The chill of the Orclands settled around Delilah as she and her companions set up camp, set watches, and drifted off to sleep in the small copse of trees which Elanway found. It provided a passable job as a windbreak, and Thorwulf’s fire kept the worst of the chill at bay. As Delilah’s head hit what passes for a pillow in the wild, she felt the weight of sleep drag her down and under.
She became aware of the motion first. A slight swaying from side to side which drew her along. As her mind began to comprehend the motion, her ears registered the music. The steady rhythm of the table, the throaty chords of the sarangi, and the sharp tang of the manjira were all sounds of home, of Arania. The music resolved into something familiar. It was one of the old songs, bastardized by Middenrealm influence, which took the tale of Rahja and the Shepard and formalized the lively music into something fit for court. This influence also took the accompanying kathak dance and made it into something which allowed two partners to share the movements on the floor, while stripping the movements of their story.
The motion pulled Delilah out of the darkness and onto the marble floor of a ballroom. Not, a ballroom, the ballroom. The patterns in the floor left no doubt, she was in her old familial estate. She had run through this room many times as a child. At least, it had the floor and roof of the room she knew. They extended out into the distance and disappeared into shadows, as if all the world were now part of this courtly dance floor. Her partner moved in time with her, creating the opposite of her movements with the precision of someone raised in the court. Delilah could see her face reflected in the gold of his mask, and strangely, could also see other couples dancing the kathak, or at least this version of it, reflected there as well. All of them were moving through the stolen room, in the stolen estate.
Her partner was not the same as in the last dream. This figure was tall and broad shouldered, and dressed in the finest of court fashion. Raven curls framed the mask, oiled to a fine sheen. His hands snapping above his head, his hands forming the mudras of the next phase of the dance.
“Welcome, Deliah Neridasunni. It is a pleasure to see you here in the flesh. The Emperor has spoken quite highly of you.”
Delilah had known this dance for nearly as long as she could remember--even in her dreams she moved with grace and precision. She had never danced in this room before, or in any ballroom. She had been too young then, and afterwords there had been no ballrooms. But nevertheless, the court dances had been some of the earliest dances she had been taught. Her mother had drilled her endlessly, promising that when things were set right Delilah would be prepared for her role in every respect.
Delilah's arms were in front of her, bent at the elbow and level with the floor as the music paused. It was like the taking of a breath, and then her hands turned gracefully in her own mudras--the opening of the lotus. She inclined her head to the side, looking where her partner's eyes should have been and then, distracted, at his mask. "Thank you. But I don't believe I've had the pleasure."
“Khorim ben Nareb, of the Beni Erkin.” The figure moved back, the dance carrying him away to the utmost reach of arm’s length, before he drew close once again. The scents of the earth blossomed as he drew near, smells of spice and sage. His ritual movements were precise and graceful, although just short of being a match for Delilah’s.
“I am, as I have heard it told, a kindred spirit. A man whose blood conspired to betray him, did betray him.” The music slowed as the story of the dance entered The Shepard’s Lost Way. “I too have been cast from home onto Fortune’s fickle breast. But, my story,” as he moved, Delilah could hear the clinking of metal. Not the jingling noise of coins falling, but a rattling of iron chains. One moment they are dancing, the next Delilah was whisked away from her partner, almost to the limit of her sight of him. A slight pressure, first on her eyes, then between them, caused her vision to swirl momentarily.
The dancer crossed the distance in the same manner as Delilah, that is to say one, one moment he was distant and the next he fell back into the rhythm of the dance.
“My story has a much greater fall. But, the Emperor, he is raising me back up, and I believe he could do the same for you.”
"He said he could reverse the actions of my aunt." Delilah covered her unease with a turn in time with the music. She could feel the silken skirt swirling around her ankles and the rich colors were made still more vivid in the gold reflection of the mask. "How is it that you wear his mask as well?"
Again, Delilah felt the strange dislocation, which dragged her away from her partner in-between the steps of the dance. Khorim’s masked guarded against any surprise he may have felt, and he always caught up with her by the next beat of the drums.
“He could. The Emperor is many things to many people. But he harbors in his heart those who have been cast down by fortune’s vagaries.” The music slowed, shifting in the fashion of dreams, and Khorim own steps moved seamlessly with the transitions.
“My story is long and painful.” The voice behind the mask faltered at the memories. There was a brief choking noise, followed by the rhythmic bob of the apple of Khorim’s throat, but he recovered quickly. When he spoke, his voice was thicker than it had been.
‘It led me down paths I could never have guessed. I was witness not only to the loss of my status and station, but my family as well. I accepted the mask while in chains in a Horasian slaver’s market. He promised me a chance at the life I once had, and vengeance against those who slaughtered my family.”
Delilah caught her breath as Khorim was jerked away yet again, then back to her between the beats of her heart. Something was different about this dream. It was more disjointed than the meeting she'd had with the Emperor.
Her expression softened at his words. "I'm so sorry." Somehow, in the way of dreams, Delilah kept time to the changing music without realizing it had ever been different. "Is... that what he has given you? What did he ask in return?"
The mask tilted down, the eyes wreathed in the smooth gold downcast as Khorim was lost in memory for the moment. Still the dance and the music carried on. When he spoke again, his voice was a tinny whisper coming from behind the mask.
“It is the path he has raised me to. Already, my situation is better. Soon I will be free from the slavers who keep me from my home, and then I will begin to reclaim what is mine.”
The ambient light in the room began to slowly increase. The light seemed to be coming from above the ceiling, slowly shining through the tiles of the roof. “In return? At first, with the knife, nothing. The Emperor is generous, helping those to whom he is linked, though the knife’s link it tenuous. The amulet’s power is stronger, and the mask strongest of all. With the mask, he aids me in powerful ways towards my goals. He says that when I have regained my place in the Lands of the Tulamydes, I will be in a position to repay his kindness. And for his aid in avenging my family and my reinstatement, I will gladly aid him. But, what of you? The Emperor sent me to ask you to consider this. Your Aunt’s time is growing short. She has set her sights against the Emperor, and seeks to supplant him. This will not be. But, it puts you in a position to both benefit from and aid in her fall from grace. He has need of capable people in the world, and he thinks you are one such person. Does his path, and what he offers, hold any interest for you?”
"I... " Delilah hesitated, her foot moving a fraction of a second later it should have in the dance. She quickly recovered, turning once more as the light around them grew brighter. "Perhaps. Let me consider his offer for one week. At the end of that time, I will answer."
The light continued to grow brighter, an orb of radiance, like the sun, shone through the ceiling. The tiles shifted from enameled white, to red, to orange. They distorted from the heat, then dripped, then poured down to the floor in molten streams.
“Very well. One week, Neridasunni.” Khorim’s voice was rich with mirth as he bowed, seemingly ignorant of the heated rain which fell around him. He raised Delilah’s hand to where the golden mask dipped in suggestion of lips, and pressed the cool mask to her skin. The roar of the liquefication of the ceiling drowned out the music. “I look forward to seeing you again. If not in a week, and if you find yourself in Vinsalt, I would be pleased if you would seek me out.”
The ceiling collapsed in a wave, consuming Khorim. The bright sun above the ballroom spoke with a deep, inhuman voice.
“Awake daughter. Let the light banish the shadows of dream.”
The light swelled to encompass all of Delilah’s sight, resolving into the crisp blue sky of the Orklands. The chill of the air bit deeper into Delilah than it had when she laid down to sleep, and the ground was blanketed with snow. Looking down at her, a concerned look on its aquiline face, was a griffon.
“Are you well, daughter,” the creature asked.
Friday, March 24, 2017
Episode 4--An Orc in the Land
When we arrived Puera's cottage was strangely empty, yet full of frogs. I checked her cabinets and the food was still good, though looking oldish. I was feeling hungry, and glad to have a real kitchen to work in, so I began smelling the different herbs and chopping the ones that were good. I was eager to cook up the mushrooms I'd found. It only took a few minutes before the entire cottage was full of a truly delightful smell. It was so good that even Tristan looked up from studying the pages from the witches spell book that Eafra had given him to comment on it.
After sweeping out all the frogs, Tikaani explored the second floor. She found two beds and a wardrobe. The wardrobe had two sets of clothes--for a man and a woman (Puera I'd guess) and a mysterious wrapped bundle. When she unwrapped it she found a sword and chainmail--old, but very well cared for.
Meanwhile Elenwe was peering over my shoulder as I was cooking and recognized the mushrooms I had found as something called Rats Fungus. She said they were holy to the Nameless One and used to cause doubt in the minds of the weak. It could enslave men to the nameless one and keep blessed ones from calling on the name of their god. I'm glad, of course, that she recognized it.... but...
After sweeping out all the frogs, Tikaani explored the second floor. She found two beds and a wardrobe. The wardrobe had two sets of clothes--for a man and a woman (Puera I'd guess) and a mysterious wrapped bundle. When she unwrapped it she found a sword and chainmail--old, but very well cared for.
Meanwhile Elenwe was peering over my shoulder as I was cooking and recognized the mushrooms I had found as something called Rats Fungus. She said they were holy to the Nameless One and used to cause doubt in the minds of the weak. It could enslave men to the nameless one and keep blessed ones from calling on the name of their god. I'm glad, of course, that she recognized it.... but...
Thursday, March 23, 2017
Episode 3--The Witch of the Woods
I did find out about the potions. Eafra had spent the entire night making them. Two potions to help will, six to restore arcane energy, one for transformation (into a wolf. Tikanni was very interested in that one) and one that was lavender. The Lavender one had been moved back from the rest. Tristain asked about it, and she told us it was a potion of Love. Everyone else seemed to loose interest at that point, I'm not entirely sure why... I could think of a half dozen excellent uses for such a potion without trying very hard.
Wigolas was doing surprisingly well this morning, and while I was making breakfast Tristain spent some time getting his spirits up. Thorwulf seemed to really enjoy breakfast, and Wigolas was very complementary as well. He said it would be considered high cousine back in Gareth. I'm not sure why Tristain started choking then. He Tikanni and Elenwe must have still been full from last night. They barely touched breakfast.
Eafra told us to be sure to follow her cat, Grimalkin, as he knew the way through the woods without getting lost. I let the others go out first, and then glanced first at Eafra, then at the lavender potion and the receding forms of Tikanni and Thorwald. There is such potential there if they--well, if Tikanni--would just get past her prejudice. Eafra understood exactly, and quietly passed me the potion. I whispered thanks, then followed the rest of my group out of the cave. I'm pretty sure no one noticed. Good. It does occur to me that I possibly should have asked what a Love Potion does exactly or, perhaps, how strong this particular one is. Oh, well. I'm sure it will be fine.
Once we arrived at the witches tree, Wigolas got excited and wanted to cast a blessing on me that would make an oath sworn much harder to break. I was not at ALL interested in something that would force me to do anything so I quickly let him know "thanks, but no thanks."
He looked very hurt, "I just wanted to make sure you didn't come back down those stairs and stab us!" As if I would do that. I haven't been journeying with them through all this mud and blood and cold rain to fight witches and orcs and body odor just to stab them in the end. "You mean you don't want to promise not to hurt us???" Wigolas wheedled.
"Yes! Wigolas! I promise not to stab any of you, but you don't need to--"
"Then I bless that oath!" Wigolas announced, raising his hand. He'd tricked me. Well, fine then. Alright. Fine. I suppose I will change my plans and not stab them all today.
Tristain also refused the oath, but Tikanni and Elenwe humored Wigolas much to his satisfaction as he oath-blessing-bound both of them also. Maybe he wasn't feeling so great when Tikanni pointed out, "you know there are so many ways I could kill someone that don't involve stabbing, don't you?"
On that note, we started up the stairs, Tristian, myself and Elenwe first, the others following. Thorwulf was furiously rubbing all of his swashner tattoos. At the top was an old hut, and in the old hut was a very old woman. Her gray hair was bound back by a leather thong, and around her neck were a dozen leather cords each with a small vial of luminescence essence. Introductions weren't necessary, as she already knew all our names. Her story agreed with her daughters, minus the sympathetic part. She said she gave the baby away to a trader because he was just a boy, and boys only cause trouble.
Tristain was eager to get to it, but waited until Wigolas was satisfied. As soon as Wigolas nodded, Tristain cast paralysis and a tree dragon, summoned by the witch, pounced on Wigolas. I tried to cut the potions off her neck, and sent five of them scattering. She looked at me with intense fury. Thorwulf and Tikaani both struck deeply at the witch. I glanced over, and Tristan was now fencing with--with a broom. The witches broom. The witch spit at Tikaani and the skin on her face started peeling. Wigolas shouted encouragement from his seat on the dragon (which he had named Elliot???) that all the great ladies in Gareth had witch spittle applied on occasion. Tristan objected. Wigolas told me the same thing when the Raven pecked at my face a couple more times. Tristain objected then also. Gareth sounds like a very odd city, and I'm not sure Wigolas was spending time in the best parts of the city.
The witch muttered a spell as the fight continued, and suddenly branches sprouted from the floor between us growing to the ceiling and sprouting long thorns dripping blood red sap. I tried to jump through, but could not get close. I did hear the jingling of coins and that gave me the courage to try again, but those thorns--I just couldn't do it. Tristain, however, with a determined look on his face, went sprinting toward the thorns and--to our horror--impaled himself upon them. Tikaani ran to him and pulled his still shuddering body off, but he was really dead. We continued battling the creatures--the raven and dragon. Though.... Wigolas seemed less than determined in his fight. He mostly sat on the dragon and tried to wrap him in a blanket.
I felt a warm breath against the back of my neck and more tinkling coins as a familiar voice spoke, "It's an illusion, Delilah. Just see through it. The witch is on the other side." And... suddenly... I could. The branches melted away and I moved in. Tristan had done a good amount of damage against the witch, but the witch had knocked him back and he looked like he was hurting. I sprinted toward the table the witch was walking toward and knocked all the the potions away from her, scattering them around the room. Tikanni made it across as Tristain cast Flemenictus, and the witch fell to the floor dead.
It did not take long for Eafra to arrive. The first thing she asked for was her mother's spell book--which Tristan was already looking for. Her hair was streaked with gray, and as we watched we saw dark spots forming on her hands. She cried out as she suddenly realized what was happening--she was the new witch of the woods.
Wigolas was doing surprisingly well this morning, and while I was making breakfast Tristain spent some time getting his spirits up. Thorwulf seemed to really enjoy breakfast, and Wigolas was very complementary as well. He said it would be considered high cousine back in Gareth. I'm not sure why Tristain started choking then. He Tikanni and Elenwe must have still been full from last night. They barely touched breakfast.
Eafra told us to be sure to follow her cat, Grimalkin, as he knew the way through the woods without getting lost. I let the others go out first, and then glanced first at Eafra, then at the lavender potion and the receding forms of Tikanni and Thorwald. There is such potential there if they--well, if Tikanni--would just get past her prejudice. Eafra understood exactly, and quietly passed me the potion. I whispered thanks, then followed the rest of my group out of the cave. I'm pretty sure no one noticed. Good. It does occur to me that I possibly should have asked what a Love Potion does exactly or, perhaps, how strong this particular one is. Oh, well. I'm sure it will be fine.
Once we arrived at the witches tree, Wigolas got excited and wanted to cast a blessing on me that would make an oath sworn much harder to break. I was not at ALL interested in something that would force me to do anything so I quickly let him know "thanks, but no thanks."
He looked very hurt, "I just wanted to make sure you didn't come back down those stairs and stab us!" As if I would do that. I haven't been journeying with them through all this mud and blood and cold rain to fight witches and orcs and body odor just to stab them in the end. "You mean you don't want to promise not to hurt us???" Wigolas wheedled.
"Yes! Wigolas! I promise not to stab any of you, but you don't need to--"
"Then I bless that oath!" Wigolas announced, raising his hand. He'd tricked me. Well, fine then. Alright. Fine. I suppose I will change my plans and not stab them all today.
Tristain also refused the oath, but Tikanni and Elenwe humored Wigolas much to his satisfaction as he oath-blessing-bound both of them also. Maybe he wasn't feeling so great when Tikanni pointed out, "you know there are so many ways I could kill someone that don't involve stabbing, don't you?"
On that note, we started up the stairs, Tristian, myself and Elenwe first, the others following. Thorwulf was furiously rubbing all of his swashner tattoos. At the top was an old hut, and in the old hut was a very old woman. Her gray hair was bound back by a leather thong, and around her neck were a dozen leather cords each with a small vial of luminescence essence. Introductions weren't necessary, as she already knew all our names. Her story agreed with her daughters, minus the sympathetic part. She said she gave the baby away to a trader because he was just a boy, and boys only cause trouble.
Tristain was eager to get to it, but waited until Wigolas was satisfied. As soon as Wigolas nodded, Tristain cast paralysis and a tree dragon, summoned by the witch, pounced on Wigolas. I tried to cut the potions off her neck, and sent five of them scattering. She looked at me with intense fury. Thorwulf and Tikaani both struck deeply at the witch. I glanced over, and Tristan was now fencing with--with a broom. The witches broom. The witch spit at Tikaani and the skin on her face started peeling. Wigolas shouted encouragement from his seat on the dragon (which he had named Elliot???) that all the great ladies in Gareth had witch spittle applied on occasion. Tristan objected. Wigolas told me the same thing when the Raven pecked at my face a couple more times. Tristain objected then also. Gareth sounds like a very odd city, and I'm not sure Wigolas was spending time in the best parts of the city.
The witch muttered a spell as the fight continued, and suddenly branches sprouted from the floor between us growing to the ceiling and sprouting long thorns dripping blood red sap. I tried to jump through, but could not get close. I did hear the jingling of coins and that gave me the courage to try again, but those thorns--I just couldn't do it. Tristain, however, with a determined look on his face, went sprinting toward the thorns and--to our horror--impaled himself upon them. Tikaani ran to him and pulled his still shuddering body off, but he was really dead. We continued battling the creatures--the raven and dragon. Though.... Wigolas seemed less than determined in his fight. He mostly sat on the dragon and tried to wrap him in a blanket.
I felt a warm breath against the back of my neck and more tinkling coins as a familiar voice spoke, "It's an illusion, Delilah. Just see through it. The witch is on the other side." And... suddenly... I could. The branches melted away and I moved in. Tristan had done a good amount of damage against the witch, but the witch had knocked him back and he looked like he was hurting. I sprinted toward the table the witch was walking toward and knocked all the the potions away from her, scattering them around the room. Tikanni made it across as Tristain cast Flemenictus, and the witch fell to the floor dead.
It did not take long for Eafra to arrive. The first thing she asked for was her mother's spell book--which Tristan was already looking for. Her hair was streaked with gray, and as we watched we saw dark spots forming on her hands. She cried out as she suddenly realized what was happening--she was the new witch of the woods.
Tuesday, February 21, 2017
Delilah's Diary--The Hidden Knife Parts 1-2
It has been a long while since I wrote--much too long. I am sitting in the cave of a witch after having enjoyed a rather pleasant meal. It would have been more pleasant if all body parts were present and accounted for for all my companions--or, at least, if the witch's cats would stop licking the blood off Wigolas' boot--but I suppose one doesn't start a quest of this sort without being prepared for both terrible creatures and the mud. If it weren't for the eye, I wouldn't be sure which was worse. But, all things considered... maybe the mud isn't as bad as I thought. Maybe.
But I am getting ahead of myself. It all began a few days ago. We'd spent some time resting up after the battle with the demon, and were all doing much better. (I should mention that that this is where the dream from the previous entry took place). We spent some time debating what to do next, as we each had reasons to go various different places. However, with most ideas we ran into the problem of money. There simply wasn't much to go around. After the dreams I had I decided to try not keeping any gold on my person, so I gave my money to Tristan. But even with that there simply wasn't enough to finance a group expedition.
We spent some time looking for jobs and came up with a few options. There was the man--Oakwood--who claimed the Witch of the Woods had stolen 20 years of his life (Wigolas was certain this meant there was a child involved, though we tried to explain that he was saying the witch had stolen 20 literal years--not that he'd had to spend 20 years raising a child). Then there was another request for an adventurer to find a hidden fragment of a star. The final request--and the farthest away--was from Mirable for us to find a box that had been hidden long ago--but she cautioned us to not let Tristan look inside it. I remained strangely quiet while the rest of the party debated where to go. I had reasons for wanting to avoid the woods, but considering it was only a dream.... hopefully... leaving the matter up to Phex to decide was sufficient. They decided upon the Witch of the Woods. So be it.
With Anvar to guide us, we set off. It was miserable going. The mud, the rain, just tramping mile after mile, ugggh. Tikkani didn't seem bothered at all--or Tristan's new friend Thorwald. (Outside of hating each other, they are quite the pair. Hmmm.) Tristan didn't comment on being uncomfortable, nor did Elenwe. But... I may have a somewhat kindred spirit in Wigolas--at least as far as anything outside the city goes. He looked even more miserable than I felt.
After the first couple days I caught sight of torches in the distance. Elenwe and I went on to scout out what they were--and we found a small party of orcs with a little man beaten and tied up as a captive. I felt pretty confident that we could set him free without them noticing, but unfortunately my confidence was proved wrong. Elenwe did the call of the owl that we had agreed on (By which I mean, Tristain asked us to hoot like a particular breed of owl if we saw one thing, or another breed if we saw something else. I didn't know owls came in breeds? Or that they sounded different? In fact, I'm not entirely sure whether it sounded like an owl at all. But at least we hooted. I'm pretty sure Tristan--and possibly Wigolas, who seemed to know exactly what he was talking about--was just trying to play a practical joke, and had a bad sense of timing).
At any rate, the orcs caught sight of us, and the hiding game was up. They charged. I know my limitations, and fighting orcs is simply not something I'm very skilled at. So I tried to climb a tree. It.... well, it didn't work. With all the rain the trees were slick and I fell on my face in the mud. It was awful. I assume Elenwe managed to acquit herself well, I couldn't really see at that point. The others showed up just as the orcs were upon us, and the battle ensued. Thorwald and Tikkani seem to be quite good with their weapons. Elenwe kept her bow going. I did manage to pick myself up and pull my saber out--if hiding wasn't an option, I wasn't about to be cut down without a fight--and by the time Tristan rushed to my aid with his flames I had the orc skewered on my saber.
At that point I snuck over to the the poor little man and set him free, leaving the fight to better equipped individuals (Even Wogolas was plying his club, and managed to finish one of the orcs off!). He was very grateful though not much help. About that time I looked over and saw the final orc riding Wigolas down the mountain side as if he was a sled, pummeling him and biting him as Tikanni and Thorwald teamed up to try to finish the orc off. They were not quite quick enough, however, as the orc did not see the flaming sword that actually ended his frenzy.
Everyone took time to verify that all body parts were properly where they ought to be after the battle, and Anvar arrived (he had dispatched two other orcs farther on). Tikanni and Thorwald went back for the mules. Together. (I suppose it is best to travel in pairs, but I begin to wonder exactly how much the two of them really "hate" each other... Hmmm). The small man I rescued was a Hill Dwarf name Bennigrim Sweetbread. He noticed me trying to clean myself off in a little muddy hollow, and very kindly offered me two clean pink towels from his pack and a bit of soap. I could have kissed him. Wigolas was chanting something to heal Tristan who had taken a rather nasty wound.
It turned out that Bennigrim was a candy maker on his way to Phexcare when the orcs waylayed him. He gave us some samples, and they were amazing. He and Wigolas seemed to hit it off quite well, and he even gave Wigolas a box of chocolates. After some discussion we decided to send Anvar back to Phexcare to accompany him the following morning and continue on on our own.
That evening after most of us had fallen asleep, we were awakened by Tristan, who must have decided to have words with Anvar about Vixen. He was reciting some sort of poetry--quite romantic stuff. Very sappy. He said he'd written it for the woman he loved and changed the names, I suppose he meant for Anvar to use something similar for Vixen, though... It... well, it simply wouldn't come out the same. Anvar thanked him, but I rather doubt Vixen will be hearing sonnets any time soon.
***
The next morning we set off, leaving Anvar and the candymaker to leave for Phexcare. We soon met a young shepherdess named Puera. We suspected that she was the Witch of the Woods, as we were very close to where Oakwood indicated we might find her. Tristan stopped to meditate, he said it would help him see through her wiles. Tikanni was less than convinced, as she said Tristan always seems to suspect pretty young women of being witches. At any rate, Wigolas and I went on ahead to meet her (Wigolas was quite excited about all the sheep--I suppose it felt more like home for him). She was VERY surprised when we asked if she was the Witch of the woods, and gave us directions on where to find the real witch. However, when she found out that Wigolas was a Blessed One of Peraine, she offered us some food and said one of her sheep could use some assistance. Wigolas seemed to wilt a little at the prospect--I think he has enjoyed plying his club rather than the usual mundane priest tasks--but he agreed without complaining.
While we were inside I looked around a bit, and the little cottage seemed quite cozy. Quite a few herbs, but perhaps that is normal for the country. I wouldn't know. Tristan and Elenwe spent some time planning out what to do in case the girl was a witch (we were still suspicious). Tikkani started whittling, while Thorwald watched and asked her questions about it. With just the slightest of nudges I could see some real possibilities with those two.... Puera and Wigolas finished up with the sheep about then, and we had a small meal before setting out again.
Puera had warned us to stay on the path, and to not take anything into the woods that might harm the witch. Tristan set me in the lead, which... well... He doesn't know about the dagger hidden in my pack, but something tells me the witch might. But I couldn't say anything, of course, so I took the lead--along with himself and Elenwe.
We were not very far into the woods when I noticed the squirrels in the trees above us were not quite.... normal squirrels. They had spiraling horns on their heads, and I remembered hearing that these creatures were called "death squirrels." I pointed them out to the group, and Wigolas became very excited. He couldn't quite tell what type of death squirrel they were, but wanted to tell us what he knew and figure out which way the horn spiraled. He soon would find out--though... I rather doubt he remembers. One of the squirrels dived from the treetop right at Wigolas. Before we knew what happened, Wigolas's eyeball was hanging off the horn of a rather adorable looking (except for the bloody eyeball-meatball on it's horn) death squirrel.
At that point all the squirrels began dropping from the trees and we were hard pressed for several minutes. There were too many of them to fight off, and we quickly realized the best course of action was getting out of the area as quickly as possible. For adorable balls of fluff, the death squirrels left more than one injury. We made it through--all in one piece with the exception of Wigolas' eye.
We rushed headlong down the path--taking care to stay on it as Puera had instructed--and the next thing I knew we had landed in what amounted to a heap at the edge of a pond the path circled. Farther around the pond a woman was searching for herbs with a basket on her arm. I knew instinctively that this was the witch. She stood to look at us, and when Tristan asked for time to see to Wigolas' wounds she simply nodded and skirted the edge of the pond and disappeared behind a waterfall. While the others were doctoring up the various wounds (I, of course, had escaped unharmed being rather nimble on my feet) I looked through the grass near the pond to see what it was the witch had been gathering. I am not sure if I found the same thing she did, but I DID find some lovely mushrooms that look very familiar. [critical fail in Herbs and Gathering] Ahh--I can smell them now, just as mama used to make them fried in butter. I had to stop eating it when I got older, of course, as such meals are not particularly good for the figure, but just looking at those mushrooms brings back memories of home. I haven't mentioned them to the others yet--once all this is done with the witch I'm going to cook a dish up and serve it to them. I may take a little myself as well, for old times sake. We'll see. One bite couldn't do much damage to my figure, I'm sure.
When all was finished we followed the witch to the cave. The following conversation was QUITE the surprise. As it turned out she was NOT the Witch of the Woods, as I had suspected, but instead the witche's daughter. She was, however, the woman that Oakwood had met and spent the night with. Also, to the great astonishment of everyone present except Wigolas, there had indeed been a child as a result of that night. The Witch of the Woods had discovered what happened, robbed Oakwood of 20 years, taken the child from Eafra, and cursed her to always stay within 20 miles of the cave she lives in. When Oakwood had disappeared, but before she was cursed to stay so close, Eafra had gone forth and somehow routed the entire orc army that had been amassing at the edge of the forest. She wishes for us to kill the Witch of the Woods to free her child, return Oakwood's years to him, and allow them to be together again. Ahhh. It really is love (oh, and, she is just as pretty as Oakwood remembered). She has been waiting for him for so long now, but unable to send word or explain what happened. We heartily agreed, of course, since this was why we came in the first place.
Oh--I am going to need to finish this later. It is morning now, and Eafra and Tristan are talking about potions. I think this sounds interesting, and I will update with what I have learned after we face the Witch.
But I am getting ahead of myself. It all began a few days ago. We'd spent some time resting up after the battle with the demon, and were all doing much better. (I should mention that that this is where the dream from the previous entry took place). We spent some time debating what to do next, as we each had reasons to go various different places. However, with most ideas we ran into the problem of money. There simply wasn't much to go around. After the dreams I had I decided to try not keeping any gold on my person, so I gave my money to Tristan. But even with that there simply wasn't enough to finance a group expedition.
We spent some time looking for jobs and came up with a few options. There was the man--Oakwood--who claimed the Witch of the Woods had stolen 20 years of his life (Wigolas was certain this meant there was a child involved, though we tried to explain that he was saying the witch had stolen 20 literal years--not that he'd had to spend 20 years raising a child). Then there was another request for an adventurer to find a hidden fragment of a star. The final request--and the farthest away--was from Mirable for us to find a box that had been hidden long ago--but she cautioned us to not let Tristan look inside it. I remained strangely quiet while the rest of the party debated where to go. I had reasons for wanting to avoid the woods, but considering it was only a dream.... hopefully... leaving the matter up to Phex to decide was sufficient. They decided upon the Witch of the Woods. So be it.
With Anvar to guide us, we set off. It was miserable going. The mud, the rain, just tramping mile after mile, ugggh. Tikkani didn't seem bothered at all--or Tristan's new friend Thorwald. (Outside of hating each other, they are quite the pair. Hmmm.) Tristan didn't comment on being uncomfortable, nor did Elenwe. But... I may have a somewhat kindred spirit in Wigolas--at least as far as anything outside the city goes. He looked even more miserable than I felt.
After the first couple days I caught sight of torches in the distance. Elenwe and I went on to scout out what they were--and we found a small party of orcs with a little man beaten and tied up as a captive. I felt pretty confident that we could set him free without them noticing, but unfortunately my confidence was proved wrong. Elenwe did the call of the owl that we had agreed on (By which I mean, Tristain asked us to hoot like a particular breed of owl if we saw one thing, or another breed if we saw something else. I didn't know owls came in breeds? Or that they sounded different? In fact, I'm not entirely sure whether it sounded like an owl at all. But at least we hooted. I'm pretty sure Tristan--and possibly Wigolas, who seemed to know exactly what he was talking about--was just trying to play a practical joke, and had a bad sense of timing).
At any rate, the orcs caught sight of us, and the hiding game was up. They charged. I know my limitations, and fighting orcs is simply not something I'm very skilled at. So I tried to climb a tree. It.... well, it didn't work. With all the rain the trees were slick and I fell on my face in the mud. It was awful. I assume Elenwe managed to acquit herself well, I couldn't really see at that point. The others showed up just as the orcs were upon us, and the battle ensued. Thorwald and Tikkani seem to be quite good with their weapons. Elenwe kept her bow going. I did manage to pick myself up and pull my saber out--if hiding wasn't an option, I wasn't about to be cut down without a fight--and by the time Tristan rushed to my aid with his flames I had the orc skewered on my saber.
At that point I snuck over to the the poor little man and set him free, leaving the fight to better equipped individuals (Even Wogolas was plying his club, and managed to finish one of the orcs off!). He was very grateful though not much help. About that time I looked over and saw the final orc riding Wigolas down the mountain side as if he was a sled, pummeling him and biting him as Tikanni and Thorwald teamed up to try to finish the orc off. They were not quite quick enough, however, as the orc did not see the flaming sword that actually ended his frenzy.
Everyone took time to verify that all body parts were properly where they ought to be after the battle, and Anvar arrived (he had dispatched two other orcs farther on). Tikanni and Thorwald went back for the mules. Together. (I suppose it is best to travel in pairs, but I begin to wonder exactly how much the two of them really "hate" each other... Hmmm). The small man I rescued was a Hill Dwarf name Bennigrim Sweetbread. He noticed me trying to clean myself off in a little muddy hollow, and very kindly offered me two clean pink towels from his pack and a bit of soap. I could have kissed him. Wigolas was chanting something to heal Tristan who had taken a rather nasty wound.
It turned out that Bennigrim was a candy maker on his way to Phexcare when the orcs waylayed him. He gave us some samples, and they were amazing. He and Wigolas seemed to hit it off quite well, and he even gave Wigolas a box of chocolates. After some discussion we decided to send Anvar back to Phexcare to accompany him the following morning and continue on on our own.
That evening after most of us had fallen asleep, we were awakened by Tristan, who must have decided to have words with Anvar about Vixen. He was reciting some sort of poetry--quite romantic stuff. Very sappy. He said he'd written it for the woman he loved and changed the names, I suppose he meant for Anvar to use something similar for Vixen, though... It... well, it simply wouldn't come out the same. Anvar thanked him, but I rather doubt Vixen will be hearing sonnets any time soon.
***
The next morning we set off, leaving Anvar and the candymaker to leave for Phexcare. We soon met a young shepherdess named Puera. We suspected that she was the Witch of the Woods, as we were very close to where Oakwood indicated we might find her. Tristan stopped to meditate, he said it would help him see through her wiles. Tikanni was less than convinced, as she said Tristan always seems to suspect pretty young women of being witches. At any rate, Wigolas and I went on ahead to meet her (Wigolas was quite excited about all the sheep--I suppose it felt more like home for him). She was VERY surprised when we asked if she was the Witch of the woods, and gave us directions on where to find the real witch. However, when she found out that Wigolas was a Blessed One of Peraine, she offered us some food and said one of her sheep could use some assistance. Wigolas seemed to wilt a little at the prospect--I think he has enjoyed plying his club rather than the usual mundane priest tasks--but he agreed without complaining.
While we were inside I looked around a bit, and the little cottage seemed quite cozy. Quite a few herbs, but perhaps that is normal for the country. I wouldn't know. Tristan and Elenwe spent some time planning out what to do in case the girl was a witch (we were still suspicious). Tikkani started whittling, while Thorwald watched and asked her questions about it. With just the slightest of nudges I could see some real possibilities with those two.... Puera and Wigolas finished up with the sheep about then, and we had a small meal before setting out again.
Puera had warned us to stay on the path, and to not take anything into the woods that might harm the witch. Tristan set me in the lead, which... well... He doesn't know about the dagger hidden in my pack, but something tells me the witch might. But I couldn't say anything, of course, so I took the lead--along with himself and Elenwe.
We were not very far into the woods when I noticed the squirrels in the trees above us were not quite.... normal squirrels. They had spiraling horns on their heads, and I remembered hearing that these creatures were called "death squirrels." I pointed them out to the group, and Wigolas became very excited. He couldn't quite tell what type of death squirrel they were, but wanted to tell us what he knew and figure out which way the horn spiraled. He soon would find out--though... I rather doubt he remembers. One of the squirrels dived from the treetop right at Wigolas. Before we knew what happened, Wigolas's eyeball was hanging off the horn of a rather adorable looking (except for the bloody eyeball-meatball on it's horn) death squirrel.
At that point all the squirrels began dropping from the trees and we were hard pressed for several minutes. There were too many of them to fight off, and we quickly realized the best course of action was getting out of the area as quickly as possible. For adorable balls of fluff, the death squirrels left more than one injury. We made it through--all in one piece with the exception of Wigolas' eye.
We rushed headlong down the path--taking care to stay on it as Puera had instructed--and the next thing I knew we had landed in what amounted to a heap at the edge of a pond the path circled. Farther around the pond a woman was searching for herbs with a basket on her arm. I knew instinctively that this was the witch. She stood to look at us, and when Tristan asked for time to see to Wigolas' wounds she simply nodded and skirted the edge of the pond and disappeared behind a waterfall. While the others were doctoring up the various wounds (I, of course, had escaped unharmed being rather nimble on my feet) I looked through the grass near the pond to see what it was the witch had been gathering. I am not sure if I found the same thing she did, but I DID find some lovely mushrooms that look very familiar. [critical fail in Herbs and Gathering] Ahh--I can smell them now, just as mama used to make them fried in butter. I had to stop eating it when I got older, of course, as such meals are not particularly good for the figure, but just looking at those mushrooms brings back memories of home. I haven't mentioned them to the others yet--once all this is done with the witch I'm going to cook a dish up and serve it to them. I may take a little myself as well, for old times sake. We'll see. One bite couldn't do much damage to my figure, I'm sure.
When all was finished we followed the witch to the cave. The following conversation was QUITE the surprise. As it turned out she was NOT the Witch of the Woods, as I had suspected, but instead the witche's daughter. She was, however, the woman that Oakwood had met and spent the night with. Also, to the great astonishment of everyone present except Wigolas, there had indeed been a child as a result of that night. The Witch of the Woods had discovered what happened, robbed Oakwood of 20 years, taken the child from Eafra, and cursed her to always stay within 20 miles of the cave she lives in. When Oakwood had disappeared, but before she was cursed to stay so close, Eafra had gone forth and somehow routed the entire orc army that had been amassing at the edge of the forest. She wishes for us to kill the Witch of the Woods to free her child, return Oakwood's years to him, and allow them to be together again. Ahhh. It really is love (oh, and, she is just as pretty as Oakwood remembered). She has been waiting for him for so long now, but unable to send word or explain what happened. We heartily agreed, of course, since this was why we came in the first place.
Oh--I am going to need to finish this later. It is morning now, and Eafra and Tristan are talking about potions. I think this sounds interesting, and I will update with what I have learned after we face the Witch.
Sunday, February 12, 2017
Delilahs dream
It is the sounds which first draw you up out of the oblivion of slumber. The metallic sounds of coins sliding against each other like the scales of some gigantic snake writhing about just outside of your field of vision. Slowly, softly, the rasping subtly shifts to the pervasive murmurs of courtly whispers.
Sound preceded sight, and with the continuity only a dream can provide, you find yourself in the midst of one of Baburin’s noble galas. It looks just like you imagined, from the tales your mother used to regale you with as a child. Beys mingle, viziers exchange subtle glances, and kadis craft scathing insults about each other’s fashions sense. At least, you assume, so as all of the guests spout gibberish to each other. But their actions, those cast them into the roles your mind imagined, the roles your mother cast them in when she told you about these events.
The smells come next. Roast meats, an abundance of powder, the sweat of the crowd, the cool of the night. And beneath it all, a familiar sweet smell which reminds you of home. Or at least a home. The smell rests beneath the others, but it calls to your conscious mind. Briefly, tethered to the smell, you can feel a familiar morning chill mixed with a cozy warmth about your frame. And you can hear the steady drum of rain on a roof.
But then the crowd in your dreams parts. Standing at the end of the newly formed human corridor is your aunt. The lights of the gala fade, until you can hardly see past the living wall of guests who line the path to your aunt. They stare and cover their lips to whisper gibberish about you. Your aunt takes no notice, her terrible beauty and will focused on the man at her side. That portly man wears a hooded sable robe trimmed in gold. Ignoring your aunt, as if hearing something from the direction where you stand, the man slowly turns. As he looks down the opening in the crowd at you, you can see the shining gold mask upon his face. With an abrupt raised hand, he silences your aunt, who looks in your direction as well. No flash of recognition show upon her face, but her hand goes to the hilt of a fine looking dagger at her belt.
The robed man slowly begins to walk towards you, arms held low and open. The light playing upon his golden mask lends a slight warmth to the static grin carved there. Even though he is, what seems like, a hundred feet away, you can hear his voice as if he were within arm’s reach. “Hello again, Neridasunni. I told you we would meet again.”
Delilah looked down the double row of people, a sinking feeling in the bottom of her stomach as she noticed her aunt. Her first instinct was to melt into the crowd, but with everyone staring she was pretty sure that wouldn't work. Besides, the Golden faced man was here, and when he had been alive he'd seemed to stare through walls. Surely finding her in a crowd of people would be child's play. Delilah let out a slow breath. If she couldn't run, she must face him. Again. "And here I am. Why are we here, Golden One?"
“Why, because you brought us here,” his voice had a metallic ring to it, sharp consonants tinging loudest. His eyes strayed back towards Delilah’s aunt, his head cocking to the side as if recognizing something strange. “Although I believe that it is your connections to this place, and the people here, which forged a less….. resistant path. I am impressed. Normally it takes months to unlock the ability to come visit me in dreams, and months still before….” He turned back to look at Delilah. “Do you know, Majula was frighten of me for almost three months? She kept running from me, seeking to hide. But you, you dear child, approach me without fear right at the start. The metal of your family runs purest in your mother’s line, it seems.”
His large belly shook as the robed figure chuckled.
“But please, I am being rude. This is after all, your dream. Golden though I am in visage, I am should not be referred to as ‘Golden One’. He is the ally of my master, the one who has blessed me with the golden touch. Much as Majula serves me, and I serve him.”
The smells, which before were but an undertone, suddenly rose further to the surface of Delilah’s awareness. With it came a soft ‘clack-clack-clang’, which too rose in volume, and began to drown out the drone of the crowds. “Tell me Neraidasunni, what do you covet most in this life?”
"Answers." Delilah did not have to think about her reply as it sprang readily from her lips. "You've told me what not to call you--what may I call you?" Delilah could feel the gentle weight of the saber at her hip. Though she had trained with it extensively for her performances, the first time she'd used one in an actual fight had been the last time she met this man. The weapon with her was beautiful, but had not been made for battle. Nor had she, though she had to resist the sudden impulse to rest her hand on the hilt. Instead she narrowed her eyes, looking from the man to her aunt then back at him. "And what does Majula--and my line--have to do with you?"
His head tipped forward, his chest expanded with a deep breath that hissed against the small hole set in the mouth of the mask. “A simple desire, but there are no easy answers to it. For now, you may call me the Emperor of Gold and Silk. A grandiose title, I will grant you. But it is one which is on par with my ambitions for this land and its peoples.” The clacking grew louder, rumbling up from the floor beneath Delilah’s feet. The lines of people on either side of her struggled to maintain their balance. The floor began to crack and heave, uprooting huge blocks of marble and toppling the spectators to the floor. They slid back screaming silently away from Delilah and the man in the golden mask, who stood in an island of stillness. “As for your other question, Majula has bound her star to mine. For reasons, I am sure she would not want me sharing with you just yet.” The man laughed, a high-pitched titter, seemingly directed at the chaos around them. “I will add this, Neraidasunni. Your line is tied to my fortunes by the actions of your aunt. Actions I would be willing to aid a worthy successor in reversing.”
Delilah glanced uneasily at the screaming people as the room rocked around them. The laughter made her blood freeze. "My aunt's successor? Or yours?" She looked at him steadily, hiding the cold knot of dread that settled in the pit of her stomach. "and how can her actions be reversed?"
The rubble fell away slowly, the tumbling blocks taking the courtiers with it. It left only a circle of black surrounding the isle of marble upon which Delilah and the Emperor of Gold and Silk stood. The man in the golden mask stiffened for a brief instance, before replying. “Majula’s. Never mine. Ambition is a wonderful thing, Neraidasunni. It drives us to greater heights. But if you have too much, or set it against the wrong will, ambition is a stairway to a cliff.”
The man took a step away from Delilah, his slippered foot stepping out into the oblivion which now encircled Delilah. “As for how…” The Emperor’s voice had grown distant, even though he stood with one foot on the marble and one in the darkness. “all will be revealed in time my dear. But, if you wish, the start of your path lies close at hand. A journey into the woods is all it would take.”
The darkness grew to envelop Delilah, and for a moment the oblivion claimed her consciousness. But then sound burst back into her perceptions, the sounds of Merabel’s printing press mixed with the drumming of Phexcaer’s latest storm upon her window. The smells of freshly baked pastries wafted through her room. But there, lying next to her right hand on the blankets, was the blade. No longer golden, at least by the weak morning light which struggled to pierce the rain clouds and the grime coating the window. No, now the blade had a silvered sheen to it, etched with the rune for ‘8’.
Sound preceded sight, and with the continuity only a dream can provide, you find yourself in the midst of one of Baburin’s noble galas. It looks just like you imagined, from the tales your mother used to regale you with as a child. Beys mingle, viziers exchange subtle glances, and kadis craft scathing insults about each other’s fashions sense. At least, you assume, so as all of the guests spout gibberish to each other. But their actions, those cast them into the roles your mind imagined, the roles your mother cast them in when she told you about these events.
The smells come next. Roast meats, an abundance of powder, the sweat of the crowd, the cool of the night. And beneath it all, a familiar sweet smell which reminds you of home. Or at least a home. The smell rests beneath the others, but it calls to your conscious mind. Briefly, tethered to the smell, you can feel a familiar morning chill mixed with a cozy warmth about your frame. And you can hear the steady drum of rain on a roof.
But then the crowd in your dreams parts. Standing at the end of the newly formed human corridor is your aunt. The lights of the gala fade, until you can hardly see past the living wall of guests who line the path to your aunt. They stare and cover their lips to whisper gibberish about you. Your aunt takes no notice, her terrible beauty and will focused on the man at her side. That portly man wears a hooded sable robe trimmed in gold. Ignoring your aunt, as if hearing something from the direction where you stand, the man slowly turns. As he looks down the opening in the crowd at you, you can see the shining gold mask upon his face. With an abrupt raised hand, he silences your aunt, who looks in your direction as well. No flash of recognition show upon her face, but her hand goes to the hilt of a fine looking dagger at her belt.
The robed man slowly begins to walk towards you, arms held low and open. The light playing upon his golden mask lends a slight warmth to the static grin carved there. Even though he is, what seems like, a hundred feet away, you can hear his voice as if he were within arm’s reach. “Hello again, Neridasunni. I told you we would meet again.”
Delilah looked down the double row of people, a sinking feeling in the bottom of her stomach as she noticed her aunt. Her first instinct was to melt into the crowd, but with everyone staring she was pretty sure that wouldn't work. Besides, the Golden faced man was here, and when he had been alive he'd seemed to stare through walls. Surely finding her in a crowd of people would be child's play. Delilah let out a slow breath. If she couldn't run, she must face him. Again. "And here I am. Why are we here, Golden One?"
“Why, because you brought us here,” his voice had a metallic ring to it, sharp consonants tinging loudest. His eyes strayed back towards Delilah’s aunt, his head cocking to the side as if recognizing something strange. “Although I believe that it is your connections to this place, and the people here, which forged a less….. resistant path. I am impressed. Normally it takes months to unlock the ability to come visit me in dreams, and months still before….” He turned back to look at Delilah. “Do you know, Majula was frighten of me for almost three months? She kept running from me, seeking to hide. But you, you dear child, approach me without fear right at the start. The metal of your family runs purest in your mother’s line, it seems.”
His large belly shook as the robed figure chuckled.
“But please, I am being rude. This is after all, your dream. Golden though I am in visage, I am should not be referred to as ‘Golden One’. He is the ally of my master, the one who has blessed me with the golden touch. Much as Majula serves me, and I serve him.”
The smells, which before were but an undertone, suddenly rose further to the surface of Delilah’s awareness. With it came a soft ‘clack-clack-clang’, which too rose in volume, and began to drown out the drone of the crowds. “Tell me Neraidasunni, what do you covet most in this life?”
"Answers." Delilah did not have to think about her reply as it sprang readily from her lips. "You've told me what not to call you--what may I call you?" Delilah could feel the gentle weight of the saber at her hip. Though she had trained with it extensively for her performances, the first time she'd used one in an actual fight had been the last time she met this man. The weapon with her was beautiful, but had not been made for battle. Nor had she, though she had to resist the sudden impulse to rest her hand on the hilt. Instead she narrowed her eyes, looking from the man to her aunt then back at him. "And what does Majula--and my line--have to do with you?"
His head tipped forward, his chest expanded with a deep breath that hissed against the small hole set in the mouth of the mask. “A simple desire, but there are no easy answers to it. For now, you may call me the Emperor of Gold and Silk. A grandiose title, I will grant you. But it is one which is on par with my ambitions for this land and its peoples.” The clacking grew louder, rumbling up from the floor beneath Delilah’s feet. The lines of people on either side of her struggled to maintain their balance. The floor began to crack and heave, uprooting huge blocks of marble and toppling the spectators to the floor. They slid back screaming silently away from Delilah and the man in the golden mask, who stood in an island of stillness. “As for your other question, Majula has bound her star to mine. For reasons, I am sure she would not want me sharing with you just yet.” The man laughed, a high-pitched titter, seemingly directed at the chaos around them. “I will add this, Neraidasunni. Your line is tied to my fortunes by the actions of your aunt. Actions I would be willing to aid a worthy successor in reversing.”
Delilah glanced uneasily at the screaming people as the room rocked around them. The laughter made her blood freeze. "My aunt's successor? Or yours?" She looked at him steadily, hiding the cold knot of dread that settled in the pit of her stomach. "and how can her actions be reversed?"
The rubble fell away slowly, the tumbling blocks taking the courtiers with it. It left only a circle of black surrounding the isle of marble upon which Delilah and the Emperor of Gold and Silk stood. The man in the golden mask stiffened for a brief instance, before replying. “Majula’s. Never mine. Ambition is a wonderful thing, Neraidasunni. It drives us to greater heights. But if you have too much, or set it against the wrong will, ambition is a stairway to a cliff.”
The man took a step away from Delilah, his slippered foot stepping out into the oblivion which now encircled Delilah. “As for how…” The Emperor’s voice had grown distant, even though he stood with one foot on the marble and one in the darkness. “all will be revealed in time my dear. But, if you wish, the start of your path lies close at hand. A journey into the woods is all it would take.”
The darkness grew to envelop Delilah, and for a moment the oblivion claimed her consciousness. But then sound burst back into her perceptions, the sounds of Merabel’s printing press mixed with the drumming of Phexcaer’s latest storm upon her window. The smells of freshly baked pastries wafted through her room. But there, lying next to her right hand on the blankets, was the blade. No longer golden, at least by the weak morning light which struggled to pierce the rain clouds and the grime coating the window. No, now the blade had a silvered sheen to it, etched with the rune for ‘8’.
Tuesday, December 6, 2016
Delilah's Diary--Episode 5
It is difficult for me to write the account of what happened a few nights ago. I started this journal as a catalog of the interesting people I meet in my journeys and to form inspiration for my stories. However... that night... Well. It didn't go how any of us expected. It is not a day I wish to remember, but I have fears of what may come from the events and my own involvement. While I may not wish to remember what happened, it may be that the details are absolutely necessary. With hesitant hand I set them forth.
Tristan and I were with Delia when Vixen arrived with a she-elf named Elenwe. She was quite a lovely thing--tall, blond, and dressed just the way I would picture a forest song, if forest songs were to put on skin and carry a bow. She smelled of forest and wilderness and wild runs. Her face was gentle and kind--yet there was sternness there also. She bore tidings that Illcoren had been called to the South and left us--just as our need was greatest. As you recall, we were about to face the priest of the nameless one, and needed all the help we could get.
Tristan seemed concerned about his absence, but then he turned to Tikaani and me and told us that what we were about to do was dangerous and could be deadly. He said this was his fight, not ours, and he would find a way to defeat the priest alone. We, of course, disagreed and said we would come with him. Tristan is certainly skilled, but he would never survive this battle on his own.
Delia had another priest with her whom I should also mention, by the name of Wigolais. He looked to be about our age if not a bit older, but--and there is no way to put this delicately--he was nearly as tall side-to-side as top-to-bottom. I am quite sure it would take two of me to make one of him. His chubby face was cheerful and it was no surprise to find out later that he was on a first name basis with not only the baker but with Mirabel (in particular with Mirabel's pastries). When he overheard our conversation he gladly volunteered his cudgel to our battle, as did Elenwe her bow.
As we left Vixen stuck close to me and pressed something into my hand. It was a pair of fox medallions. She seemed very concerned about my safety--as well she ought to have been. She pleaded with me to be certain to not try to fight any more fire demons or anything along that line. I thanked her for the medallions and assured her I had no intention of getting involved in the actual fighting. I can handle a blade well--I use them in my routines and practice often. I am, however, no fighter. I felt quite confident in my assurances that I would be as safe as could be given the circumstances. I wish now that... well. What is done is done. Vixen did well to warn me. And the medallions were more than the mere trinkets I took them for.
After a brief stop at the apothecary (where Tristan insisted on paying full price for the most expensive potions despite my offers to handle the negotiations), we followed Isa to the place where the golden masked one (whom we believed to be Ector, the other missing otter) would be initiating new converts. It had begun to rain, and as we walked Tikaani used her shield to cover her from the storm. The rest of us just got wet. Once arrived at the old house I offered to scout ahead to get a lay of the land. Elenwe decided to go with me, and it was a good thing that she did. Isa told us of a secret entrance, and quietly we crept down.
Soon we began to see a disturbing amount of clothing on the floor. A boot here, a shirt there, trousers in another spot. It looked as if several people, 4 judging from the sets clothing, had decided to undress as they walked the tunnel. (A side note that I think of as I write this. There were 7 boots. Seven. Four people. Why weren't there eight boots? It bothers me that I was too distracted later on to take note of whether one person was either missing a foot or wearing an unmatched shoe.) The clothing wasn't the only odd thing. Elenwe and I began to hear strange discordant music all around us. The closer we came to the end of the tunnel the louder it was.
Elenwe thought we should go back for the others but, alas, I was very determined to see this to the end. As we reached a curve in the tunnel she held back while I carefully looked around. In the room I saw several things. Four people--two men, and two women--kneeling with their backs to us. Considering what we had found in the hall I was relieved they all had matching leather jerkins on. Remembering the previous day I specifically searched the room for any strange light sources, and saw a warm golden glow. It was a golden dagger on a table in front of them. Between the table and the acolytes stood a man in purple robes wearing a golden mask. He was singing on them and breathing on them. As I peered around the corner he looked directly at me and beckoned, "There is room here for all." I tried to turn around, but found myself strangely drawn to the man and the room. I struggled to resist, but the best I was able to do was stand staring just inside the doorway. My reputation had preceded me--he knew I was a dancer, and that I was one of the foxes and traveled with a white mage. I suppose between my performance in the market place and winning the race I have made some sort of my name for myself in this little town.
Elenwe, of course, quickly returned to our companions and shared the news. Tristan, in particular was concerned when I did not return and the four of them quickly rushed to my aid.
I didn't even realize I'd looked away from the golden faced man, but suddenly there he was standing in front of me. The music seemed to be growing louder in my head and I felt something hot in my pocket. I felt for the medallions Vixen had given me, and one of the medallions crumbled to dust. I could hear my companions down the hall. The man in the mask turned as if he was looking directly at them through the very walls. The man whispered to me--"This is not over Delilah Nerudasunni." Then he took a step back and said to the four acolytes, "Kill them all. Except for her."
I quickly moved after the golden masked man as he turned away. I drew my saber and plunged it under his ribs. I could feel how deep the thrust went as I sliced through his stomach. He screamed and fell backwards, grabbing me and pulling me with him.
The four acolytes moved toward my companions. The only one who had made it into the room with me was Elenwe. The hall was so small that the others had not yet made it around the corner. The acolytes were not nearly as skilled as they were, and in a few blows had been slowed. I realized later that Tristan had paralyzed one of the two women mid-stroke, though of course I could not see this at the time.
Meanwhile the golden masked man was struggling forward toward the table and the glowing dagger. I wasn't sure what magic the dagger held but I knew I did not want him to have it. Equally and for the same reasons I did not want to touch it myself. Moving faster than he could I brushed the dagger aside with my hand. It was in the instant that my fingers touched the golden handle that something strange happened. The music that had started in my mind earlier had never stopped. All this time it had only been on crescendo until I could hear little else. But in the moment I touched the handle the music stopped. My hesitations about the dagger disappeared with the music and instead of pushing it away I grabbed it and plunged it deep into his chest. As I did I heard a plink as of a gold coin hitting stone.
As the priest of the nameless one breathed his last the acolytes seemed to remember themselves and stopped attacking my companions. We had believed they were willing participants, but soon discovered that they had been drugged and forced into the ceremony. None had been killed, thankfully. I was still sitting astride the dead priest, as the blood dripped around me. I did not realize until Tristan reached for my shaking hand that I was still holding the bloody dagger over the golden masked man. He pulled me off and I gladly gave the dagger to him--noting that the golden sheen was gone. Now it looked like any old dagger in the marketplace. The others calmed the confused acolytes while Tristan took me to a corner and used the hem of his white robes to do his best at cleaning the blood from my hands and face.
Oh, and there was a very touching reunion between Isa and her daughter whom had been held in exchange for Isa's compliance. The poor thing was only 6 years old, but seemed to be perfectly fine.
When it was over we returned to Delia to report what had happened. I stayed behind after the others to ask in more detail about what had happened to me--the gold coin, the music, and so on. She did not know the answers, but promised to do her best to discover them.
And this is where the last part comes in--worse, indeed, than the rest put together. Later that night when I was returned to my room and alone, I saw a warm golden glow coming from my pack. I opened the pack and there, lying on top of my things, was the golden dagger I had used to kill the golden masked man and shining with a glow all its own. I quickly shut the pack again. I don't know what evil has happened, but I feel a foreboding like I've never felt before. I have not yet decided what I will do. I have some ideas, but I am afraid breaking free of whatever curse I have brought upon myself will be very, very difficult.
Addendum:
In the lull of our adventures I have had time to continue my quest in meeting various townspeople, and I have learned something interesting about my companion Tristan. It would seem that the very night we returned from the fight with the golden faced man he hunted down the Thorwaller that had been so troublesome to Takkani. There was some sort of drinking head-bashing competition going on in the bar and the Thorwaller was surrounded by unconscious bodies of men who had lost to him. The White Mage marched in there and tried to reason with him. He told him that Tikanni had saved the city, and above that was Tristan's friend and companion and therefore under his protection. (Of course, had I been there, I would have told him that it was not the best time for reasoning as the Thorwaller was quite drunk. Tristan has been far to sheltered to realize such things.) However, he must have had some sort of good instinct for as he saw the Thorwaller's gaze glaze over with disinterest he reached up, grabbed the man's neck, and bashed his own head into the other man's head (this was the game that the men had been playing). Tristan did not knock him out, but that did get his attention! The Thorwaller responded by grabbing Tristan's head and returning the blow with his own head. Tristan never flinched. There were drinks after that, and I do believe Tristan made his point rather effectively.
Tristan and I were with Delia when Vixen arrived with a she-elf named Elenwe. She was quite a lovely thing--tall, blond, and dressed just the way I would picture a forest song, if forest songs were to put on skin and carry a bow. She smelled of forest and wilderness and wild runs. Her face was gentle and kind--yet there was sternness there also. She bore tidings that Illcoren had been called to the South and left us--just as our need was greatest. As you recall, we were about to face the priest of the nameless one, and needed all the help we could get.
Tristan seemed concerned about his absence, but then he turned to Tikaani and me and told us that what we were about to do was dangerous and could be deadly. He said this was his fight, not ours, and he would find a way to defeat the priest alone. We, of course, disagreed and said we would come with him. Tristan is certainly skilled, but he would never survive this battle on his own.
Delia had another priest with her whom I should also mention, by the name of Wigolais. He looked to be about our age if not a bit older, but--and there is no way to put this delicately--he was nearly as tall side-to-side as top-to-bottom. I am quite sure it would take two of me to make one of him. His chubby face was cheerful and it was no surprise to find out later that he was on a first name basis with not only the baker but with Mirabel (in particular with Mirabel's pastries). When he overheard our conversation he gladly volunteered his cudgel to our battle, as did Elenwe her bow.
As we left Vixen stuck close to me and pressed something into my hand. It was a pair of fox medallions. She seemed very concerned about my safety--as well she ought to have been. She pleaded with me to be certain to not try to fight any more fire demons or anything along that line. I thanked her for the medallions and assured her I had no intention of getting involved in the actual fighting. I can handle a blade well--I use them in my routines and practice often. I am, however, no fighter. I felt quite confident in my assurances that I would be as safe as could be given the circumstances. I wish now that... well. What is done is done. Vixen did well to warn me. And the medallions were more than the mere trinkets I took them for.
After a brief stop at the apothecary (where Tristan insisted on paying full price for the most expensive potions despite my offers to handle the negotiations), we followed Isa to the place where the golden masked one (whom we believed to be Ector, the other missing otter) would be initiating new converts. It had begun to rain, and as we walked Tikaani used her shield to cover her from the storm. The rest of us just got wet. Once arrived at the old house I offered to scout ahead to get a lay of the land. Elenwe decided to go with me, and it was a good thing that she did. Isa told us of a secret entrance, and quietly we crept down.
Soon we began to see a disturbing amount of clothing on the floor. A boot here, a shirt there, trousers in another spot. It looked as if several people, 4 judging from the sets clothing, had decided to undress as they walked the tunnel. (A side note that I think of as I write this. There were 7 boots. Seven. Four people. Why weren't there eight boots? It bothers me that I was too distracted later on to take note of whether one person was either missing a foot or wearing an unmatched shoe.) The clothing wasn't the only odd thing. Elenwe and I began to hear strange discordant music all around us. The closer we came to the end of the tunnel the louder it was.
Elenwe thought we should go back for the others but, alas, I was very determined to see this to the end. As we reached a curve in the tunnel she held back while I carefully looked around. In the room I saw several things. Four people--two men, and two women--kneeling with their backs to us. Considering what we had found in the hall I was relieved they all had matching leather jerkins on. Remembering the previous day I specifically searched the room for any strange light sources, and saw a warm golden glow. It was a golden dagger on a table in front of them. Between the table and the acolytes stood a man in purple robes wearing a golden mask. He was singing on them and breathing on them. As I peered around the corner he looked directly at me and beckoned, "There is room here for all." I tried to turn around, but found myself strangely drawn to the man and the room. I struggled to resist, but the best I was able to do was stand staring just inside the doorway. My reputation had preceded me--he knew I was a dancer, and that I was one of the foxes and traveled with a white mage. I suppose between my performance in the market place and winning the race I have made some sort of my name for myself in this little town.
Elenwe, of course, quickly returned to our companions and shared the news. Tristan, in particular was concerned when I did not return and the four of them quickly rushed to my aid.
I didn't even realize I'd looked away from the golden faced man, but suddenly there he was standing in front of me. The music seemed to be growing louder in my head and I felt something hot in my pocket. I felt for the medallions Vixen had given me, and one of the medallions crumbled to dust. I could hear my companions down the hall. The man in the mask turned as if he was looking directly at them through the very walls. The man whispered to me--"This is not over Delilah Nerudasunni." Then he took a step back and said to the four acolytes, "Kill them all. Except for her."
I quickly moved after the golden masked man as he turned away. I drew my saber and plunged it under his ribs. I could feel how deep the thrust went as I sliced through his stomach. He screamed and fell backwards, grabbing me and pulling me with him.
The four acolytes moved toward my companions. The only one who had made it into the room with me was Elenwe. The hall was so small that the others had not yet made it around the corner. The acolytes were not nearly as skilled as they were, and in a few blows had been slowed. I realized later that Tristan had paralyzed one of the two women mid-stroke, though of course I could not see this at the time.
Meanwhile the golden masked man was struggling forward toward the table and the glowing dagger. I wasn't sure what magic the dagger held but I knew I did not want him to have it. Equally and for the same reasons I did not want to touch it myself. Moving faster than he could I brushed the dagger aside with my hand. It was in the instant that my fingers touched the golden handle that something strange happened. The music that had started in my mind earlier had never stopped. All this time it had only been on crescendo until I could hear little else. But in the moment I touched the handle the music stopped. My hesitations about the dagger disappeared with the music and instead of pushing it away I grabbed it and plunged it deep into his chest. As I did I heard a plink as of a gold coin hitting stone.
As the priest of the nameless one breathed his last the acolytes seemed to remember themselves and stopped attacking my companions. We had believed they were willing participants, but soon discovered that they had been drugged and forced into the ceremony. None had been killed, thankfully. I was still sitting astride the dead priest, as the blood dripped around me. I did not realize until Tristan reached for my shaking hand that I was still holding the bloody dagger over the golden masked man. He pulled me off and I gladly gave the dagger to him--noting that the golden sheen was gone. Now it looked like any old dagger in the marketplace. The others calmed the confused acolytes while Tristan took me to a corner and used the hem of his white robes to do his best at cleaning the blood from my hands and face.
Oh, and there was a very touching reunion between Isa and her daughter whom had been held in exchange for Isa's compliance. The poor thing was only 6 years old, but seemed to be perfectly fine.
When it was over we returned to Delia to report what had happened. I stayed behind after the others to ask in more detail about what had happened to me--the gold coin, the music, and so on. She did not know the answers, but promised to do her best to discover them.
And this is where the last part comes in--worse, indeed, than the rest put together. Later that night when I was returned to my room and alone, I saw a warm golden glow coming from my pack. I opened the pack and there, lying on top of my things, was the golden dagger I had used to kill the golden masked man and shining with a glow all its own. I quickly shut the pack again. I don't know what evil has happened, but I feel a foreboding like I've never felt before. I have not yet decided what I will do. I have some ideas, but I am afraid breaking free of whatever curse I have brought upon myself will be very, very difficult.
Addendum:
In the lull of our adventures I have had time to continue my quest in meeting various townspeople, and I have learned something interesting about my companion Tristan. It would seem that the very night we returned from the fight with the golden faced man he hunted down the Thorwaller that had been so troublesome to Takkani. There was some sort of drinking head-bashing competition going on in the bar and the Thorwaller was surrounded by unconscious bodies of men who had lost to him. The White Mage marched in there and tried to reason with him. He told him that Tikanni had saved the city, and above that was Tristan's friend and companion and therefore under his protection. (Of course, had I been there, I would have told him that it was not the best time for reasoning as the Thorwaller was quite drunk. Tristan has been far to sheltered to realize such things.) However, he must have had some sort of good instinct for as he saw the Thorwaller's gaze glaze over with disinterest he reached up, grabbed the man's neck, and bashed his own head into the other man's head (this was the game that the men had been playing). Tristan did not knock him out, but that did get his attention! The Thorwaller responded by grabbing Tristan's head and returning the blow with his own head. Tristan never flinched. There were drinks after that, and I do believe Tristan made his point rather effectively.
Thursday, November 10, 2016
Episode 3--Letters to Rosalyn
Rosalyn,
I am afraid we have made a good deal of trouble here, but are no nearer to our goal.
We went to the hideout of the Otter Clan, led by Vixen and Anvar. En route, Vixen asked Delilah if we would keep Anvar from going into the hideout: although the half-orc puts up a good front, he is much more injured than he has let on. This was evident to all of us, and when we arrived at the Otter hideout we convinced him to remain on watch outside.
Inside the Otter hideout we found more questions than answers, and more traps than questions. Through a combination of cleverness, quick thinking, and some rather fast action on Tikaani's part, we managed to make our way all the way through the lair of the well-diggers which was... Trapped. Some of the traps even appeared to have traps, and what is more, some of the traps were fake. We eventually managed to find our way through an underground passage to a secret room in which the Otters had hidden the Idol of Many Hands (which we secured), along with all of their treasure - a very significant amount of coin totaling in excess of 200 ducats - to which my companions readily helped themselves.
Oh, I know what you are thinking. Tristan Foxfur, son of a good family from the Margravate of Griffonsford, star pupil of Gervaise Starhand of the Gareth Academy of Sword and Staff, has been reduced to dire straights if he is skulking about the lairs of thieves' guilds, relieving them of their ill-gotten treasures. I know. I have had the same thoughts and, I trust, many other recriminations which simply could not have originated in your gentle heart. Know that I do hope, when this business with the Cult is over, to settle down and earn a more honest living, but in any case it appears that all we did was to rescue the Otter's treasure from otherwise certain destruction (along with a very fair copy of Herbarium Kuslikum, the seventh volume). For, as my companions had just finished stuffing the ill-gotten gains of the Otter gang into a bag, Anvar sounded the alarm. We made a dash for the street and Ilcoron, to cover our retreat, set the Otter's hideout ablaze. Vixen and Tikaani got into a brief scuffle with them, and by the time we all managed to get away (Delilah and I managed to sneak away with the head) the Otters stood on the brink of an all-out gang war with the Foxes.
While exploring the hideout we found the body of one of the dead Otters. The man had been stabbed repeatedly and then dragged to his bed, possibly to make it look as though he had died there. I fear that the Otters will now believe that the Foxes were responsible for his murder, although my theory is that one of the Daggers or an Otter who was complicit with them (there were two Otters missing) must have killed him when he had come to switch out the heads.
Returning the true Idol back to Dalia, we removed the false head from Phex's altar and then cut open the fake. Within it, concealed in a small black velvet bag, there was some kind of ceramic spider, a kharmic artifact of the Nameless One which had been intended to desecrate the altar of Phex. At the Steward-Vicar's request I took for it and deposited it in a safe place outside of town, far away from the altars of the gods. Wearily and with a foreboding about what the morrow might bring, we returned to Mirabelle's to rest for the night while the servants of the God of Thieves searched the city for rumors of the cult.
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