XqMA6Sw84wPfaEgFqZRG7THdhgWUYw=s748" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="468" data-original-width="748" height="125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgb5ZTarBkOayM8DP_o_QN2qhWKWzLdVnwg0PHlj6_-Vm4kBoX_eDKlVu3MxTLxkh0lrx2yuXiJxqJHtdB89a2ht9vqYwt4qKC4cKdWZG6hWHKjtD94fJmObSCE6j3hnBGHCh1u9rCOW6Ed5uDy1c5h00_EoO96XqMA6Sw84wPfaEgFqZRG7THdhgWUYw=w200-h125" width="200" /></a></div></div>“Great,” I say, with little care for my sarcasm, worried
about the attention a larger group traveling through the forest might attract.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Can any of them fight?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ged nods, pulling himself to his feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Communication via the stone apparently
requires contact, so as we walk, Ged and Ailthar remain close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><p></p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Anything within a dozen miles will have seen these fires
and will be drawn here,” I say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We have
a couple hours; we should put as much distance as we can between us and this
ridge.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiibpOxyoC_5uoNz_KSCNMCZvanz1fHr733iIwlvXgD8QsoSVaVUp6LA3z-M5XuaZWNBgnLAP-wBKlYiLBfJRnwbyB_pYCNicGVZo1Cv903gd6NWTGq2jWeTX8QF8ieIRHmjLi2l1adp-eC/s400/one+arm+bear.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiibpOxyoC_5uoNz_KSCNMCZvanz1fHr733iIwlvXgD8QsoSVaVUp6LA3z-M5XuaZWNBgnLAP-wBKlYiLBfJRnwbyB_pYCNicGVZo1Cv903gd6NWTGq2jWeTX8QF8ieIRHmjLi2l1adp-eC/w200-h150/one+arm+bear.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bear pun!</td></tr></tbody></table>They gather their meager belongings and weapons, and we
carefully pick our way back along the ridge, descending to the familiar forest
paths.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Khadhras takes over
responsibility of communicating with the stone with Talas, leaving Ailthar, Ged
and I free to bear arms should we encounter any enemies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The first couple hours of our return to Aryen’s Hope go
easily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fauna abounds, which is a
reassuring signal that no threats lurk in the forest’s shadows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We retread our steps to the extent that we
are able to find and follow the paths we used before, but when that fails, we
are able to use the river to reorient ourselves.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">As we travel, there are pauses where it seems that Khadhras
pauses to communicate with Talas, but I am more focused on the forest and
avoiding any potential dangers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We come
upon a convenient bend in the river that provides some measure of defense while
we camp and decide to stay there instead of pushing on further.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We use the extra time to prepare a bonfire
and whittle points on a few large branches to use as stakes should the need
arise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We split into pairs to keep watch,
one from their party and one from ours, and the night passes uneventfully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfuWCfx7K9z91y2WVhckEVYLDyRs2wVqxA-85XcFdYcLe4H0qJaZFAlpNJH2Qko72mSZnBMRKzyu12bJP4J1q9_m03pxd6p56NZh866kJEvwQDCrEHqGWGqkDzbK4BTASau-Ccik9mGAyA/s249/raging+river.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="249" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfuWCfx7K9z91y2WVhckEVYLDyRs2wVqxA-85XcFdYcLe4H0qJaZFAlpNJH2Qko72mSZnBMRKzyu12bJP4J1q9_m03pxd6p56NZh866kJEvwQDCrEHqGWGqkDzbK4BTASau-Ccik9mGAyA/w200-h161/raging+river.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>We awaken the following morning refreshed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It feels reassuring to have the river at our
side, and I toss a few sticks into it, watching them drift downriver towards
Aryen’s Hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Assuming today’s travel
goes as well as the previous day’s, we should arrive back before
nightfall.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">There is a pause in our travels however, as Talas uses
the stone to communicate with Khadhras.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
explains, sharing her comments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She does
not believe Othal has traveled through this part of the forest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We should be safe from his influence here.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Why do you believe he has not been here?” Khadhras asks
in reply.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“And what about creatures under his influence?” I add,
knowing that the feral bear lurks somewhere in the forest ahead.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Othal walks in the shadow of Sairy’k, death’s harbinger,”
she replies, mimicking Ailthar’s response from earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There are no signs of such passage near the
river.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Good enough for me,” I snort in reply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We continue, though Khadhras retains his
connection with Talas as we walk.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I spare a few moments to discuss potential threats with
the group, and planned courses of action should we encounter the bear or any
other threat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To the credit of our new
companions, while the ravages of their disease are obvious, at least
externally, it seems to provide little deficiency to their physicality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both Ailthar and Pyr seem ready to fight, should
the need arise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, Talas and Khadhras
seem to be deep in conversation, though the content of their discussion concerns
me little.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">As the sun passes its zenith, we ascend a wooded hill,
and ahead we spot a silhouette near a tree—perhaps a huntsman of Aryen’s Hope,
though the possibility that it could be some other creature or even an elf of
the High Forest, however unlikely that may be, exists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There being no chance that a group our size
passes unnoticed, I gesture for everyone in our group to take cover as well
while Khadhras hails the shadow.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“State your destination,” is the stoic reply.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Aryen’s Hope,” Khadhras call, and we hear rustling in
the brush ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A man steps forward
cautiously, and when he gets closer, he calls out to us.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“You’re from the party that set out seeking the lights,”
he states, though clearly meaning it as a question.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">We confirm his suspicions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How far to Aryen’s Hope?” I ask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We should be close.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Less than two miles,” is his reply, but he follows it
with a question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Where is the rest of
your group?”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Khadhras gestures and we leave our cover to greet the
man, keeping Pyr and Talas to the rear to the extent that I can without being
able to communicate with them directly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The man introduces himself as Ganor, indicating that he was absent from
Aryen’s Hope when we first arrived, and asked what news.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“We found…” Khadhras begins, before I cut him off
abruptly.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Our news is for Iphan first,” I say, speaking over Khadhras
unapologetically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We do, however,
acquiesce to share our encounter with the wild bear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If you see it,” I warn, “shoot first and ask
questions later.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ganor has a story of his own to share with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While abroad in the forest with a hunting
companion, they ran afoul a small pack of wolves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of the wolves fled, but one seemed
particularly aggressive, so much so that even after its packmates turned tail, it attacked
the hunters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its body was not completely
natural—Ganor’s description matches that of the undead creature we encountered
while traveling to Aryen’s Hope.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“It was traveling <i>with </i>the other wolves?” I ask,
incredulous.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ganor confirms the story, explaining the creature attacked
after the rest of the pack fled.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Did you kill it?” I ask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ganor nods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having suffered the attack
from such a beast, I acknowledge the feat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“We will heed your warning, and we thank you for this knowledge.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Before long, we spot Aryen’s Hope ahead and ask if Ganor
will send message to Iphan for him to meet us here, not willing to take Pyr and
Talas into the settlement without sharing what we know of their condition
first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nearly an hour passes before we
see Iphan and Janna, priestess of Lathander, approach.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“This should be interesting,” I mutter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As they draw near, I gesture for Ailthar to
join us with the stone.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“What news?” Iphan asks, his curiosity obvious as he eyes
our new companions.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">We share what few details we understand of their story, and
both Iphan and Janna look concerned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Does this enemy have anything to do with the
fact that our scouts have encountered unnatural creatures of the forest,
wolves, these past weeks?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If so, it
seems that there may be much more to discuss.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The possible connection seems clear, and with little hesitancy, Iphan
extends welcome to the newcomers, granting them sanctuary in Aryen’s Hope.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“About that,” I interject, explaining what little we know
of the disease that has ravaged Talas and Pyr.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Will you see to them?” Iphan asks Janna, and the
priestess of the Morninglord nods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
approaches carefully, locking eyes with Talas, spending time looking at her festering
wounds without touching them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It appears
as if she is muttering prayers during her inspection, though whether she brings
any powers of the Morninglord to bear is unclear.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“This is a magical affliction,” she explains finally,
“and I lack the power to remedy it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
I do not think that it is a sickness that can be passed on as a plague.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would take powerful magic to impart such a
condition.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“That’s good to hear,” I say, relieved, having spent the
last two days in close company with them.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Nevertheless,” Iphan admits, “they will remain isolated
for the safety of all, though they are welcome in Aryen’s Hope.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time we arrive, the sun has set.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janna returns to her tent and Iphan leads
the newcomers to one of the more remote parts of the settlement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the fact that we weren’t able to
explain our conversation with Iphan as it occurred, it seems that Ailthar and
the others have picked up on Iphan’s intent and Janna’s concern, and for now
seem content to be led.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Once settled, waiting seems to be our only course of
action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I raise the question as to
whether we should act as intermediaries between Ailthar and Iphan or let them
communicate directly, and we agree that perhaps it will be best if Ailthar, Talas
and Pyr speak for themselves.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Before long, Iphan returns alone, ready to speak with the
newcomers by whatever means may make that possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talas hands the stone to Ailthar, who speaks
for their group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He clasps hands with
Iphan over the stone, and a long time passes as they share their unspoken exchange.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can see the occasional
passer-by hovering near the tents with curiosity as Iphan stands with Ailthar
in silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">When their embrace ends, Ailthar hands the stone back to Talas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ailthar and his friends may sleep here
tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have matters to think on, and
I wish to speak to you in the morning.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ged presses for payment, our task complete, and Iphan waves off the
demand, indicating he’ll settle those matters on the morrow.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Our sleep is restless, with the fate of Ailthar and the
others undetermined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Iphan’s stoicism on
the matter is not unexpected but doesn’t grant any comfort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And for us, besides Iphan requesting our
company at dawn, our lack of direction is also a concern.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We eventually find rest, however, and when we
rise, we make ready to meet with Iphan.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">When we see Iphan, he hands us each a roll of platinum
coins, satisfying the payment promised for seeking out the source of the
lights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Iphan explains that he isn’t
sure what to make of Ailthar’s story but based on our testimony of the wolf and
bear encounters, and our stories coinciding with those of Ganor and the other
hunters, there’s clearly a potential serious threat to Aryen’s Hope.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Iphan voices his intention to assemble a scout team to
investigate a larger part of the forest than his hunters would
typically range and asks if we wish to be involved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Interested, I ask, “If we commit to do this and
Ailthar and the others wish to join us, would you be opposed to it?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The question lingers for a moment before Iphan
responds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No,” he relents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I would not oppose it.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">It seems to me that such a mission could potentially
overlap with Ailthar’s hunt for Othal—whether this is all connected somehow or
not remains unknown, but it remains a clear possibility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would provide us the freedom to explore
the High Forest, deepen our purse a bit, and perhaps even help Ailthar and his
companions in their quest.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ged asks for more details, specifically how many others
Iphan intends to send out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Iphan
explains that he is limited in the extent to which he can risk the security of
Aryen’s Hope at any given time but pledges a force of perhaps a half-dozen
trained hunters to the task.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">After explaining the mission details with Ailthar, he meets
with the others and the three of them approach us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are agreeable to assisting with Iphan’s
cause, and we begin to discuss details of the potential arrangement.</p>Jason Gunderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11206196654542839692noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-80361811711332186912021-10-15T18:12:00.003-04:002021-10-15T18:54:25.048-04:00#2: Aryen's Hope<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSPPJtxruTWCuxrYnAUh0B2G5bxWKVzVSfD44oUr7OExsVginqvf4yJ-pEJ0KdapC8O1snAf6XJicnK4jfvBreIT_kWyVTQNfabC2N2Lgz53ShoEgVmF76OFl9yZXeJw-mz46ezBJgLcKS/s470/forest.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="356" data-original-width="470" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSPPJtxruTWCuxrYnAUh0B2G5bxWKVzVSfD44oUr7OExsVginqvf4yJ-pEJ0KdapC8O1snAf6XJicnK4jfvBreIT_kWyVTQNfabC2N2Lgz53ShoEgVmF76OFl9yZXeJw-mz46ezBJgLcKS/s320/forest.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Weary from our endeavors in the High Forest and our
encounter with the rotting wolf, we are glad to have been accepted into Aryen’s
Hope. Its tall wooden palisade and many
bonfires give us comfort, and it is good indeed to hear voices and be among men
and women again.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Iphan and those under his command are welcoming, and
after a brief respite, he comes looking for news—and we are eager to
share.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We make brief introductions
before I ask if other visitors preceded our arrival, survivors from the wagon
bound for Aryen’s Hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
informs us, sadly, that no others have arrived, and explains that he seldom knows
details of shipments from Pelanor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Deliveries, however, have been more or less regular, and he and the other
villagers had begun, as had Sere, to worry that the time elapsed since the last
delivery was sign of some problem or danger in the forest.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">We share our tale, explaining how we found the wagon and
its goods more or less intact, though we only found one of the guards slain
among the wreckage; we had hopes that others may have made their way to Aryen’s
Hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We show him the weapons we
salvaged from the wagon, and he says that he can dispatch a team in the morning
to seek out the remaining supplies.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Lq_AsTfU6xpREqxMp1WZ10yOAFqgl3IIy22hWhyphenhyphenpVOO6Kkt6g13axun-9VeQtgAHRi-jP7u77EJMlwrfFJFNlLBLKzbf3DqGor2kG_S6CdB6stqMPUFPdRAhg1XJEn2Op9v4__zBJ2-p/s346/lathander.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="263" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Lq_AsTfU6xpREqxMp1WZ10yOAFqgl3IIy22hWhyphenhyphenpVOO6Kkt6g13axun-9VeQtgAHRi-jP7u77EJMlwrfFJFNlLBLKzbf3DqGor2kG_S6CdB6stqMPUFPdRAhg1XJEn2Op9v4__zBJ2-p/w152-h200/lathander.JPG" width="152" /></a></div>After some conversation, Iphan leads us to the tent of a young woman,
wearing what looks to be priestly robes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She is introduced as Janna, the “Arm of the Morninglord,” and shares that
she might be able to tend my wounds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
exchange greetings warmly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It would
please me much to receive such care.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Her powers bring great relief, nearly completely stitching the ragged
wound that Ged had done his best to poultice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When finished, Ged steps forward to speak to Janna, asking if she has
become aware of any “unholiness on the wind.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He shares details of our encounter with the wolf, and with the queer
witch we witnessed in Pelanor.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">She seems concerned at our recounting of the encounter
with the undead wolf, though knows little of such things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of the witch, however, she seems to know
more, informing us that she is known to offer her “prayers” for coin or other
favors, though doubts whether her abilities are of truly divine origin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though unsure of the nature of any abilities she may possess, she doesn’t consider her a malevolent force, merely a
questionable one.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5fRGW19HAkCSZAKB3vjlpmT_tlde8CPcqQCAdGkVGsl8PsP-OzNJqzMoT4T0lG4qD1d4dzSfDKv1rP607xa85ir5HDG-aZKka-X49fOyB4MIM2u172NR-aLMrUPb09DCxpM19rvKGrCba/s147/fires.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="147" data-original-width="71" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5fRGW19HAkCSZAKB3vjlpmT_tlde8CPcqQCAdGkVGsl8PsP-OzNJqzMoT4T0lG4qD1d4dzSfDKv1rP607xa85ir5HDG-aZKka-X49fOyB4MIM2u172NR-aLMrUPb09DCxpM19rvKGrCba/s0/fires.JPG" width="71" /></a></div>Our conversation is interrupted by calls from the northernmost
border of Aryen’s Hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The lights have
returned!” is the cry, and a small gathering of people heads towards the ridge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no wall here, the steep slope and jagged
ridges providing adequate security.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Peering into the darkness, we’re surprised by the view—indeed, were it
light, we could see for miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the
distance are small, flickering lights, though it’s impossible to discern any
detail as they could be as far as a day’s travel from the camp.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“We’ve been seeing this for the last
few nights,” says one of the residents of Aryen’s Hope.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“There’s something out there,” interrupts another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is clearly a source of great curiosity and
some concern.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Have the lights moved or come any closer?” I ask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They shake their heads, indicating they have
not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Khadhras, standing nearby, peers
carefully into the night, hoping to see details that may have eluded me, but
seems disappointed in his efforts.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">After initial excitement over the far-off lights fades,
we excuse ourselves to discuss potential plans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Escorting Iphan’s men back to the wagon seems
like a convenient way to make our presence and purpose in the camp felt, and
the following morning we seek out Iphan to inform him of our plans.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I let him know that I am greatly improved due to Janna’s
ministrations, and that we are ready to assist Iphan and Aryen’s Hope in
whatever way we may.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He relates tales of
other recent troubles, chief among them the queer lights at night and a feral
bear encountered to the northeast that mauled one of the
residents, a ranger, and killed another—seemingly without cause.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Knowing how the wagon and its contents were left, we explain
to Iphan that it might be of help for us to accompany his team, if nothing else
to provide protection and to confirm that the belongings have not been
disturbed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ged also points out that
there are missing members of the caravan, and that a larger group might have
better hopes of finding them.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">We are introduced to a scrawny looking man, a teamster
named Lenk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are two others with
him, and their job is to handle the beast of burden and to repair the wagon if
needed while we act as guard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They carry
bows and swords as well, which we are glad to see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we leave Aryen’s Hope and begin our trek,
we explain the goods that we hope to find, the condition of the wagon, and
answer any other questions they might have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Our confidence this morning is high.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Our return to the wagon is much easier than our trip the
previous night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tired, dark, wounded,
burdened by the goods we hoped to salvage—indeed, our return trip is almost
pleasant in comparison.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is, of
course, until we hear a rustling in the brush ahead, when our romp through the
High Forest is brought to an abrupt halt.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">In Bungo’s absence, I offer to scout ahead and
investigate, but Ged suggests that perhaps we toss a rock instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Khadhras slings a stone into the underbrush,
eliciting an entirely human shout of surprise or pain.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Come out,” I command, shouting ahead, “and with your
arms to the sky.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A man emerges from the
wood, following our instructions, and Ged begins to question him.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“I was on my way from Pelanor to Aryen’s Hope when I was
attacked,” he explains, and Ged presses for more information without sharing
what we already know in case this is some bandit or trap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His answers seem reasonable, though—he
describes the cart, the donkey and his companion.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Who sent you from Pelanor?” Ged asks.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Sere, the field marshal,” is his reply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And my father, Kayd.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">There is a mutual sense of relief as we invite him to
join us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He explains that he fell and injured his leg during the attack on the wagon, and that
nearly a full day passed before he came to and could start to try and find his
way to Aryen’s Hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His wounds are
mostly superficial, dehydration being the greatest danger, though he seems both
able and willing to accompany us in our quest, glad to have stumbled into us.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Lord Iphan will probably want to speak with you,” Lenk
injects, a clear sign that we should not tarry and be on our way.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“What actually attacked the wagon?” I ask, realizing we
hadn’t broached the topic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kayd’s son, who
is also named Kayd, explains that the wagon was overturned rather suddenly and
without warning, unsure whether it was because of the terrain or some other
force.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He remembers his companion
shouting about wolves, they both ran, and that’s the last thing he
remembers.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">We provide Kayd the Younger what food and water we have
to spare as we continue along the trail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After the initial excitement and dialogue, we fall once again into a
tense silence.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“What happened to the man I was with?” Kayd asks, his
voice shaky as he realizes that we’re getting closer to the wagon.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Lacking nuance, Khadhras and I explain in rather blunt
terms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He was killed, mauled by
wolves.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blood drains from Kayd’s face.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Before long, we return to the site of the attack, and see
the wagon ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The stench of carrion
persists, assuredly that of the corpse we left undisturbed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wagon remains overturned, supplies strewn
about, and as far as we can tell, things are more or less as we left them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We instruct Kayd to remain close to Lenk and
his team, so as not to stumble upon the corpse of his friend in the forest
nearby.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The crew heads forward to inspect the wagon, the glade
eerily quiet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thankfully, there are no
signs of threat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lenk asks for help in
turning the wagon right, and with our combined efforts, we’re able to complete
the task easily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wagon is,
unfortunately, damaged and needs repair, so we make plans to watch over the
area while they go about their work.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5wM_lymaqDPb9NpCcoN4k6L92-fmRhcLw-jBspvJ7rIa4pEamzeIV3dzclWYkgfFDaxsSNrZEUzHMCuk3EEcb1kRAnVdrp569WgR6xI0Qo-uOzNyzgULh7oT7EHKdZ0C8IbXfgOPrxJs_/s213/wagon.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="213" data-original-width="137" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5wM_lymaqDPb9NpCcoN4k6L92-fmRhcLw-jBspvJ7rIa4pEamzeIV3dzclWYkgfFDaxsSNrZEUzHMCuk3EEcb1kRAnVdrp569WgR6xI0Qo-uOzNyzgULh7oT7EHKdZ0C8IbXfgOPrxJs_/w129-h200/wagon.JPG" width="129" /></a></div>Khadhras proves a surprisingly able assistant, having
some knowledge of engineering and the mechanics of such vehicles, and together
they are able to expedite the repairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“We’re ready to return,” Lenk announces, asking if we have any further
business.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ged wants to check the body one last time, which seems to
remind Kayd of his companion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He asks,
his voice shaking again, “We’re going to take him with us, right?”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I elbow Ged, asking him under my breath to say something
about disease, but Ged has the situation<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>well in hand, explaining that
it’s impossible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ged heads over on his
own, finding much what he expects—a three-day old, decayed body, rotting and
surrounded by flies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having found
nothing otherwise out of the ordinary, we depart and make our way back to
Aryen’s Hope.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Once again we are reminded how different and difficult
the conditions of our first trip were—the return trip to Aryen’s Hope is easy,
and before long we are greeted by the gate guards, then by Iphan himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We linger to overhear Iphan’s conversation
with Kayd—it doesn’t seem as if they know one another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">That evening, we find time to speak with Iphan privately,
explaining our intentions to help Aryen’s Hope, and indicating that salvaging
the wagon was an effort done in good faith to show him our talents and prove
that we’re honorable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Iphan seems
amenable to the arrangement, explaining that he could perhaps put us on a
stipend to work directly for the camp, or pursue other agreements that would
allow us more flexibility.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Unwilling and unwanting to give such control over our
actions to anyone, Ged speaks for our group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“If you have special needs, if you have something interesting for us and
are willing to compensate us for our efforts, we are your men…but we are no
one’s man.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">He seems to understand our intentions and is satisfied
with Ged’s reply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He explains that the
ridge to the north and the mysterious lights are of special interest to him,
enough to warrant a reward of 50 gold pieces for each of us if we can return
with news of any potential threat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
negotiate to include mundane supplies as part of the deal—rations, ammunition,
and the like—as long as we’re working on behalf of the camp, he agrees to
see that we’re well supplied.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Khadhras asks if there are any who know the territory,
and we are introduced to Ureth, who was the man mauled by the bear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ureth is of an age with Ged, with shaved head and
graying beard, and comes across as gruff but knowledgeable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He explains that there are game trails that
cross the territory and informs us of the various forms of natural predator
that we should keep an eye out for.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“What special precautions can we take at night to avoid
unwanted encounters with these predators?” I ask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He shares that fire is both friend and
foe—while it will keep away most natural predators, it also risks drawing the
attention of any intelligent denizens of the wood.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Don’t make assumptions about the natural wildlife,” he
says grimly, fingering the scars on his face and neck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Something had that bear on edge like I’ve
not seen before.”</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">With something on my mind, I ask to the group to humor me
as we track down Janna.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having told her
of the undead wolf that attacked us, I say that I’ve heard tales that priests
are possessed of the power to make water holy that it might be used against
such foes, should we encounter them again in the wood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And are you possessed of such power?” I ask
her directly.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">She admits that she knows of the craft, though has not
conducted it herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Knowing of Ged’s
devotion to Shaundakul, she offers that the two of them might be able to
accomplish the task together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After
giving it some thought, Ged agrees to lend his divine services to the
effort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The following morning, they disappear
into Janna’s tent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We wait outside but soon
become bored as the minutes and hours pass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Meanwhile, Khadhras seeks out anyone possessed of arcane
knowledge in Aryen’s Hope, though is disappointed in his efforts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do my best to assist with mundane tasks
about the camp to pass the time, but make no meaningful contacts.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">We are rewarded for their efforts, however, and Janna
presents us with three vials of holy water with the warning that she can’t be
completely sure that it will be effective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thankful nonetheless, we take the vials and
store them away against future danger.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ged looks to the skies, informing us that the weather should be
relatively clear and cooperative in the coming days, so we make preparations to
depart the following morning.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The beginning of our journey proves difficult—the ridge
is complicated to navigate, so our going is slow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s a light rain early in the morning and
a chill rides the early spring wind—otherwise, though, conditions are
reasonably good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Getting lost in the
wilderness is a real fear—fortunately, Ged has some skill in keeping us pointed
in the right direction, and landmarks are plentiful enough that we are confident we can find our way.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Despite our best intentions and Ged’s skills however, we
find ourselves on a meandering path through the woods that inevitably leads us
back to the River Delimbiyr.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately,
we find no sign of threat, natural or otherwise, and by the time we’ve passed
our midday meal, we find what seems to be a good trail and follow it into the
afternoon.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">As with our trip to the wagon, we hear rustling in the
brush ahead and come to an abrupt stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And as we did before, Khadhras launches a stone into the brush, though
no further sound or movement is elicited by the action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woods are thick, and our path leads us
right towards the source of the sound.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCPxi3e8OhjecxZ7iH2hOtPP9xZZ-59nQFEQQ6TFRb9uWaWCyJBMAjf625ber598wmaFL_Qlgq0uJ5tl18jVsAgxEFuEWMsFAjA7x65mlh-q3FFf3NrcVKHu0btIxI6St08dbAKkLBYWsi/s193/grizzly+bear.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="159" data-original-width="193" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCPxi3e8OhjecxZ7iH2hOtPP9xZZ-59nQFEQQ6TFRb9uWaWCyJBMAjf625ber598wmaFL_Qlgq0uJ5tl18jVsAgxEFuEWMsFAjA7x65mlh-q3FFf3NrcVKHu0btIxI6St08dbAKkLBYWsi/w200-h165/grizzly+bear.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Swapping out my bow for my sword and shield, I decide to
head forward cautiously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before I do,
however, Ged stops me and works through a prayer, bestowing a blessing of
Shaundakul upon us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t make it more
than a few yards before a large black shape emerges from the brush—a black
bear, standing on its hind legs and growling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is clearly disturbed by our presence.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I know little of such beasts, but having seen Ureth’s
scars, I want nothing to do with a conflict.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I throw my shield over a shoulder and start
digging in my pack with the intention of throwing rations towards it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it reacts naturally and investigates the
food, we intend to escape towards the river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If not, we ready ourselves to brace for combat.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">It takes a few steps towards us as I hold out an armful
of rations, hurling them as far as I can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There’s a moment of apparent mental anguish or confusion as the bear stops
to sniff the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Confronted by its options,
it nonetheless ignores the food and closes most of the distance between us, it’s
violent intents clear.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I stare down the bear—it stares down me—and I take off
into the forest towards the river, away from the bear and the thrown
rations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m hopeful that it chooses
food over a chase.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Khadhras and Ged move
to follow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, we seize initiative
and the brush proves more an obstacle to the bear than a hindrance to us, and
we are able to outrun the creature.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">We keep up a rapid pace until we come either to the game
trail once again or the river, stopping periodically to listen for sounds of a
bear crashing through woods behind us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We are hopeful we have left the threat behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We slow our pace to a more cautious speed so
that we can have better awareness of our surroundings, and hear nothing of our would-be
foe.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">We manage to cover quite a distance over the course of
the day as the sun begins to set.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before
it gets too dark, I look for a tree with limbs that look like they might
support my weight to try and gain better vantage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find one and easily ascend to the lower
branches where I am afforded a clearer view.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m not able to clearly make out the ridge, our destination, but I can
make out where the land rises, and we determine that to be our best direction
come the morning.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">We camp with our backs to the river, building a bonfire
for warmth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We split into watches, and
fortunately encounter no threat in the night.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The following morning, we discover several small game
trails that head in what is seemingly the correct direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of the morning passes as we stalk
quietly through the High Forest, and eventually are rewarded with a slight
incline.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At midday, we find ourselves
ascending a small ledge or ridge, and ahead we catch sight of an armored man
with a bow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems as if we caught
sight of him as he us, and for the moment, his weapon remains at rest.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Keeping my bow out but not drawn, Ged raises a hand in
greeting—the man returns the gesture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
decide to approach slowly, Ged keeping his hand raised as a sign of trust.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We approach within a dozen yards, seeing no
one else as we ascend towards him.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ged makes a brief introduction, even going so far as to
share news of the bear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The conversation
is one-sided, the man listening as Ged speaks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The man is thin, athletic, and has the appearance of a woodsman.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2F461K6PiS_NjwnYk6bgU8CT_sSVWEIKYRYpTJz5uiHsMtmEpczgf9aNDge_HoRFh1ntjETs4xPA_nJq-dtqIzcA73E3_GynhyHg2GtTJb5tMhHkfVNBieldkntOaXnLoufL4J8KjsGU/s1799/phelan%2527s+bear.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1799" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2F461K6PiS_NjwnYk6bgU8CT_sSVWEIKYRYpTJz5uiHsMtmEpczgf9aNDge_HoRFh1ntjETs4xPA_nJq-dtqIzcA73E3_GynhyHg2GtTJb5tMhHkfVNBieldkntOaXnLoufL4J8KjsGU/w133-h200/phelan%2527s+bear.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>When he finally replies, it’s in a language completely
incomprehensible to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I slowly
shoulder my bow, and from my pouch I withdraw a chunk of chalk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On a nearby stone, I draw an exaggerated,
angry bear, muttering the word to look for some recognition.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">He replies with a different word, but otherwise seems
unimpressed with my drawing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man
tries uttering words in other languages, some of them seemingly a trade tongue,
and we get the impression that he’s trying to express a single word—“lost”.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I draw a crude house and bonfire, pointing back towards
Aryen’s Hope and in the other direction, my best guess towards the ridge where
we seek the lights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He either doesn’t
understand or is unaware, instead seeming to communicate that he requires our
help—or that he has friends that may need it.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm6Y4_wgV2Y05JumoG_9fGMHMsUHaJkbp8ROpN8kaKCX3QhUs4YpOn3y_rVaAtifZ9hc6yKH7QVHbM2tI4gqoe7vxQffGCUVw5TQe6dtjPvb4iOZgxk_q3wsfdsbKfKOEKctmDfwQ-jeNp/s234/figures.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="234" data-original-width="183" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm6Y4_wgV2Y05JumoG_9fGMHMsUHaJkbp8ROpN8kaKCX3QhUs4YpOn3y_rVaAtifZ9hc6yKH7QVHbM2tI4gqoe7vxQffGCUVw5TQe6dtjPvb4iOZgxk_q3wsfdsbKfKOEKctmDfwQ-jeNp/w156-h200/figures.JPG" width="156" /></a></div>We do our best to introduce ourselves by name, asking him
what his name may be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He replies, “Ailthar.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again using the chalk, I draw a figure and
ask to the best of my knowledge how many others may seek our help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He indicates that there are two others, and
Ged asks their names.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Ailthar, Pyr, Talas.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We sense no duplicity in the man and are faced with a decision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He points in the direction we were headed
anyway, so our course seems easy to determine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He leads the way up the ledge, and we follow behind.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">As we walk, he keeps talking in a broken form of the
common tongue, almost as if sharing a story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We catch a few words in the otherwise unintelligible language—chief
among them “Silvanus”, whom Ged knows to be a deity of nature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We reach the summit of the ascent, and get
the sense that there may be additional people ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He holds his hands up as if we should stop,
and gestures ahead of us as if communicating with others before beckoning us
forward slowly.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Two figures emerge from the brush, one man and one woman—and both bear horrible scarring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Half of the skin on the woman’s face is blackened as if burned or rotted, and
one of her hands bears the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man
also has hideous visible scars, though neither seem as if they are in great
pain.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Help,” Ged says, pointing towards the woman’s scarring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Silvanus,” he says, hoping to make it clear that
he wants to examine their scars so that he might ascertain their source.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The man points to himself, making a gesture with his
hands reminiscent of a prayer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He holds
them towards the woman’s face, trying to convey something that we don’t fully
understand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looking about, we see the
remnants of numerous bonfires—and we realize that these are likely the source
of the lights seen from a distance in Aryen’s Hope.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Whoever they may be, and whatever the cause of their
scars, we have nonetheless completed part of our mission.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are rewarded, however, with more questions
than answers.<o:p></o:p></p>Jason Gunderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11206196654542839692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-44934915525344507802021-10-14T10:56:00.000-04:002021-10-14T10:56:06.908-04:00XP awards for session 1<p>Here are XP awards for the inaugural session, since Bungo may be taking some time off and I’d like to ensure we have a clean division.</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Slaying the undead wolf - 100</li><li>Story award for sending news back to Pelanor - 1,000</li></ul><div>Initial party totals are as follows:</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Khadhras - 275</li><li>Phelan - 275</li><li>Ged - 303</li><li>Bungo - 303</li></ul><div>The sidebar is updated accordingly. Please keep in mind that these awards, while small, are only for one session, wherein much time was spent on introductions.</div></div><p></p>Matt Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18195243799773565579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-48689539128862610762021-09-03T12:46:00.004-04:002021-10-08T13:13:14.949-04:00#1: Stirrings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit_tW4bRSQ_dPotnpFMRCFx7J2u-xVGjESxajZ333dNP585T6xxnFWpA3heA8XdoWcBymQ-fvv950vRp8NIWvQfXPEtauIF3k91AKhx1PEUKDrNgF7LCdduTCqXxXyEI6yqiAWGmEl7icW/s1600/delimbiyr.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="732" data-original-width="1600" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit_tW4bRSQ_dPotnpFMRCFx7J2u-xVGjESxajZ333dNP585T6xxnFWpA3heA8XdoWcBymQ-fvv950vRp8NIWvQfXPEtauIF3k91AKhx1PEUKDrNgF7LCdduTCqXxXyEI6yqiAWGmEl7icW/s320/delimbiyr.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Throughout history, the Greypeaks have been home to all
manner of creatures—goblinoids, orcs, giants and worse. And throughout history, these creatures have
struck out against encroaching towns and villages; sometimes these attacks are
repelled, and the creatures sent back to their mountain lairs. Sometimes, however, these onslaughts are
successful and villagers are forced to either uproot and seek sanctuary
elsewhere or die by the fangs, claws and swords of those that would do them
harm. The High Forest is littered with
the remains of such battles, the soil fertilized by the blood of man, skeletons
of abandoned huts and houses overgrown and consumed by the waxing and waning borders
of the High Forest. </p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The bustling camps, homesteads and buildings of Pelanor form
one such village, and it is here where our tale begins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pelanor is not large enough to demand a
proper inn—we are given area in the common mustering grounds east of the
village where we can set up our tents and build our fires.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are perhaps a dozen other tents, though
not all are currently occupied—most are used by transients passing through, mostly
tradesmen and travelers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">As we arrive in Pelanor, the environment is tense with rumors
of evil humanoids and creatures seen along forest paths or viewed from afar in
the mountains, and the remote villages along the River Delimbiyr have become relatively
crowded by the comings and goings of those seeking fame, wealth, and adventure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are one such band, and as I look to my
companions, I am hopeful that we will make a reputation for ourselves in this
harsh, unforgiving land.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7OnK1nqW51FIOGUTk87dmrlYV2i1TwVTiAd7Pg_BRPbsNbzUwfSkJL7NztewgWugI-YLh6JmTxOt90JiffdXAzUkVc-I4e-gyV-zBu7GGS-28Kuye2uHSyDWCFf4lUiVkeJpfQHjmiYdm/s291/shaundakul.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="291" data-original-width="251" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7OnK1nqW51FIOGUTk87dmrlYV2i1TwVTiAd7Pg_BRPbsNbzUwfSkJL7NztewgWugI-YLh6JmTxOt90JiffdXAzUkVc-I4e-gyV-zBu7GGS-28Kuye2uHSyDWCFf4lUiVkeJpfQHjmiYdm/w173-h200/shaundakul.JPG" width="173" /></a></div>Ged of Arabel is a priest, a Windwalker in service of his
god Shaundakul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is the seniormost
member of our company, older than me or Khadhras by nearly a decade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More so than fame or wealth, this wandering
priest seeks converts among the rough folk of the Delimbiyr Vale and seems
most comfortable when out under the open skies.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Bungo Proudfoot is a halfling whose skill and
agility belies his short, pudgy frame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
is accompanied by his faithful hound, Furryfeet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Little more is known of this halfling or his past, but I’d wager that we’ve
run in similar circles.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Contrary to Ged, who seems at home in the wilderness,
Khadhras is a traveling wizard and academic who appears completely out of his
element.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Similar in age to me, he is
well learned in the arcane arts and a historian of some sort, knowledgeable of the
High Forest and its history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such
knowledge and power could prove invaluable as we enter uncharted lands.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Our goal is to push through to the forest camp of Aryen’s
Hope, established a year past, which lies a hard day’s travel through forest and hilly
terrain north of Pelanor, along the River Delimbiyr.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The trails leading from Pelanor are rough,
though should be easy for us to follow as long as we keep the river within earshot to
our west.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The leader of Aryen’s
Hope bears the title Lord Forester, and it is he with whom we seek
audience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trade and travel through this
dangerous terrain demands guardians with special skills, and we intend to
perhaps apply ourselves profitably to such efforts.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjisYy2yPgMyFwP0uw3zHqjCsX12c0TWbAILeB8yeCX8oHUSGW1tlvai-TGNhPXAlBOIp_2Ca2wbR_whWUIea07msYWDKmqoiUQue0x3PMN58cXadvQ0jy4JSX5QuFbaFBGD96D1H26ruLl/s229/blood.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="221" data-original-width="229" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjisYy2yPgMyFwP0uw3zHqjCsX12c0TWbAILeB8yeCX8oHUSGW1tlvai-TGNhPXAlBOIp_2Ca2wbR_whWUIea07msYWDKmqoiUQue0x3PMN58cXadvQ0jy4JSX5QuFbaFBGD96D1H26ruLl/w200-h193/blood.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Our preparations for camp are interrupted as Bungo tugs
at my arm, pointing to a curious exchange occurring amid the village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A tall, aging man stands near a bedraggled
woman in filthy robes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He passes something
to her with a few words, perhaps a coin, and we watch as she draws a small
knife and runs it across the flesh of her arm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It has the trappings of some kind of occult ritual, and we look to Ged
for enlightenment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ged shakes his head though,
unfamiliar with rite—it is likely either a local custom, or something
completely foreign to his knowledge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Khadhras mutters something about “a backwards custom of an uncivilized
village.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man takes his leave, and we return to our duties.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I ask those in the mustering grounds if other bands of
adventurers or soldiers have been through Pelanor, either
heading towards Aryen’s Hope or back from it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A tanner is willing to share words with us,
recognizing that we are new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He shares
the recent village news that a supply cart was sent north to the forest camp several days ago with two armed guards, and no one has yet returned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is longer than typical for traffic between the settlements, considering that there are no known human settlements beyond, and concern is rising.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">As we are finishing our preparations, we witness a pair
approaching our small camp with purpose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We recognize one of them as the man from the
ritual—he wears a broadsword at his hip, perhaps nearing fifty, though otherwise
dressed in plainclothes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His companion is
a female, garbed in a suit of chain and armed, younger than the man—perhaps soon encroaching on middle age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She carries herself with the air of confidence of an experienced warrior.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The woman introduces herself as Sere, field marshal of
Pelanor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The position is nominally in
charge of security and safety of Pelanor, and her companion is Kayd, the
village horsemaster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can tell that
they are interested in hearing our business in town and they welcome us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She reiterates the tanner’s news of the
lost supply cart and asks if we might return word of any findings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The village would be in
your debt,” she explains.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Speaking for the group, Bungo says that we will do our
best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>With our destination obvious, I ask if there are any other services we
can provide, perhaps other goods to deliver.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“One of the men guarding the supply cart was my son,” the
older man reveals, “and I would like to see him returned to safety.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cart was carrying tools, dry
goods, rations and a small assortment of arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We empathize with him, and with that knowledge, we convene as a group to
discuss our plans.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ged asks if there is anything we should be aware of,
knowing the forest and region to be dangerous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sere explains that nothing outside of the ordinary has been
reported.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There are always going to be
dangers,” she replies, but has no specific leads.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I ask if they would send a runner with us—we’re not
likely to turn back if we find something just to report news, so having a
runner seems a smart course of action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She is amenable to the plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
asked about compensation for our efforts, the man steps forward.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“You may come and go as you please through our village,”
he explains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We ask nothing of those
passing through, and grant shelter and what services we can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you return my son safely, you will always have a
place at my table.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems reasonable
given the meager wealth of this small village.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYZ5lSlCIj_OhuWDUnhQAEVnM__epUXSlRnS32BH9hXsQMnFjije7cLNeAESxSnJgkSnpvz2ef6LM7eGfkXUDP_hk_6irvRf8Ii3c-GTgYCIEaQdulvyxGwpqv8lxcyq0WNY1V-1U-Syj/s300/skies.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="236" data-original-width="300" height="157" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYZ5lSlCIj_OhuWDUnhQAEVnM__epUXSlRnS32BH9hXsQMnFjije7cLNeAESxSnJgkSnpvz2ef6LM7eGfkXUDP_hk_6irvRf8Ii3c-GTgYCIEaQdulvyxGwpqv8lxcyq0WNY1V-1U-Syj/w200-h157/skies.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>Reading the skies, Ged informs us that the weather ahead
will be clear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With that in mind, we
agree to the terms of the arrangement, and we alert Sere that we intend to
leave the next morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well met,” she
agrees, and thanks us before turning away with Kayd to return to Pelanor.<div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><p></p>
<span></span><p class="MsoNoSpacing">We awaken early the next morning and head towards the
northern edge of the village. There
waiting is Sere, accompanied by a younger man, perhaps three years my junior. He is outfitted with a small blade on his hip
and some ill-fitting leather armor. He
is introduced as Nulwen—he knows the paths near Pelanor and is knowledgeable of
the forest but obviously green when it comes to combat. She trusts our judgment in directing Nulwen
and seeing to his well-being. “We will
take good care of him,” I tell her. </p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Don’t worry about me,” he chides Sere sheepishly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wishes us well, and we head north from the village towards Aryen’s Hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the sun rises, we pass through the
outlying farmsteads quietly, hugging the River Delimbiyr as we travel throughout
the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we approach midday, the
woods become thicker and the path more treacherous—the rising sun becomes
obscured by the dense tree cover.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
difficulty of traversing this path with a small cart or wagon becomes apparent,
and we keep a careful eye for any signs of recent passage, Ged surveying the
path carefully at varying intervals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nulwen
proves an able companion, if a bit shy in our presence.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I take point as we travel, with Khadhras and Nulwen behind
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ged follows them, and Bungo with
brave Furryfeet guards our rear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All is
well until we descend a small, tree-covered hill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ahead, we see an overturned cart with a mule
standing peacefully nearby, tail swatting at flies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re not close enough to make out much more
detail from this distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bungo and I take
point, relying on Furryfeet’s keen senses to alert us of any danger, and the
others follow several paces behind.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi39XcEmHERmVzl-j9gPHPKCS2OUEUZ88lZ_364Nyacf3NnSh2H7WXXsXg5Enf5tHYViVGfF-1OrVCSQxOUnF3-X898PwYWve0YwLZO4blsTzTYIOP-ADdk4xTXbQ_oAQ-Vm_5LxL3Df-Zp/s633/cart.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="633" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi39XcEmHERmVzl-j9gPHPKCS2OUEUZ88lZ_364Nyacf3NnSh2H7WXXsXg5Enf5tHYViVGfF-1OrVCSQxOUnF3-X898PwYWve0YwLZO4blsTzTYIOP-ADdk4xTXbQ_oAQ-Vm_5LxL3Df-Zp/w200-h171/cart.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>The cart is tipped on its side, one of its wheels entangled
in some large tree roots that cross the broken path.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Supplies are strewn about, racks of tools and
small barrels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Furryfeet’s ears lie back
as the scent of death wafts towards us, and ahead we see a bloated body covered
in flies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bungo & Furryfeet approach
the corpse as I watch over the area—scavengers have done their work on the
decaying body, but it does appear as if the skin is torn by claw or
blade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We call the rest of the group
forward, asking if Nulwen can identify the body of the deceased as Kayd’s son.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Nulwen pales at the sight of the corpse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No,” he replies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s not his son, but the second guard.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It doesn’t look like the goods or
rations have been picked over, nor any of the weapons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mule, largely oblivious to our presence,
is still bound to the cart and is wobbly with fatigue or malnourishment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It looks like it has been stuck in the same
spot for days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Khadhras moves forward to
cut the mule loose and care for it, trying to give it food and water from the
mess of supplies available.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">While he does, I scan the area for any signs of
prints, especially any leading away from the cart towards Aryen’s Hope but am
disappointed to find no discernable tracks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As we are perhaps halfway or more to our destination, there’s as good a
chance as any that any survivors may have continued ahead.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ged speaks with Nulwen about returning to Pelanor, and Nulwen
responds that he will do as we ask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he can likely make it out of the
forest before nightfall, we decide to send him back to Pelanor with news of the
cart and the corpse, in the case that Sere desires to reclaim the goods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nulwen pauses to express that he doesn’t have
any news of Kayd’s son.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">“Kayd’s son is secondary to the news that the cart has
been found and one of its guards slain,” I explain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We will continue our search and send what
news we can.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He nods, and we send him
on his way.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I take a few minutes to bind some of the weapons found, bows
and swords, knowing their value and not wanting them to fall into the wrong
hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Others do the same, and we decide
to press on, wanting to arrive at Aryen’s Hope before nightfall.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Our pace is slowed somewhat by our burdens and by the
mule, which Khadhras has seemingly adopted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The forest feels like it’s getting darker as the afternoon wanes, but
after several hours alone, we can’t help but jump at shadows and
personify what’s likely the natural occurrence of the setting sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We trudge on until suddenly Furryfeet stands
rigid, hackles raised, and even the mule seems to sense something unnatural,
and I start to regret dismissing the darkening wood.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Bungo slips into some nearby brush while the
rest of us form a circle, standing silently as we wait for any sign of threat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Furryfeet seems focused on one of our flanks
towards a nearby ridge, and in the shadows we see the silhouette of a large
four-legged creature, perhaps the size of a wolf, that moves with an unnatural
gait or limp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I raise my bow, knowing of
no benevolent creature that fits such a description.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before firing, I send a questioning gaze to
the others in the group, but Khadhras shakes his head.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">He begins to chant, his hands making the complicated
gestures of an enchantment as we wait patiently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The air fills with the scent of ozone as he
finishes the spell, but it seemingly has no effect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not wanting to let it approach, Bungo and I
loose a pair of arrows, each one finding their mark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The creature lets out no sound, neither cry
nor growl—only the dull thud of arrows striking their target.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It begins to approach in earnest, silhouette
more clearly now that of a wolf, as Bungo and I send another pair of arrows
over the creature, missing their mark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
others brace for its attack.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhblrZuQiitei4ODt60jVnaUCnzBplLrHwz4Z0tNSb4TII-JybFv-Oh7_-eDmZaU05YTO1ZmA3YI5VEXU8EptZVXdpZnkz0gEvhyJTE04y37h8wdpBIEarP5M6DX0TdY0aaxhaCwAlglj2Z/s351/wolf.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="244" data-original-width="351" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhblrZuQiitei4ODt60jVnaUCnzBplLrHwz4Z0tNSb4TII-JybFv-Oh7_-eDmZaU05YTO1ZmA3YI5VEXU8EptZVXdpZnkz0gEvhyJTE04y37h8wdpBIEarP5M6DX0TdY0aaxhaCwAlglj2Z/w200-h139/wolf.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>I put myself in the path of the creature as it rushes
forward, Bungo letting loose another arrow and Khadhras slinging a heavy stone
which crunches into the creature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it
pierces the shadows of the forest, charging towards us, we see that one of its
front legs is hanging impossibly by a few lengths of tendon, the bone
shattered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its hide is ragged from open
and decaying wounds, and there is an odor of death not dissimilar to the corpse
we found at the cart, its eye sockets empty, but jaws full of sharp,
gnashing teeth.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I swing out wildly with my sword but miss as it bears
down on me, jaws tearing through flesh and armor as it nearly brings me
down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ged flails at it with his mace,
unable to land a telling blow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Desperate
to escape lest I suffer another attack, I spin around and bring my sword level,
cleaving the creature in two, cutting through spine, hide and flesh to spill
its guts on the forest floor.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix6LHOGA7DUnhTxbY_WbyQvpuHBJ40oJUMh8aphBTtlNgKKLOPla4ykqV0PgJk5RiHa91Vy1QUY2M4xSNvNlIaHWXMkyXpw1bAkAIoBGv1Je4mEACmFUBJfeNIB16rCzatb03OMjDXdPa-/s245/mule.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="205" data-original-width="245" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix6LHOGA7DUnhTxbY_WbyQvpuHBJ40oJUMh8aphBTtlNgKKLOPla4ykqV0PgJk5RiHa91Vy1QUY2M4xSNvNlIaHWXMkyXpw1bAkAIoBGv1Je4mEACmFUBJfeNIB16rCzatb03OMjDXdPa-/w200-h167/mule.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mule Lives Matter</i></td></tr></tbody></table>While the others scan for other threats, Ged rushes
forward to tend my wound, offering some slight relief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The creature is a true horror, having defied
a normal death, and lest there be other creatures like it in the shadows of the
forest, we decide to continue hastily on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is some discussion over whether to
leave the mule and what supplies we have gathered behind,
but deciding their value outweighs the danger posed, we press on with our burden.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Eager to put the horror of the encounter behind us, we
move as quickly as seems safe, eating our evening meal on our feet so as not to
lose any more time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The welcome sound of
the Delimbiyr gives us comfort that we are still on the correct path, but the
remaining sun quickly fades and before long, we are forced to pull out supplemental
light sources.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ged, calling upon
Shaundakul, conjures a globe of divine light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Perhaps by virtue of the light or even the presence of Ged’s deity, the
forest seems less shadowed than before, and once again we can hear the natural
sounds of the forest.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">After an hour, the light from Ged’s spell fades and I
pull out a torch and strike a small flame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is then, however, that we notice the scent of a campfire on the wind,
though no light from such a fire is visible through the dense forest cover.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bungo examines the nearby trees, choosing one
to scale up nimbly, hoping that the increased height will grant him a vantage
we are denied.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Over the next ridge, Bungo sees what appears to be a roaring bonfire behind a wooden palisade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Having no reason to doubt that this is Aryen’s Hope, we press on as
quickly as the light from my torch allows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We discover the ridge that Bungo spotted and ascend, and once atop it we
are able to discern multiple bonfires, tents, and lean-tos, and can hear the sound
of voices and activity from within the walls.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQcl3TtP7Nsp7VnDXQUocGQDZK665lOHHf6cQ0T93525AQhu_JR_PmL83pnx-cFYPVC6NTu9qAVqFmoMdkjkgPJHqjVdBh3EULgWml3WAmRdoTDYQ24G8XJ2KY244-k8eA9eGwJCGx3m1/s487/palisade.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="77" data-original-width="487" height="51" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQcl3TtP7Nsp7VnDXQUocGQDZK665lOHHf6cQ0T93525AQhu_JR_PmL83pnx-cFYPVC6NTu9qAVqFmoMdkjkgPJHqjVdBh3EULgWml3WAmRdoTDYQ24G8XJ2KY244-k8eA9eGwJCGx3m1/s320/palisade.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing">We approach and hail those that guard the palisade, and are granted access to our destination. A dark-haired and bearded man approaches us, sword
at his hip and bow slung across his back.
He introduces himself as Iphan, Lord Forester. We exchange his greeting eagerly, glad to be
behind the walls of Aryen’s Hope.</p></div>Jason Gunderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11206196654542839692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-42517862114828310662021-09-01T09:47:00.000-04:002021-09-01T09:47:07.274-04:00Map of the High Forest and surrounds<p>Map of the High Forest and surrounding major settlements south and west, including Waterdeep and the High Moor. The village of Pelanor and forest camp known as Aryen's Hope are located seventy-five miles northeast of Loudwater, along the River Delimbiyr, roughly fifteen miles apart.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG_sx692EThDpHlEYQWvRbSpohybdIgxHPa9wfFgPNrC5iWcy1XNDjxu9YDAQ8EsZDcbjfFA8G6HyNXBGfrmhggibH1XT8KftMQRtj67t1juJj_d2J9LvmMQ3nPYVG6p63p85xzQ9bNens/s1920/high-forest-worn.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1320" data-original-width="1920" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG_sx692EThDpHlEYQWvRbSpohybdIgxHPa9wfFgPNrC5iWcy1XNDjxu9YDAQ8EsZDcbjfFA8G6HyNXBGfrmhggibH1XT8KftMQRtj67t1juJj_d2J9LvmMQ3nPYVG6p63p85xzQ9bNens/s320/high-forest-worn.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Click to enlarge</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p>Matt Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18195243799773565579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-59535471464265592022021-08-31T11:12:00.000-04:002021-08-31T11:12:56.034-04:00The Silver Prayer<p>The <i>wahn</i> lowered her head and bowed, the dregs of her cloak seeping into pools of filth-ridden water run off from the lone dirt road through the village of Pelanor. The man standing before her, sinewy and tall, with copper locks graying from the toil of almost fifty winters, brushed his rough hand past the hilt of the broadsword dangling at his hip to retrieve a threadbare pouch fastened around his waist. From it he produced a tarnished silver coin, its edges corroded and uneven.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVzMLaJhh16x05_aSCgTM9jE8aMnb30je_h6di2TddZSkI8nx-ZeCKTRjFOMj8xVVKhD5KlHrwQg4zKhpC6IJmqFcstWe5jmMyXgaY9LiD71IKdHY15s7CpdlQHVkP6X3_d8rkl_Shr8Z7/s512/tarnished-silver-coin.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="512" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVzMLaJhh16x05_aSCgTM9jE8aMnb30je_h6di2TddZSkI8nx-ZeCKTRjFOMj8xVVKhD5KlHrwQg4zKhpC6IJmqFcstWe5jmMyXgaY9LiD71IKdHY15s7CpdlQHVkP6X3_d8rkl_Shr8Z7/w200-h200/tarnished-silver-coin.png" width="200" /></a></div>He placed it in the woman’s open palm, the long strands of her dark, unkempt hair swaying in the subtle wind that breathed through the village like a hymn. She closed a fist of yellowed fingernails around the offering.<p></p><p>“A prayer for my son, departed into the forest, four days past,” the man uttered lowly, so that no one else around them could hear.</p><p>The <i>wahn</i> withdrew a small knife and raised the sleeve from the hand that held the coin, revealing a forearm raw with fresh scabbing and undercoated with old, deep scars. She slowly drew the blade across flesh, whispering words in a language he could not understand while blood trickled down to mix with the stagnant puddles where she stood.</p><p>“Llathlu blesses your son’s return,” she replied in a soft voice. “The Pale Hand guides him safely to the forest camp, so long as he remains in the Divine’s true path.”</p><p>“Thank ye, maiden,” he answered quietly, taking a step backward, his gaze drawn to the cowled woman’s rose-colored lips as she began to raise her eyes.</p><p>He turned and made quickly for the street, ere she pocketed the coin as crimson wept into the folds of her robe.</p>Matt Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18195243799773565579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-12659492521033320922021-08-30T13:30:00.003-04:002021-08-30T16:57:01.477-04:00Looking ahead, and final XP totals for the Khedrun Valley<p>First-level characters. 0 XP. With as few as four meager hit points.</p><p>A single, well-placed hit could kill a party member outright. Zeb and Audric have become the stuff of legends. Level 6 may not have felt so high before, but now...</p><p>It may be hard to emotionally invest in these PCs, before any sessions have been played. I don’t expect anyone to. It takes time. Effort. Luck.</p><p>Survival.</p><p>But, for those who reach 2nd, 3rd level, and beyond... the attachment will start to form. The work you’ve put in will matter. The story will matter. The characters will matter. Taking a night off from being on your game will mean risking the loss of everything. Most of us have been there, know what it’s like. Every decision is important. Don’t hinge it all on a roll of the dice.</p><p><a href="https://1eadventures.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-importance-of-finding-another-way.html">Read this post.</a></p><p>...and have fun. May it be a truly epic ride.</p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p>With all that said, I’ll soon retire the previous campaign’s XP totals from the sidebar. Here they are, one last time, for posterity:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Vonn - 13,088</li><li>Audric - 34,389</li><li>Zeb - 3,000/56,869</li><li>Selben (h) - 18,451</li><li>Lom (h) - 10,730</li><li>Zargon (d) - 14,789</li></ul><div><br /></div><div>Game on!</div><p></p>Matt Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18195243799773565579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060456414355131200.post-44009853650268621112021-08-22T11:31:00.001-04:002021-08-22T11:33:57.117-04:00Map of PCs in the Forgotten Realms<p>I know I always kick around the idea of starting a new, homebrew setting, then keep coming back to FR anyway. While I have a lot of ideas for a custom world that I hope to eventually use, it's tough to start over when I have so much D&D history tied up in Faerûn. How much, exactly? Well...</p><p>Here's a map of every character played in campaigns I've run in the Realms (with close-ups of various sections), dating back to 2004. Each campaign is depicted in a separate color which shows (roughly) the region(s) it encompassed. This is pretty crazy to look at, all laid out at once.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbdBzJNbLeYPliAqcvamfeK9CAf5QZV4PVYRoewFULFIKrbbfwiMRZdTBcW277dFEm3GfM8JJwTypsi625gsVt8VqTV-UKThMuX8iEbfoPrqHVXH8jdZ02EgnbRFmAzDwJIUIIlwuHMER-/s1395/swordcoast.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1096" data-original-width="1395" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbdBzJNbLeYPliAqcvamfeK9CAf5QZV4PVYRoewFULFIKrbbfwiMRZdTBcW277dFEm3GfM8JJwTypsi625gsVt8VqTV-UKThMuX8iEbfoPrqHVXH8jdZ02EgnbRFmAzDwJIUIIlwuHMER-/s320/swordcoast.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Sword Coast North and the Western Heartlands</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGzqtmYKqFjy8DeqjwdwpDba1LoQwefC0iSAYYy1w66eRVwY_uvzlr1SI1tBPpmlVQdCDIYNs9ZBo46GQ4hZKusuiE89kDjeUHP3REyQlZzhKPGtR42bGcoNfv7kgRojR18isxOk-TL_Ib/s860/cormanthor.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="687" data-original-width="860" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGzqtmYKqFjy8DeqjwdwpDba1LoQwefC0iSAYYy1w66eRVwY_uvzlr1SI1tBPpmlVQdCDIYNs9ZBo46GQ4hZKusuiE89kDjeUHP3REyQlZzhKPGtR42bGcoNfv7kgRojR18isxOk-TL_Ib/s320/cormanthor.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cormanthor and the Moonsea</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-p1XRixSloKXKYVIq6P5pbE6oh-r5GyyMS0-brIVIOsGBFjYHPmju5uf0DQUHWywVIfCyuYIgO010VfJqJ5ljfhwhuDweyJZCTJfKi_E5_CH4rg9ozboNpCPcOPop6fArj7rC8bb1OzgY/s780/vilhonreach.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="610" data-original-width="780" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-p1XRixSloKXKYVIq6P5pbE6oh-r5GyyMS0-brIVIOsGBFjYHPmju5uf0DQUHWywVIfCyuYIgO010VfJqJ5ljfhwhuDweyJZCTJfKi_E5_CH4rg9ozboNpCPcOPop6fArj7rC8bb1OzgY/s320/vilhonreach.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Vilhon Reach</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikFTdNur7VLLqn3HQwqRnQ_A4xjrqKRLZRwKhIXwrwBPAYr-8Pd7XZubbBWZtchXJ8uvYvGSrZoI1QYBPXfCP0JEOQISsGAqYyQe1q5VaXm5n7S2Vp81luYvdK4GOsySJfiZp7kUZLs1A1/s713/rashemen.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="704" data-original-width="713" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikFTdNur7VLLqn3HQwqRnQ_A4xjrqKRLZRwKhIXwrwBPAYr-8Pd7XZubbBWZtchXJ8uvYvGSrZoI1QYBPXfCP0JEOQISsGAqYyQe1q5VaXm5n7S2Vp81luYvdK4GOsySJfiZp7kUZLs1A1/s320/rashemen.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rashemen</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCTBVnJiQpdBsbxqUalcHQC90ZDXONk9ksdiBV18YaAx5u06QmUNg3sarsAEfg-re7-wq0VG5ECrk7AA9NQhJVdlwcs94cEzOZ5m3GlpCrRrVYTbLqXTnhfRr-GJmYw1IbiULb8Y4vjo6c/s2048/fr-bw-pcs.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1326" data-original-width="2048" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCTBVnJiQpdBsbxqUalcHQC90ZDXONk9ksdiBV18YaAx5u06QmUNg3sarsAEfg-re7-wq0VG5ECrk7AA9NQhJVdlwcs94cEzOZ5m3GlpCrRrVYTbLqXTnhfRr-GJmYw1IbiULb8Y4vjo6c/s320/fr-bw-pcs.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Full map (<a href="https://tabletopadvantage.weebly.com/store/p1/map-of-faerun.html">attribution</a>)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><p>This doesn't even include my favorite FR campaign I've played in, <a href="https://1eadventures.blogspot.com/2014/01/mordenkainens-disjunction.html">a game run by Jason</a> over twenty years ago. I thought about adding Cadazcar and Erik Estrada, but I don't know their geography perfectly, and I had to draw the line somewhere.</p><p>In addition to the visuals, a few fun facts:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Total number of characters played: 52</li><li>Total number of players: 15</li><li>Most characters played by the same player: 7</li><li>PC descendants of other characters: 2</li><li>Total character deaths: 9 (seven in the last five years...)</li></ul><p></p><p>Will this be the last new Realms game before I finally switch?</p>Matt Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18195243799773565579noreply@blogger.com0