All that work, all that blood, all those deaths, and for what?
We are encamped north of Grelsh, on the way to Aristeed's domain to inform him of the death of Pasha. It is a loose end to tie up, like the Dawrven axe I carry. I will keep my promise to Rorick Baldurick to return it to Purim for him, and another loose end will be tied. Our party has become tiers-off of loose ends, like the most junior member of a caravan, charged with tightening the cinches on the pack camels before departure. Perhaps, at least, this little accomplishments may mean something, since our greater one apparently did not.
I wrote last time:
I am hopeful that once this political situation has arighted itself that things will return to something approaching normal. DuChamp will leave to become once more a shadow of gloom rather than an unwelcome guest; the human-only sentiment may be quelled or at least quieted; perhaps I can spend some time at Trades Meet again.
The political situation has not been arighted - after all our work, after all our effort, after all our loss, Nackle Tarrin, instead of using the weaponry of our discoveries to beat back the quiet insurrection fomented by the conspiracy of Releford and Helion and Stryker Malm - as we had thought the plan was all along - has chosen instead to abdicate his authority and quit Grelsh. There was much talk as he came to this decision, but it appeared inevitable from the onset. Whether because of his grief over Pasha's death, or because he was not as much of leader as we had thought, he has chosen to leave, and not to stay.
DuChamp has not been put off; the human-only fervor still holds in Grelsh; I have not seen Trades Meet in so long I have forgotten the color of the canvas on my stall. I am as rootless and adrift - more so even, now that I am without C'hallah - than when I first came to Grelsh, a fugitive from the corruption of Feck. It is as is I had been pushing a huge boulder up a hill, only to have it slip backwards just as I neared the top and roll all the way down to the bottom again.
At least we have destroyed the infernal Nil Engine. That is, I suppose, a victory of sorts.
In any case: we awoke and Caladar was gone, as is the way of the Wild Cousins. We took our small boat to the Blessed Bee, and Cavendish gave us aid in arranging a meeting with Nackle there, as well as attending to the body of Pasha. We had conversation with Nackle and he advised us to leave Grelsh as it would not be safe for us here, even for Montaquim, who was surely in disfavor with his DuChamp masters for his association with us. We agreed to AppleRabbit's desire to inform Aristeed of Pasha's demise, and after nourishment, took the boat back to the river (avoiding Grelsh poroper agin and for the last time) and travelled upstream as far possible. We started making our way (harder now, without Immin) back to the wild country where the mad ranger abides.
Toward evening, while AppleRabbit was out hunting poisons, we were ambushed by an orc war party, complete with shaman. Although Zinna was grievously wounded, we beat them off. Another senseless conflict; one of many, I am sure, before we can truly rest.
For now, some stew and a night's sleep will have to do.
What is a rebel? A man who says no.
Once again I write as I sit on the outskirts of Grelsh, this strange little town that has become the center of my life. I am exhausted - we have not slept since my last entry - but I am restive and wish to record the most recent events, for if anything can have meaning, the past few hours can.
When our wait in Releford's room of horrors was ended just before our nerves had reached their last frayed end, it was not by Immin's return as I had presumptively written, but by the arrival of Urik with a newcomer, one Caladar by name, a Wild Cousin and one of Ipaphan's tribe. Urik had recruited him because - news to us, in this underground lair - riots and civil unrest had broken out, with violence directed at Grelsh's non-human population. I had little doubt that this uproar had been orchestrated, and it was a grim irony that the tactic we had considered for our mission was now being used against us. This Caladar was a surly sort, and some sort of alchemist by the look of him, but he seemed willing enough to take on our mission even with limited information; given the alternative aboveground, it may have been the lesser of two evils.
As for Immin, his whereabouts are unknown. Urik seems to think he has quit Grelsh and put this whole sorry mess behind him; he may yet have gone to see Nackle with the information that our proof would be coming forthwith. We will find that out when we can consult Nackle ourselves.
With the arrival of Urik and Caladar, Apple, Muntaquim, and I bestirred ourselves, and we woke Zinna, who had been napping on Releford's "nuptial" bed. We wanted no more than to leave this place, whatever faced us down the dark corridor. Apple and I had already agreed that our quest was to find and destroy the Nil Engine, and all signs pointed to its being down this passage.
We trudged for what seemed like hours but was not quite that long before we found a strangely formed door. Zinna attempted to open it and was met with a magical trap from which she narrowly avoided injury. We found ourselves in a small room; a magical mouth in the stonework announced us as intruders over and over and over again, even after I sliced the rock with the Reaper, and a ladder led upwards to the surface. When Zinna checked, she was able to determine that we were under the rocky shore, just south of where the river meets the harbor.
The door we had entered was disguised on the room side to be all but invisible; armed with this knowledge, Zinna was able to both disarm and unlock an matching door on the other side of the room. Once open, it revealed another long corridor, apparent twin to the one we had just traversed. If this was indeed the halfway point, the next leg of our journey would take us under the harbor itself, and our bearing appeared to be towards the small fortress island that we had seen only from a distance.
Wearily, we pressed on.
Eventually, another long hike took us to what appeared to be a small suite of cells: crude affairs, with iron doors and straw matting. Over one cell was scrawled "Pasha" but its occupant was a Dog-woman, a creature of whose type I had heard but never seen. Urik and Caladar busied themselves with the prisoner, who looked to be in terrible shape; Apple stayed with them. Zinna and I made to search the rest of the chambers; we found nothing, but heard what sounded like snores coming from beyond a door at the end of a hallway. When the snores turned into the sounds of the snorers rousing themselves, I raced back to the cells to tell my comrades to leave the prisoner alone and prepare for battle.
And a battle it was to be. The door flew open to reveal several Dog-men, armed soldiers by the look of them, with some spellcasters in their number. Muntaquim called for us to fall back and fight in the confined space of the hallway, where their numbers could not overwhelm us, and Urik filled their chamber with same web he had used to trap goblins at the Andersbright Bridge, slowing them considerably. This turned the skirmish into a slow-motion bloodbath, with Dog-men attackers straining to cast spells and push polearms at the knot of us defenders in the hallway; I lost track of who went down and who stayed up. It seemed to take a long time for Caladar to enter the fray, but when he did, his alchemical weapons threw flame and death all about the scene; Apple aided in this effort, setting the web itself afire. Muntaquim and Zinna bore the brunt of the hand-to-hand fighting; I managed some blows with The Reaper, but the close quarters seemed to hinder as much as they helped.
Finally, all the Dog-men were dead (including the prisoner, I found out, but never how) and we were all still alive. As things have gone of late, that is recorded as a major victory.
Once ructions were ceased, we could resume our search. Through some hidden doors, we found the object of our quest: the room containing the Nil Engine. I immediately went to work with The Reaper. Using its Nil magic to destroy a Nil machine was a delicious transgression; even so, it took several minutes to dismember and gut the evil device. My satisfaction when I made the last cut was palpable; here was one evil artifact that DuChamp would not have!
While I had been so occupied, Zinna had found another way out, beyond the room in which the Dog-men had slept. Egress upward led to a sort of turret-room, in which ballistae were pointed toward Grelsh and toward open sea; from there, access could be made to a courtyard, and a little scouting found a path to an accessible beach and a small boat.
In order to ensure the death of the death machine and to cover our tracks as much as we could, Caladar put the last of his incendiaries into the guts of the Nil Engine and ignited them all at once. Then we hurriedly made for the boat and cast off from the island, not wishing to press our luck any further. Dawn was almost breaking as we made for the small point on the north side of the wide river mouth, our plan to sleep for a while before heading to the Blessed Bee and enlisting Cavendish's aid in making contact with Nackle.
And so here we are, huddled in the rocks, trying to catch some well-earned rest before writing the epilog to this sad and sorry journey. I am hopeful that once this political situation has arighted itself that things will return to something approaching normal. DuChamp will leave to become once more a shadow of gloom rather than an unwelcome guest; the human-only sentiment may be quelled or at least quieted; perhaps I can spend some time at Trades Meet again, making baskets before journeying to Purim to return Rorick's axe.
I have crossed a line, I know, but I did what I had to do. And now I think I have to go to sleep.
When our wait in Releford's room of horrors was ended just before our nerves had reached their last frayed end, it was not by Immin's return as I had presumptively written, but by the arrival of Urik with a newcomer, one Caladar by name, a Wild Cousin and one of Ipaphan's tribe. Urik had recruited him because - news to us, in this underground lair - riots and civil unrest had broken out, with violence directed at Grelsh's non-human population. I had little doubt that this uproar had been orchestrated, and it was a grim irony that the tactic we had considered for our mission was now being used against us. This Caladar was a surly sort, and some sort of alchemist by the look of him, but he seemed willing enough to take on our mission even with limited information; given the alternative aboveground, it may have been the lesser of two evils.
As for Immin, his whereabouts are unknown. Urik seems to think he has quit Grelsh and put this whole sorry mess behind him; he may yet have gone to see Nackle with the information that our proof would be coming forthwith. We will find that out when we can consult Nackle ourselves.
With the arrival of Urik and Caladar, Apple, Muntaquim, and I bestirred ourselves, and we woke Zinna, who had been napping on Releford's "nuptial" bed. We wanted no more than to leave this place, whatever faced us down the dark corridor. Apple and I had already agreed that our quest was to find and destroy the Nil Engine, and all signs pointed to its being down this passage.
We trudged for what seemed like hours but was not quite that long before we found a strangely formed door. Zinna attempted to open it and was met with a magical trap from which she narrowly avoided injury. We found ourselves in a small room; a magical mouth in the stonework announced us as intruders over and over and over again, even after I sliced the rock with the Reaper, and a ladder led upwards to the surface. When Zinna checked, she was able to determine that we were under the rocky shore, just south of where the river meets the harbor.
The door we had entered was disguised on the room side to be all but invisible; armed with this knowledge, Zinna was able to both disarm and unlock an matching door on the other side of the room. Once open, it revealed another long corridor, apparent twin to the one we had just traversed. If this was indeed the halfway point, the next leg of our journey would take us under the harbor itself, and our bearing appeared to be towards the small fortress island that we had seen only from a distance.
Wearily, we pressed on.
Eventually, another long hike took us to what appeared to be a small suite of cells: crude affairs, with iron doors and straw matting. Over one cell was scrawled "Pasha" but its occupant was a Dog-woman, a creature of whose type I had heard but never seen. Urik and Caladar busied themselves with the prisoner, who looked to be in terrible shape; Apple stayed with them. Zinna and I made to search the rest of the chambers; we found nothing, but heard what sounded like snores coming from beyond a door at the end of a hallway. When the snores turned into the sounds of the snorers rousing themselves, I raced back to the cells to tell my comrades to leave the prisoner alone and prepare for battle.
And a battle it was to be. The door flew open to reveal several Dog-men, armed soldiers by the look of them, with some spellcasters in their number. Muntaquim called for us to fall back and fight in the confined space of the hallway, where their numbers could not overwhelm us, and Urik filled their chamber with same web he had used to trap goblins at the Andersbright Bridge, slowing them considerably. This turned the skirmish into a slow-motion bloodbath, with Dog-men attackers straining to cast spells and push polearms at the knot of us defenders in the hallway; I lost track of who went down and who stayed up. It seemed to take a long time for Caladar to enter the fray, but when he did, his alchemical weapons threw flame and death all about the scene; Apple aided in this effort, setting the web itself afire. Muntaquim and Zinna bore the brunt of the hand-to-hand fighting; I managed some blows with The Reaper, but the close quarters seemed to hinder as much as they helped.
Finally, all the Dog-men were dead (including the prisoner, I found out, but never how) and we were all still alive. As things have gone of late, that is recorded as a major victory.
Once ructions were ceased, we could resume our search. Through some hidden doors, we found the object of our quest: the room containing the Nil Engine. I immediately went to work with The Reaper. Using its Nil magic to destroy a Nil machine was a delicious transgression; even so, it took several minutes to dismember and gut the evil device. My satisfaction when I made the last cut was palpable; here was one evil artifact that DuChamp would not have!
While I had been so occupied, Zinna had found another way out, beyond the room in which the Dog-men had slept. Egress upward led to a sort of turret-room, in which ballistae were pointed toward Grelsh and toward open sea; from there, access could be made to a courtyard, and a little scouting found a path to an accessible beach and a small boat.
In order to ensure the death of the death machine and to cover our tracks as much as we could, Caladar put the last of his incendiaries into the guts of the Nil Engine and ignited them all at once. Then we hurriedly made for the boat and cast off from the island, not wishing to press our luck any further. Dawn was almost breaking as we made for the small point on the north side of the wide river mouth, our plan to sleep for a while before heading to the Blessed Bee and enlisting Cavendish's aid in making contact with Nackle.
And so here we are, huddled in the rocks, trying to catch some well-earned rest before writing the epilog to this sad and sorry journey. I am hopeful that once this political situation has arighted itself that things will return to something approaching normal. DuChamp will leave to become once more a shadow of gloom rather than an unwelcome guest; the human-only sentiment may be quelled or at least quieted; perhaps I can spend some time at Trades Meet again, making baskets before journeying to Purim to return Rorick's axe.
I have crossed a line, I know, but I did what I had to do. And now I think I have to go to sleep.
If something is going to happen to me, I want to be there
I must be brief, for I have only a few moments, but it is important to get this down before we enter the corridor, for we may not return. Rorick is already dead; who knows what fate lies ahead for us? While Muntaquim further peruses the incriminating papers we have found and Immin heads out to secure assistance, I will jot down these notes.
After the death of Pasha, we spent an uneventful night in the woods. We determined we should return to Grelsh separately: Immin would transport Pasha's body back and "place the bait," Muntaquim would return alone and discreetly, Urik would head to my shed to make sure the bodies of Ecgbert and the others had been taken care of, and Zinna, Rorick, Apple, and I would go to see Cavendish of the Stealers Guild at the Blessed Bee, his garish boat. All except Urik would meet at the Grass Pipe afterwards.
When our group reached the Bee, we were greeted warmly by the guard, Finney - or rather Zinna was greeted warmly and we were suffered to board. Our interview with Cavendish was prompt, friendly, and not entirely productive. He seemed more interested in memories of his romantic escapades with Iris than in interpreting her dreams or prophecies in any useful way. (To be fair, Iris's communications were oblique, to say the least.) Cavendish did seem saddened by the loss of Pasha. I think he has decided his interests are best served by supporting the Nackle, and he was willing to provide material assistance for our cause, up to inciting a riot in the streets if one were needed.
Satisfied at least that we had the Guild if not entirely on our side, then at least not set against us, we retired to the Pipe. Immin and Muntaquim had already arrived and were being taken of by Sprig. Our noble friend from Fek had made it back to Grelsh safely and without drawing undue attention; Immin advised us that he had interrupted services at the Temple of Agravaris to deliver Pasha's body to Releford himself, and had seen the body be carried into the lower levels of the church.
It seemed clear where to begin our search for the zombie manufactory. Rorick had recorded the scrying spell given to him by Pasha into his spellbook; he needed some rest to renew his magical vigor and we would be about our task with ample confidence in finding the workshop.
In the stillest hours of morning, when one day is becoming, but is not yet, the next, we stole towards the temple. The post-mass revels were still going on in the town core, but the neighborhood and the watch barracks that border the temple grounds were both so quiet that little stealth was needed. Rorick cast about with his unseen eyes for the goblin arrowhead in Pasha's body; once he had a bearing, he sent an earth elemental swimming through the dirt to verify the location - under the church, of course.
Zinna took us through locked doors as we followed the path of Pasha's sorry cortege into the building and down the stairs; first into some kind of living quarters, then further down, through a stairwell hidden under a trunk, into an underground chamber. We saw a portrait on the wall of a beautiful woman in blue; then we all saw stars as Rorick tripped a hidden rune on the tread and a magical blast hit the stairs. That was just the start of the ructions.
An undead being, in the form of a skeleton of immense eldritch power, engaged the party - engaged Rorick, specifically. As near as we could determine later, activating the rune also made Rorick the primary victim of the creature: it tore into him mercilessly, forsaking all other targets to strike at him and rend his flesh. Immin fired arrow after arrow into the creature, futilely, while Apple cast spell upon spell but found its power was too strong. Zinna did the best she could with weapons ill-designed for the combat; Muntaquim fared a little better with a fearsome hammer he drew and wielded in place of his sword.
With a silent wish that C'hallah was by my side, I enchanted some stones and set to work with my sings, like so many times in the jangwa - this was a foe familiar to me! The battle was so frantic that I had a hard time placing my missiles. One miss, then another, then finally I caught the monster a fair clout and burst its skull, felling it in a clatter of once-again inanimate bones - but too late! Any elation of victory was immediately dampened by Rorick's unquestionable death: his body was rent and torn far beyond mundane or magical healing. This champion, this paragon of dwarvish swains, our boon companion, was no more - and for what?
I took his axe to fulfill my promise to him.
The stillness of death filled the room, but there was still work to be done. Muntaquim immediately seized some papers from the worktable; Apple tended to pasha's body, found on some sort of altar in the corner; I secured a bottle bearing the mark of ancient Ulch from some alchemical gear on a table; and Zinna set to work opening an important-looking chest. This last task nearly dispatched our Sandey along Rorick's path: a clever poison trap sped her spiraling deathward with just a prick, and it was only by the most willful magic that I was able to restore her vitality.
The chest gave forth some goods, including some sort of small enchanted box that we attempted to puzzle open. In the midst of our puzzlement, Zinna took direct action and ripped the cube asunder with a mighty effort; she was rewarded with another blast of eldritch fire that rocked her recently restored Orcish constitution as the box gave forth a magical amulet bearing the Ulch symbol.
Muntaquim then gave some time to reading the papers he had found. In what seems to be Releford's own hand, they contain, among many details of the skeleton we fought (she was Releford's former - and current - lover!) and descriptions the magical artifacts in the room, two accounts of critical importance: a clear admission of a conspiracy against Nackle Tarren on the part of Cardinal Releford, Helion of Crespin, and Stryker Malm; and the information that the Death Machine, the Nil Engine, is in the trio's possession.
Probably in this very underground complex.
Probably down the corridor behind me.
Immin has raced back to town to clear the way for our return and to bring reinforcements; at least one witness to this perfidy must survive. We are determined to see this through to the end, whatever that might be. We may all want different things - to support Nackle, to save Grelsh, to stop the undead, to curb DuChamp - but whatever we are after, an ending lies down this dark hallway. Empires and churches are born under the sun of death; who knows what we will face as this dawn approaches.
I think I hear Immin returning...
After the death of Pasha, we spent an uneventful night in the woods. We determined we should return to Grelsh separately: Immin would transport Pasha's body back and "place the bait," Muntaquim would return alone and discreetly, Urik would head to my shed to make sure the bodies of Ecgbert and the others had been taken care of, and Zinna, Rorick, Apple, and I would go to see Cavendish of the Stealers Guild at the Blessed Bee, his garish boat. All except Urik would meet at the Grass Pipe afterwards.
When our group reached the Bee, we were greeted warmly by the guard, Finney - or rather Zinna was greeted warmly and we were suffered to board. Our interview with Cavendish was prompt, friendly, and not entirely productive. He seemed more interested in memories of his romantic escapades with Iris than in interpreting her dreams or prophecies in any useful way. (To be fair, Iris's communications were oblique, to say the least.) Cavendish did seem saddened by the loss of Pasha. I think he has decided his interests are best served by supporting the Nackle, and he was willing to provide material assistance for our cause, up to inciting a riot in the streets if one were needed.
Satisfied at least that we had the Guild if not entirely on our side, then at least not set against us, we retired to the Pipe. Immin and Muntaquim had already arrived and were being taken of by Sprig. Our noble friend from Fek had made it back to Grelsh safely and without drawing undue attention; Immin advised us that he had interrupted services at the Temple of Agravaris to deliver Pasha's body to Releford himself, and had seen the body be carried into the lower levels of the church.
It seemed clear where to begin our search for the zombie manufactory. Rorick had recorded the scrying spell given to him by Pasha into his spellbook; he needed some rest to renew his magical vigor and we would be about our task with ample confidence in finding the workshop.
In the stillest hours of morning, when one day is becoming, but is not yet, the next, we stole towards the temple. The post-mass revels were still going on in the town core, but the neighborhood and the watch barracks that border the temple grounds were both so quiet that little stealth was needed. Rorick cast about with his unseen eyes for the goblin arrowhead in Pasha's body; once he had a bearing, he sent an earth elemental swimming through the dirt to verify the location - under the church, of course.
Zinna took us through locked doors as we followed the path of Pasha's sorry cortege into the building and down the stairs; first into some kind of living quarters, then further down, through a stairwell hidden under a trunk, into an underground chamber. We saw a portrait on the wall of a beautiful woman in blue; then we all saw stars as Rorick tripped a hidden rune on the tread and a magical blast hit the stairs. That was just the start of the ructions.
An undead being, in the form of a skeleton of immense eldritch power, engaged the party - engaged Rorick, specifically. As near as we could determine later, activating the rune also made Rorick the primary victim of the creature: it tore into him mercilessly, forsaking all other targets to strike at him and rend his flesh. Immin fired arrow after arrow into the creature, futilely, while Apple cast spell upon spell but found its power was too strong. Zinna did the best she could with weapons ill-designed for the combat; Muntaquim fared a little better with a fearsome hammer he drew and wielded in place of his sword.
With a silent wish that C'hallah was by my side, I enchanted some stones and set to work with my sings, like so many times in the jangwa - this was a foe familiar to me! The battle was so frantic that I had a hard time placing my missiles. One miss, then another, then finally I caught the monster a fair clout and burst its skull, felling it in a clatter of once-again inanimate bones - but too late! Any elation of victory was immediately dampened by Rorick's unquestionable death: his body was rent and torn far beyond mundane or magical healing. This champion, this paragon of dwarvish swains, our boon companion, was no more - and for what?
I took his axe to fulfill my promise to him.
The stillness of death filled the room, but there was still work to be done. Muntaquim immediately seized some papers from the worktable; Apple tended to pasha's body, found on some sort of altar in the corner; I secured a bottle bearing the mark of ancient Ulch from some alchemical gear on a table; and Zinna set to work opening an important-looking chest. This last task nearly dispatched our Sandey along Rorick's path: a clever poison trap sped her spiraling deathward with just a prick, and it was only by the most willful magic that I was able to restore her vitality.
The chest gave forth some goods, including some sort of small enchanted box that we attempted to puzzle open. In the midst of our puzzlement, Zinna took direct action and ripped the cube asunder with a mighty effort; she was rewarded with another blast of eldritch fire that rocked her recently restored Orcish constitution as the box gave forth a magical amulet bearing the Ulch symbol.
Muntaquim then gave some time to reading the papers he had found. In what seems to be Releford's own hand, they contain, among many details of the skeleton we fought (she was Releford's former - and current - lover!) and descriptions the magical artifacts in the room, two accounts of critical importance: a clear admission of a conspiracy against Nackle Tarren on the part of Cardinal Releford, Helion of Crespin, and Stryker Malm; and the information that the Death Machine, the Nil Engine, is in the trio's possession.
Probably in this very underground complex.
Probably down the corridor behind me.
Immin has raced back to town to clear the way for our return and to bring reinforcements; at least one witness to this perfidy must survive. We are determined to see this through to the end, whatever that might be. We may all want different things - to support Nackle, to save Grelsh, to stop the undead, to curb DuChamp - but whatever we are after, an ending lies down this dark hallway. Empires and churches are born under the sun of death; who knows what we will face as this dawn approaches.
I think I hear Immin returning...
There are means that cannot be excused. And I should like to be able to love my country and still love justice.
We are almost finished cleaning up, but we have a few moments before we must move, so I will jot down a few notes while I can.
We met Pasha at the bloody miller's, just as we had arranged. To enter the structure still gives most of the party a slight chill; the massacre that claimed Stuckey and his brothers and comrades is not something to be forgotten easily. perhaps we are all a bit envious of Zinna right now.
In any case, Pasha had quite a surprise for us: she was in the company of one my of cousins and countrymen and someone whom I despised on first sight. He styles himself Muntaquim al Feq, with a string of honorifics after that, and I would call him a pretentious poseur to use the ancient stylings but he is clearly a highborn elf, not a poor desert Sunner like me. He stinks of the city. This alone might bias me against him, but be surmountable, especially this far from home; however, he works for The Corporation and this I cannot forgive.
This Muntaquim is some sort of priest of the afterlife and says he has been fighting the undead menace that has long plagued Bandui. He speaks as if his church and the Fek militia have been bearing the burden of fighting off the skeletons and mummies and ghouls that harass our people and he insists that DuChamp is collecting magical artifacts for the sake of ending this peril once and for all. He is twice a fool! I'd wager every jangwa mkuu, every caravan master and camel herder, every tomb raider in West Bandui has destroyed more iwin than this puffed up ikun onijo has seen! And to try to justify The Corporation's actions as the preservation of Bandui! Ey-yi-yi...
But even though I was not alone in resisting the addition of a DuChamp agent to the team, Pasha was insistent that he was work with us. She says that he is the most reasonable and tractable of the DuChamp envoys - as if that standard were hard to exceed. It is somehow imperative that Muntaquim have personal experience of our attempt to expose Releford and his cronies: if he can attest that Grelsh's apparent weakness is really the work of a conspiracy, not Nackle's lack of leadership, and if that conspiracy can be dismantled, then the conspirators will become broken and impotent, Nackle will be once again ascendant, and some sort of accord or detente between Grelsh and the Corporation can be achieved. Thus, through stealth and subterfuge, a political solution to the current crisis will be achieved. And we are saddled with the DuChamp agent as it unfolds and Grelsh is stuck with the DuChamp Corporation for ever after.
Politics and the fate of the masses are shaped by men and women without ideals and without greatness. Those who have greatness within them don't go in for politics.
There was no arguing with Pasha; the plan was moving forward and Muntaquim was part of it. She advised us that an opportunity was presenting itself: her Rangers had reported a small group of goblins and bugbears moving through the farmlands to the east, apparently set upon mischief. She had arranged to respond to this incursion personally instead of sending a squad; we would accompany her, and this would provide the perfect chance to fake her death and begin our plan to gain access to whatever secret lair was creating the monsters that have been troubling Grelsh. We could return heartbroken to Grelsh with her lifeless body.
Ah, irony.
We made our way eastward - once again coming close to but not entering Grelsh itself. With Immin leading us, we skirted the farms themselves and made our way into the uncultivated country. As we moved through the weald, some fey creature appeared as of out of nowhere, a woman otherwise beautiful except for having a form of bark and wood and leaves. As strange as she was, she sought conversation, not conflict. We parlayed a bit; she gave us intelligence of the goblins, advising that they had a slave of some sort and a baby dragon with them, but then she disappeared abruptly when we allowed as we were not the actual rulers of Grelsh, with whom she apparently sought to treat. Thus further armed with information, we moved on.
We came to a depression or dell that held a thick copse of trees; we had no hard information, but we had to presume our enemy was hidden behind. Rorick summoned an air elemental; the little whirlwind went flying around the stand of trees but added not to our intelligence. We tried to approach stealthily; the copse itself was all but impassable, and as we began to skirt it, Muntaquim appeared to tire of this approach and advanced more quickly. Even as we all hastened to join him and form some sort of skirmish line, I had to admit that he certainly acted like a longtime member of our band, throwing strategy away at the earliest opportunity.
Soon enough, we all rounded the coppice in stages: Pasha and Muntaquim diving into melee with the goblins and their allies, Rorick, Zinna, and Urik following close behind, Immin staying aloof and peppering the field with his bow, and AppleRabbit and I bringing up the rear. I, too, engaged with bow at first: two of our foes had the power of flight - a wyvern (the "baby dragon") who harried us with tooth and claw, and some sort of bee-creature - which after a moment's shock I realized was the monster described in Iris's dream! This last creature the goblins unshackled to let hover above the field, shooting some sort of quill or dart at great volume and seemingly at will.
The battle was furious; Rorick was casting spells with the aid of his owl, and even I joined the others in close combat with The Reaper so fierce was the fighting. Pasha was a dancing dervish, her slim blade reaching out and devastating the enemy around her. Zinna acquitted herself well, as always, especially with the support of Immin's bow. In the midst of it all, I even found myself lending some healing energy to Muntaquim; in the heat of the battle, the divisions between us seemed less important than our mutual survival.
The onslaught from the air and the ground proved too much, and Pasha went down. The goblins struck at her even after she fell, and their leader drive home a mighty clout with his staff, which looked to have been empowered for this battle. I threw myself on Pasha to heal her, but as the energies flowed from my hands I could tell she was beyond rescue.
We eventually laid our foes down, but the damage was done. Pasha's death would not be faked; it would be her actual corpse that would be taken to Releford's lair, if our plan was to have any chance of succeeding. Oddly, Muntaquim seems the most affected of all of us; who knew an agent of DuChamp could have a heart?
In securing the area, we found that the goblin leader had an enchanted staff that might suit AppleRabbit, and took it; he also had a small scroll that bore a likeness of Pasha, very well rendered, certainly not goblin work. It became clear at that moment that this raiding party was actually part of a well-planned assassination: while Pasha was thinking she was making the most of this opportunity to advance our plans, she was actually being maneuvered to her death. Immin swears the Rangers are all loyal; we suspect that someone - Stryker Malm? - had this goblin band deliberately draw the attention of the Rangers so that the intelligence would be credible to Pasha. It appears to have worked.
Rorick placed a goblin arrowhead, a keepsake he has carried for some weeks, into one of Pasha's wounds; it is this object which he will use to trace and track the body. We have gathered what loot we could, and Apple has harvested some poison from the wyvern and the bee-person. We noticed the bee-person wears the mark of a DuChamp slave; one of their early search parties, I believe.
I see Muntaquim hoisting Pasha's body; we appear ready to move to a place we can camp for the night before making our way back to Grelsh.
I am faced with a circumstance in which both the ends and the means are unsatisfactory. But it appears that there is no going back now.
We met Pasha at the bloody miller's, just as we had arranged. To enter the structure still gives most of the party a slight chill; the massacre that claimed Stuckey and his brothers and comrades is not something to be forgotten easily. perhaps we are all a bit envious of Zinna right now.
In any case, Pasha had quite a surprise for us: she was in the company of one my of cousins and countrymen and someone whom I despised on first sight. He styles himself Muntaquim al Feq, with a string of honorifics after that, and I would call him a pretentious poseur to use the ancient stylings but he is clearly a highborn elf, not a poor desert Sunner like me. He stinks of the city. This alone might bias me against him, but be surmountable, especially this far from home; however, he works for The Corporation and this I cannot forgive.
This Muntaquim is some sort of priest of the afterlife and says he has been fighting the undead menace that has long plagued Bandui. He speaks as if his church and the Fek militia have been bearing the burden of fighting off the skeletons and mummies and ghouls that harass our people and he insists that DuChamp is collecting magical artifacts for the sake of ending this peril once and for all. He is twice a fool! I'd wager every jangwa mkuu, every caravan master and camel herder, every tomb raider in West Bandui has destroyed more iwin than this puffed up ikun onijo has seen! And to try to justify The Corporation's actions as the preservation of Bandui! Ey-yi-yi...
But even though I was not alone in resisting the addition of a DuChamp agent to the team, Pasha was insistent that he was work with us. She says that he is the most reasonable and tractable of the DuChamp envoys - as if that standard were hard to exceed. It is somehow imperative that Muntaquim have personal experience of our attempt to expose Releford and his cronies: if he can attest that Grelsh's apparent weakness is really the work of a conspiracy, not Nackle's lack of leadership, and if that conspiracy can be dismantled, then the conspirators will become broken and impotent, Nackle will be once again ascendant, and some sort of accord or detente between Grelsh and the Corporation can be achieved. Thus, through stealth and subterfuge, a political solution to the current crisis will be achieved. And we are saddled with the DuChamp agent as it unfolds and Grelsh is stuck with the DuChamp Corporation for ever after.
Politics and the fate of the masses are shaped by men and women without ideals and without greatness. Those who have greatness within them don't go in for politics.
There was no arguing with Pasha; the plan was moving forward and Muntaquim was part of it. She advised us that an opportunity was presenting itself: her Rangers had reported a small group of goblins and bugbears moving through the farmlands to the east, apparently set upon mischief. She had arranged to respond to this incursion personally instead of sending a squad; we would accompany her, and this would provide the perfect chance to fake her death and begin our plan to gain access to whatever secret lair was creating the monsters that have been troubling Grelsh. We could return heartbroken to Grelsh with her lifeless body.
Ah, irony.
We made our way eastward - once again coming close to but not entering Grelsh itself. With Immin leading us, we skirted the farms themselves and made our way into the uncultivated country. As we moved through the weald, some fey creature appeared as of out of nowhere, a woman otherwise beautiful except for having a form of bark and wood and leaves. As strange as she was, she sought conversation, not conflict. We parlayed a bit; she gave us intelligence of the goblins, advising that they had a slave of some sort and a baby dragon with them, but then she disappeared abruptly when we allowed as we were not the actual rulers of Grelsh, with whom she apparently sought to treat. Thus further armed with information, we moved on.
We came to a depression or dell that held a thick copse of trees; we had no hard information, but we had to presume our enemy was hidden behind. Rorick summoned an air elemental; the little whirlwind went flying around the stand of trees but added not to our intelligence. We tried to approach stealthily; the copse itself was all but impassable, and as we began to skirt it, Muntaquim appeared to tire of this approach and advanced more quickly. Even as we all hastened to join him and form some sort of skirmish line, I had to admit that he certainly acted like a longtime member of our band, throwing strategy away at the earliest opportunity.
Soon enough, we all rounded the coppice in stages: Pasha and Muntaquim diving into melee with the goblins and their allies, Rorick, Zinna, and Urik following close behind, Immin staying aloof and peppering the field with his bow, and AppleRabbit and I bringing up the rear. I, too, engaged with bow at first: two of our foes had the power of flight - a wyvern (the "baby dragon") who harried us with tooth and claw, and some sort of bee-creature - which after a moment's shock I realized was the monster described in Iris's dream! This last creature the goblins unshackled to let hover above the field, shooting some sort of quill or dart at great volume and seemingly at will.
The battle was furious; Rorick was casting spells with the aid of his owl, and even I joined the others in close combat with The Reaper so fierce was the fighting. Pasha was a dancing dervish, her slim blade reaching out and devastating the enemy around her. Zinna acquitted herself well, as always, especially with the support of Immin's bow. In the midst of it all, I even found myself lending some healing energy to Muntaquim; in the heat of the battle, the divisions between us seemed less important than our mutual survival.
The onslaught from the air and the ground proved too much, and Pasha went down. The goblins struck at her even after she fell, and their leader drive home a mighty clout with his staff, which looked to have been empowered for this battle. I threw myself on Pasha to heal her, but as the energies flowed from my hands I could tell she was beyond rescue.
We eventually laid our foes down, but the damage was done. Pasha's death would not be faked; it would be her actual corpse that would be taken to Releford's lair, if our plan was to have any chance of succeeding. Oddly, Muntaquim seems the most affected of all of us; who knew an agent of DuChamp could have a heart?
In securing the area, we found that the goblin leader had an enchanted staff that might suit AppleRabbit, and took it; he also had a small scroll that bore a likeness of Pasha, very well rendered, certainly not goblin work. It became clear at that moment that this raiding party was actually part of a well-planned assassination: while Pasha was thinking she was making the most of this opportunity to advance our plans, she was actually being maneuvered to her death. Immin swears the Rangers are all loyal; we suspect that someone - Stryker Malm? - had this goblin band deliberately draw the attention of the Rangers so that the intelligence would be credible to Pasha. It appears to have worked.
Rorick placed a goblin arrowhead, a keepsake he has carried for some weeks, into one of Pasha's wounds; it is this object which he will use to trace and track the body. We have gathered what loot we could, and Apple has harvested some poison from the wyvern and the bee-person. We noticed the bee-person wears the mark of a DuChamp slave; one of their early search parties, I believe.
I see Muntaquim hoisting Pasha's body; we appear ready to move to a place we can camp for the night before making our way back to Grelsh.
I am faced with a circumstance in which both the ends and the means are unsatisfactory. But it appears that there is no going back now.
The most important thing you do everyday you live is deciding not to kill yourself
Once again I write filled with anticipation as I approach Grelsh, a town that I had never heard of before I set foot in it and which did not exist when I was born. It has been a long and hard journey.
When we set forth on the last leg of our trip to find Aristeed, the ranger-poisoner whose aid we sought for Pasha, it was on summoned mounts. Not as weary trekkers, but as riders we moved through the weald, proceeding almost (but slightly west of) due north. The relative luxury of this travel - and the chance for some distance, since we rode further apart than we walk - was short-lived, for soon the trail became a trace and the trace a game track and it was too much for the mounts to make. Eventually they were dismissed and we proceeded afoot.
The forest was, I believe this is the word, spooky. The ground was not soft and wet like the swamp, but broken and uneven, and the roots of trees and plants were exposed here and there, and scrub bushes competed with trees for ground space - not at all like the open jangwa, where orderly oases stand like tended gardens in the vastness, the underground water lining the palm trees in a row. We saw what must have been wyverns or some great birds flying high above, and would felt safe beneath the thick canopy of branches, but for the shadows that seemed to hide threats behind every tree. We hesitantly passed through one section that was somehow denuded of all plants - whether from dragon's breath or the work of man we do not know, but the open scree made us feel vulnerable after the sheltering trees.
In a bit of a clearing, we caught sight of a rude but sturdy bridge across what must have been the Andersbright River. Something was perhaps even spookier about this place, and this caused Rorick to sent his bird forward to scout; sure enough, he received the impressions of threat from it. Zinna snuck off to the west of the trail as I advanced up the trace; AppleRabbit was distracted and eating some lettuce she had found, but Immin and Rorick, and eventually Urik, began to respond.
Moving forward, I was vaguely aware of a commotion from behind me and shouts from the others, just as I caught sight of two goblin bandits on the far side of the bridge. Thinking only of pressing forward to our goal, and futilely, out of habit, calling the battle command to C'hallah, I charged the villains with The Reaper drawn.
My 'heroism' was short lived: The Reaper bit, but only by a hair, and my leap caused me to fall prone among my targets. In a trice, they were upon me; darkness came soon after their attacks.
I awoke to pain and Urik's scarred countenance above me and realized that he had used his witchery to restore me; it took some minutes to clear my head, and when I did I saw a scene of devastation. Not just two, but near a dozen goblins lay dead around the scene; apparently while I had been unconscious, a mighty battle had taken place. Most of the party looked to have survived intact; I was concerned that AppleRabbit was trapped in a great web, much like that thrown by the spider-people we had encountered in the swamp. Urik told me that it was he who had spun the web to trap goblins and that Apple had merely thrown herself into it on a monkey-like lark after the battle had ended.
The goblin attack appeared to have been opportunistic. Satisfied that we were out of immediate danger, Immin pushed us forward once again after some healing. We travelled the remainder of the day without incident, but we were unable to make our goal before dark and camped for the night. The next morning we set out again, with no steeds this time. AppleRabbit no longer seemed to think she was a monkey, but instead said she felt like a fish and acted in such a manner.
Sometime before noon, we approached a beautiful vista, a mountain valley surrounding what we believed to be Fingervine Lake, said to be nearby to the home of Aristeed. This supposition was confirmed when an arrow flew out of nowhere, striking a tree next to Rorick's head. As the missile vibrated in the living wood, a figure stepped from the greenery. He was dressed in woodsman's clothes and would have appeared to be an everyday ranger, much like Immin, save for the look in his eyes and the bandolier across his chest. The bandolier contained vials of strange and weird-looking potions; his eyes held menace and a little madness.
Apple chose this moment to decide to jump into the lake for a swim. She began splashing and capering about, much to the delight of Aristeed, who laughed and called out to her in a friendly manner.
I pulled the arrow from the tree and moved toward the ranger, holding the arrow in a gesture of conciliation. He immediately tumbled gracefully backward and landed nimbly with bow drawn and arrow nocked, the point aimed in our direction. He bellowed a challenge in a manner totally contrary to his friendly demeanor toward AppleRabbit, so I hesitated. Rorick advanced and stated our mission; the ranger, save for moving to a better position of attack, ignored him. Immin approached and tried to address our mission and connect to his fellow woodsman; he, too, was ignored. Urik tried some complimentary salutations; there were greeted with enthusiasm, but got us no closer to determining whether this was in fact Aristeed (though we presumed as much) and whether he would help on this mission that Pasha had said was so important. Even Zinna approached in her simple way and was rebuffed. Our frustration grew; it was not that we were being told no, it was that we couldn't even ask the question.
Apple bounded back into the midst of this heated conversation from the lake and became impatient with all of us. Without warning, she activated the ring we had salvaged from the Thistle Men attack; of a sudden all was silence around us.
The situation was tense; I knew that Urik and Rorick were now without magic and that Immin and Zinna were likely confused. I grabbed Apple as if she were a burlap sack of oranges and made to carry her back to the lake, to clear the silence from my fellows and Aristeed in the hope that conversation would continue. The cloud of silence came with us, of course, centered as it is on the ring that AppleRabbit wore. Save for her squirming, it was strangely pleasant to walk to though the meadow in the stillness and watch the sunlight glinting off the water of the lake. I was actually about to gesture to Apple, to draw her attention to a fish breaking the surface with its jump, when I saw the arrowhead come jutting out of my chest and then a moment later felt a great pain.
I know I said "shit" as I fell, but I could not hear it.
Blackness returned. I know not how long I was out, in that weird state between life and death. I know that if consciousness exists there, that my desire was not for release, but for return. I've never really had much of an imagination. But still I would try to picture the exact moment when the beating of my heart would no longer be going on inside my head. Lying there in that meadow, I determined this would not be that moment.
I awoke once again to pain and confusion and Urik's smiling face (which is scarier than his neutral look). I sat and collected myself as I felt the arrow's penetration in reverse, with every excruciating detail repeated. After I could catch my breath and thank Urik, he walked off to sit and mediate; whatever conflict had included my being pierced by an arrow was apparently over.
Zinna was sitting, too, and watching the lake; I recognized the look she gets on her face when the details of living get too much to understand and she goes back to Bandui in her head. Apple was nowhere to be seen; neither was Aristeed. Rorick and Immin came and sat by me; Immin had a fine bow, apparently some sort of gift from Aristeed. They seemed little less confused than I, the one who was so recently unconscious; it was hard to follow their story, but this is what I gathered:
It was Aristeed who had shot me as I carried AppleRabbit away; apparently he had shouted at me to halt, but of course, I could not hear him within the cloud of silence. Once he had made that move, Rorick, Immin, and Zinna had joined the battle, either from comradeship (I could tell Rorick in particular was shaken by the attack on me and was touched by this) or self-protection. By all accounts, it became chaotic, with Apple and Urik still not wanting to fight, and Aristeed doing great damage with exploding arrows - all in all, a mess like a camel herd discovering it has been grazing around a nest of scorpions.
Eventually, my comrades overcame Aristeed; after a great struggle, he was rendered unconscious and disarmed. Upon being awoken, the mighty ranger surrendered, yielded dominion over the valley and lake to us, and relinquished his bow to Immin as symbol of our victory. I guess the ructions were not concluded by a long shot, as Apple and Immin were drawn into conflict over the propriety of his keeping the bow and what our next steps were, but eventually things settled down enough for Apple and Aristeed to engage in some productive discourse. The party drifted away as the two conversed, and eventually the pair of them went off into a small cabin that seemed to be Aristeed's lab as well.
When Rorick drew my attention to it, I could see the big ranger and my tiny fellow druid working within the structure with pots and vials and liquids of various sorts. Aristeed seemed to be getting on well with AppleRabbit, despite the inauspicious start to our intercourse; Apple, for her part, was scribbling notes furiously during their conversation. Immin was watching closely and said Aristeed gave Apple something like a flute or recorder, and a little leather harness that they fussed with a great deal using shears and needle and thread; I did not see this myself.
While those two were so occupied, I spent the time recovering my wits and chatting with Rorick and Immin. We caught Immin up on the adventures our band had been involved in; Rorick contemplated taking Aristeed up on his offer of the lake as our demesne and we playfully argued where to site the cabin; Immin told us of life in rugged Anwar, and we half-seriously considering laying a course eastwards. Especially in contrast to the rigors of the day, it was a cordial and agreeable time. I realized that short interlude held the first moment that I had not thought of the loss of C'hallah; that fact made me both happier and sadder.
In short order, Apple returned and without much conversation informed us that she possessed what we had sought. There was no ranger to bid farewell; apparently he had melted back into his woods, perhaps forgetting that he had recently ceded sovereignty over them. With little conversation, we all began the trudge back to Grelsh. We have traveled mostly in silence since, but luckily we have faced no peril on this return journey.
We will break camp tomorrow and reach the hidden mill of the Stealer's Guild after a day's journey; Pasha is to meet us there, and presumably we will move forward with her mad scheme to fake her death. I am not sure how this will go. Our little band of outcasts, thrown together like strangers in a sandstorm, has been buffeted to and fro for so long, with little chance to catch our breath. Zinna still wants to report to Cavendish; we went to visit Iris - how many weeks ago now? - on his behalf, and we still have not returned to him with our findings. Regardless of who we are working for - and I am no longer even sure - that was a promise we made, and I agree with Zinna we need to fulfill it.
After that - who knows? We have been taking orders from Pasha for so long that it seems the normal course of affairs, but how did that come to be? My fellows have proven themselves to me - AppleRabbit, Urik, Zinna, Rorick, and even now Immin - and perhaps it is time we started acting for ourselves and not for others. I think Pasha's plan madness - but we have accepted the duty. Once that duty is discharged, perhaps quitting Grelsh is not just a topic for idle chatter by a mountain lake.
In any event, this long trip in solitude has led to some conclusions. C'hallah is dead and I will always remember him, but I must move forward without him. I did not choose my comrades, but I now gladly call them all my friends. We have duties to discharge, but we are free agents nonetheless. We need to talk about what our next steps will be and decide together.
Life is a sum of all our choices. What are we doing tomorrow?
When we set forth on the last leg of our trip to find Aristeed, the ranger-poisoner whose aid we sought for Pasha, it was on summoned mounts. Not as weary trekkers, but as riders we moved through the weald, proceeding almost (but slightly west of) due north. The relative luxury of this travel - and the chance for some distance, since we rode further apart than we walk - was short-lived, for soon the trail became a trace and the trace a game track and it was too much for the mounts to make. Eventually they were dismissed and we proceeded afoot.
The forest was, I believe this is the word, spooky. The ground was not soft and wet like the swamp, but broken and uneven, and the roots of trees and plants were exposed here and there, and scrub bushes competed with trees for ground space - not at all like the open jangwa, where orderly oases stand like tended gardens in the vastness, the underground water lining the palm trees in a row. We saw what must have been wyverns or some great birds flying high above, and would felt safe beneath the thick canopy of branches, but for the shadows that seemed to hide threats behind every tree. We hesitantly passed through one section that was somehow denuded of all plants - whether from dragon's breath or the work of man we do not know, but the open scree made us feel vulnerable after the sheltering trees.
In a bit of a clearing, we caught sight of a rude but sturdy bridge across what must have been the Andersbright River. Something was perhaps even spookier about this place, and this caused Rorick to sent his bird forward to scout; sure enough, he received the impressions of threat from it. Zinna snuck off to the west of the trail as I advanced up the trace; AppleRabbit was distracted and eating some lettuce she had found, but Immin and Rorick, and eventually Urik, began to respond.
Moving forward, I was vaguely aware of a commotion from behind me and shouts from the others, just as I caught sight of two goblin bandits on the far side of the bridge. Thinking only of pressing forward to our goal, and futilely, out of habit, calling the battle command to C'hallah, I charged the villains with The Reaper drawn.
My 'heroism' was short lived: The Reaper bit, but only by a hair, and my leap caused me to fall prone among my targets. In a trice, they were upon me; darkness came soon after their attacks.
I awoke to pain and Urik's scarred countenance above me and realized that he had used his witchery to restore me; it took some minutes to clear my head, and when I did I saw a scene of devastation. Not just two, but near a dozen goblins lay dead around the scene; apparently while I had been unconscious, a mighty battle had taken place. Most of the party looked to have survived intact; I was concerned that AppleRabbit was trapped in a great web, much like that thrown by the spider-people we had encountered in the swamp. Urik told me that it was he who had spun the web to trap goblins and that Apple had merely thrown herself into it on a monkey-like lark after the battle had ended.
The goblin attack appeared to have been opportunistic. Satisfied that we were out of immediate danger, Immin pushed us forward once again after some healing. We travelled the remainder of the day without incident, but we were unable to make our goal before dark and camped for the night. The next morning we set out again, with no steeds this time. AppleRabbit no longer seemed to think she was a monkey, but instead said she felt like a fish and acted in such a manner.
Sometime before noon, we approached a beautiful vista, a mountain valley surrounding what we believed to be Fingervine Lake, said to be nearby to the home of Aristeed. This supposition was confirmed when an arrow flew out of nowhere, striking a tree next to Rorick's head. As the missile vibrated in the living wood, a figure stepped from the greenery. He was dressed in woodsman's clothes and would have appeared to be an everyday ranger, much like Immin, save for the look in his eyes and the bandolier across his chest. The bandolier contained vials of strange and weird-looking potions; his eyes held menace and a little madness.
Apple chose this moment to decide to jump into the lake for a swim. She began splashing and capering about, much to the delight of Aristeed, who laughed and called out to her in a friendly manner.
I pulled the arrow from the tree and moved toward the ranger, holding the arrow in a gesture of conciliation. He immediately tumbled gracefully backward and landed nimbly with bow drawn and arrow nocked, the point aimed in our direction. He bellowed a challenge in a manner totally contrary to his friendly demeanor toward AppleRabbit, so I hesitated. Rorick advanced and stated our mission; the ranger, save for moving to a better position of attack, ignored him. Immin approached and tried to address our mission and connect to his fellow woodsman; he, too, was ignored. Urik tried some complimentary salutations; there were greeted with enthusiasm, but got us no closer to determining whether this was in fact Aristeed (though we presumed as much) and whether he would help on this mission that Pasha had said was so important. Even Zinna approached in her simple way and was rebuffed. Our frustration grew; it was not that we were being told no, it was that we couldn't even ask the question.
Apple bounded back into the midst of this heated conversation from the lake and became impatient with all of us. Without warning, she activated the ring we had salvaged from the Thistle Men attack; of a sudden all was silence around us.
The situation was tense; I knew that Urik and Rorick were now without magic and that Immin and Zinna were likely confused. I grabbed Apple as if she were a burlap sack of oranges and made to carry her back to the lake, to clear the silence from my fellows and Aristeed in the hope that conversation would continue. The cloud of silence came with us, of course, centered as it is on the ring that AppleRabbit wore. Save for her squirming, it was strangely pleasant to walk to though the meadow in the stillness and watch the sunlight glinting off the water of the lake. I was actually about to gesture to Apple, to draw her attention to a fish breaking the surface with its jump, when I saw the arrowhead come jutting out of my chest and then a moment later felt a great pain.
I know I said "shit" as I fell, but I could not hear it.
Blackness returned. I know not how long I was out, in that weird state between life and death. I know that if consciousness exists there, that my desire was not for release, but for return. I've never really had much of an imagination. But still I would try to picture the exact moment when the beating of my heart would no longer be going on inside my head. Lying there in that meadow, I determined this would not be that moment.
I awoke once again to pain and confusion and Urik's smiling face (which is scarier than his neutral look). I sat and collected myself as I felt the arrow's penetration in reverse, with every excruciating detail repeated. After I could catch my breath and thank Urik, he walked off to sit and mediate; whatever conflict had included my being pierced by an arrow was apparently over.
Zinna was sitting, too, and watching the lake; I recognized the look she gets on her face when the details of living get too much to understand and she goes back to Bandui in her head. Apple was nowhere to be seen; neither was Aristeed. Rorick and Immin came and sat by me; Immin had a fine bow, apparently some sort of gift from Aristeed. They seemed little less confused than I, the one who was so recently unconscious; it was hard to follow their story, but this is what I gathered:
It was Aristeed who had shot me as I carried AppleRabbit away; apparently he had shouted at me to halt, but of course, I could not hear him within the cloud of silence. Once he had made that move, Rorick, Immin, and Zinna had joined the battle, either from comradeship (I could tell Rorick in particular was shaken by the attack on me and was touched by this) or self-protection. By all accounts, it became chaotic, with Apple and Urik still not wanting to fight, and Aristeed doing great damage with exploding arrows - all in all, a mess like a camel herd discovering it has been grazing around a nest of scorpions.
Eventually, my comrades overcame Aristeed; after a great struggle, he was rendered unconscious and disarmed. Upon being awoken, the mighty ranger surrendered, yielded dominion over the valley and lake to us, and relinquished his bow to Immin as symbol of our victory. I guess the ructions were not concluded by a long shot, as Apple and Immin were drawn into conflict over the propriety of his keeping the bow and what our next steps were, but eventually things settled down enough for Apple and Aristeed to engage in some productive discourse. The party drifted away as the two conversed, and eventually the pair of them went off into a small cabin that seemed to be Aristeed's lab as well.
When Rorick drew my attention to it, I could see the big ranger and my tiny fellow druid working within the structure with pots and vials and liquids of various sorts. Aristeed seemed to be getting on well with AppleRabbit, despite the inauspicious start to our intercourse; Apple, for her part, was scribbling notes furiously during their conversation. Immin was watching closely and said Aristeed gave Apple something like a flute or recorder, and a little leather harness that they fussed with a great deal using shears and needle and thread; I did not see this myself.
While those two were so occupied, I spent the time recovering my wits and chatting with Rorick and Immin. We caught Immin up on the adventures our band had been involved in; Rorick contemplated taking Aristeed up on his offer of the lake as our demesne and we playfully argued where to site the cabin; Immin told us of life in rugged Anwar, and we half-seriously considering laying a course eastwards. Especially in contrast to the rigors of the day, it was a cordial and agreeable time. I realized that short interlude held the first moment that I had not thought of the loss of C'hallah; that fact made me both happier and sadder.
In short order, Apple returned and without much conversation informed us that she possessed what we had sought. There was no ranger to bid farewell; apparently he had melted back into his woods, perhaps forgetting that he had recently ceded sovereignty over them. With little conversation, we all began the trudge back to Grelsh. We have traveled mostly in silence since, but luckily we have faced no peril on this return journey.
We will break camp tomorrow and reach the hidden mill of the Stealer's Guild after a day's journey; Pasha is to meet us there, and presumably we will move forward with her mad scheme to fake her death. I am not sure how this will go. Our little band of outcasts, thrown together like strangers in a sandstorm, has been buffeted to and fro for so long, with little chance to catch our breath. Zinna still wants to report to Cavendish; we went to visit Iris - how many weeks ago now? - on his behalf, and we still have not returned to him with our findings. Regardless of who we are working for - and I am no longer even sure - that was a promise we made, and I agree with Zinna we need to fulfill it.
After that - who knows? We have been taking orders from Pasha for so long that it seems the normal course of affairs, but how did that come to be? My fellows have proven themselves to me - AppleRabbit, Urik, Zinna, Rorick, and even now Immin - and perhaps it is time we started acting for ourselves and not for others. I think Pasha's plan madness - but we have accepted the duty. Once that duty is discharged, perhaps quitting Grelsh is not just a topic for idle chatter by a mountain lake.
In any event, this long trip in solitude has led to some conclusions. C'hallah is dead and I will always remember him, but I must move forward without him. I did not choose my comrades, but I now gladly call them all my friends. We have duties to discharge, but we are free agents nonetheless. We need to talk about what our next steps will be and decide together.
Life is a sum of all our choices. What are we doing tomorrow?
What is called a reason for living is also an excellent reason for dying
I must get this entry down. Immin is giving us only a few minutes to prepare before we move on, so I will be brief.
Pasha did eventually join us at White Widow after the battle against the orc assassins. She arrived in the last hours of the night, with Immin, a mercenary of the Watch as her companion. My comrades greeted her with some suspicion and hostility; AppleRabbit in particular seemed to hold Pasha responsible for the attack on us and specifically for the death of Ecgbert. To my ken, Pasha seemed surprised and more shaken than I have seen her before: it seems this attack had caught our usually unflappable employer off-guard. She bade Mariah dispose of the orc bodies, and we made to secrete Ecgbert's body in my shack until his people could claim it for their rites. Then Pasha forestalled any explanation, calling us to follow her as me made haste out of town first.
After we made a small camp at a wayside not too far down the Crespin Road, Pasha told us that the orcs were ThistleMen, a band of assassins for hire. She seemed impressed that only Ecgbert had been killed, for these were well-trained and competent killers. It was Pasha's guess that the Thistles had been hired by Stryker Malm, the captain of Nackle's Guard. It appears the corruption and deceit in Grelsh goes even further than we had been led to believe. Even as Nackle holds off the DuChamp "diplomats," his own people - not just the priest, Releford - are conspiring against him. Pasha did not know what strategy that Malm is pursuing, but swore he was the only one to know that we were at the White Widow.
We apprised Pasha of the results of our expedition into the swamp, including the outcome of the attack on the piggy caravan, our intelligence-gathering with Iris, the content of the witch's dreams that described the death machine, our encounter with the Lizardkind, and our subsequent combat with the DuChamp agents and possession of The Reaper. We showed her the alchemy bomb that had inaugurated the attack on us and shared what we knew of the ancient magicks that seemed to empower the bomb and The Reaper, as well as the Nil Engine.
Pasha was thrilled that we had The Reaper: apparently, the DuChamp representatives in Grelsh were waiting for the delivery of this very artifact and were planning to stay until its arrival. Our possession of it meant that their stay could be extended indefinitely, allowing Pasha to put into play a dangerous plan.
She intended to feign death by use of a poison, arranging that her body would be found and transported to the place where she was sure the conspirators - Releford, Helion, Malm, or whoever - were transforming corpses into undead killers. She thought that the irony of abusing her body in this way would be too much temptation for the villains to resist. She gave Rorick a scroll of finding with the idea that once Pasha had been transported, we could locate her and the necromantic laboratory and assault it. Revealing the perfidy of the traitors would strengthen Nackle's position and allow him to deal with DuChamp without distraction.
With corruption so widespread, we outsiders were the only ones she could trust with this mission - along with this ranger Immin, who was himself from wild Anwar and who had no particular allegiance in the town.
To put the plan into place, we needed to obtain this death-disguise poison from one Aristeed. He was a ranger and alchemist, a specialist in toxins, and a former lover of Pasha. He had left her and forsaken human company for love of the daughter of Ipaphan, leader of the Wood Elves. His new mate had died while hunting for poisons with him; as a result of Ipaphan's grief he was estranged from Elvish society as well, and lived a hermetic life in the forest. Immin would guide us to this place to obtain the poison.
With this charge accepted by all, after some grumbling and argument, Pasha left us as dawn came. We took a short rest, and began the long journey while it was still morning, skirting well east of town to intercept the traces that would lead us off to the northern forest, arranging our travel to avoid the regular Watch patrols through the area as well as any curious eyes from town. As it happened, the journey took us through that selfsame farmstead that had been the site of our first adventure together, before Rorick joined the group, where we fought the Rashemi witch and her ensorcelled bodyguards. Even as I mentioned this and we recollecting the event, we heard
screaming coming from the interior of the property.
AppleRabbit was off like an arrow, shouting something about Eli, the young boy from the farm in whom she had taken an interest. Immin tried to hold her back and stay with the mission, and I agreed with him - we were duty-bound now, and getting involved in mischief this close to Grelsh would not be good. Urik, always ready to feel or inflict pain, was at Apple's heels and eager for trouble. When Rorick and Zinna were swept along by the general drift of action, Immin and I had no choice but join the response.
We encountered three of the undead creatures that had been described to us: cut and marked with arcane symbols, symbols that we had begun to recognize as the ancient alchemy. They seemed charged with lightning, as a ship's mast will sometimes get during a storm; when Urik charged them we learned that they could discharge lighting as a weapon and that their touch - active or passive - also dealt a powerful shock. So powerful were their attacks that Urik was rendered hors de combat
almost immediately. It was easy to see why it had taken twenty watchmen to subdue one of these creatures; here we faced three.
As Urik withdrew, Rorick once again enlarged his person and waded in a giant in size and strength; his blows were effective but he was taking injury with each engagement. Zinna and Apple were similarly thwarted in their attacks. Immin stayed well back and peppered the creatures with arrows; though his aim was good, I am afraid the effect was slight. I hoped C'Hallah would somehow be immune to their attacks, and sent him into combat.
It was not the case. He too, was shocked, again and again, and soon rendered unconscious as the battle raged. I magicked some stones, hoping to cover the ape's retreat after Apple managed to revive him, but as nimble as he is - was - he could not withdraw without being attacked. All three monsters surrounded him and unleashed their fury.
His death - His destruction was complete and utter.
...
I choose to believe it was too quick to be very painful.
...
Ngabulala umngani wami kuphela.
I abandoned my sling, took out The Reaper, and leapt into the fray. I recall getting one good blow in before it all went black. I awoke to find that it was the next day. My comrades had pulled me from the combat after I suffered grievous injury, but it had taken all night to restore me to some semblance of health. After I had fallen, they had eventually overcome the zombies, and AppleRabbit was said by all to be instrumental in saving my life. I made to thank her, but the witchery of Iris's ring has her manifesting monkey traits today, it was more than I could bear to relate to her.
It seemed the zombies had ravaged the farm - which I recalled to be Nackle's - killing the occupants and leaving the boy Eli an orphan. Immin had used some subterfuge with the regular Watch rangers to have him taken care of, and the party had moved north as far as possible, dragging me along.
Today, we will make a fast march, hoping to make up the lost time we spent at the farm. Immin is determined to make our goal - the lake near Aristeed's hermitage - by nightfall. I believe that Urik and Rorick are working together to summon some magick mounts for at least part of the journey. In fact, the ranger is calling us to our feet; we must be off.
C'hallah is dead.
Pasha did eventually join us at White Widow after the battle against the orc assassins. She arrived in the last hours of the night, with Immin, a mercenary of the Watch as her companion. My comrades greeted her with some suspicion and hostility; AppleRabbit in particular seemed to hold Pasha responsible for the attack on us and specifically for the death of Ecgbert. To my ken, Pasha seemed surprised and more shaken than I have seen her before: it seems this attack had caught our usually unflappable employer off-guard. She bade Mariah dispose of the orc bodies, and we made to secrete Ecgbert's body in my shack until his people could claim it for their rites. Then Pasha forestalled any explanation, calling us to follow her as me made haste out of town first.
After we made a small camp at a wayside not too far down the Crespin Road, Pasha told us that the orcs were ThistleMen, a band of assassins for hire. She seemed impressed that only Ecgbert had been killed, for these were well-trained and competent killers. It was Pasha's guess that the Thistles had been hired by Stryker Malm, the captain of Nackle's Guard. It appears the corruption and deceit in Grelsh goes even further than we had been led to believe. Even as Nackle holds off the DuChamp "diplomats," his own people - not just the priest, Releford - are conspiring against him. Pasha did not know what strategy that Malm is pursuing, but swore he was the only one to know that we were at the White Widow.
We apprised Pasha of the results of our expedition into the swamp, including the outcome of the attack on the piggy caravan, our intelligence-gathering with Iris, the content of the witch's dreams that described the death machine, our encounter with the Lizardkind, and our subsequent combat with the DuChamp agents and possession of The Reaper. We showed her the alchemy bomb that had inaugurated the attack on us and shared what we knew of the ancient magicks that seemed to empower the bomb and The Reaper, as well as the Nil Engine.
Pasha was thrilled that we had The Reaper: apparently, the DuChamp representatives in Grelsh were waiting for the delivery of this very artifact and were planning to stay until its arrival. Our possession of it meant that their stay could be extended indefinitely, allowing Pasha to put into play a dangerous plan.
She intended to feign death by use of a poison, arranging that her body would be found and transported to the place where she was sure the conspirators - Releford, Helion, Malm, or whoever - were transforming corpses into undead killers. She thought that the irony of abusing her body in this way would be too much temptation for the villains to resist. She gave Rorick a scroll of finding with the idea that once Pasha had been transported, we could locate her and the necromantic laboratory and assault it. Revealing the perfidy of the traitors would strengthen Nackle's position and allow him to deal with DuChamp without distraction.
With corruption so widespread, we outsiders were the only ones she could trust with this mission - along with this ranger Immin, who was himself from wild Anwar and who had no particular allegiance in the town.
To put the plan into place, we needed to obtain this death-disguise poison from one Aristeed. He was a ranger and alchemist, a specialist in toxins, and a former lover of Pasha. He had left her and forsaken human company for love of the daughter of Ipaphan, leader of the Wood Elves. His new mate had died while hunting for poisons with him; as a result of Ipaphan's grief he was estranged from Elvish society as well, and lived a hermetic life in the forest. Immin would guide us to this place to obtain the poison.
With this charge accepted by all, after some grumbling and argument, Pasha left us as dawn came. We took a short rest, and began the long journey while it was still morning, skirting well east of town to intercept the traces that would lead us off to the northern forest, arranging our travel to avoid the regular Watch patrols through the area as well as any curious eyes from town. As it happened, the journey took us through that selfsame farmstead that had been the site of our first adventure together, before Rorick joined the group, where we fought the Rashemi witch and her ensorcelled bodyguards. Even as I mentioned this and we recollecting the event, we heard
screaming coming from the interior of the property.
AppleRabbit was off like an arrow, shouting something about Eli, the young boy from the farm in whom she had taken an interest. Immin tried to hold her back and stay with the mission, and I agreed with him - we were duty-bound now, and getting involved in mischief this close to Grelsh would not be good. Urik, always ready to feel or inflict pain, was at Apple's heels and eager for trouble. When Rorick and Zinna were swept along by the general drift of action, Immin and I had no choice but join the response.
We encountered three of the undead creatures that had been described to us: cut and marked with arcane symbols, symbols that we had begun to recognize as the ancient alchemy. They seemed charged with lightning, as a ship's mast will sometimes get during a storm; when Urik charged them we learned that they could discharge lighting as a weapon and that their touch - active or passive - also dealt a powerful shock. So powerful were their attacks that Urik was rendered hors de combat
almost immediately. It was easy to see why it had taken twenty watchmen to subdue one of these creatures; here we faced three.
As Urik withdrew, Rorick once again enlarged his person and waded in a giant in size and strength; his blows were effective but he was taking injury with each engagement. Zinna and Apple were similarly thwarted in their attacks. Immin stayed well back and peppered the creatures with arrows; though his aim was good, I am afraid the effect was slight. I hoped C'Hallah would somehow be immune to their attacks, and sent him into combat.
It was not the case. He too, was shocked, again and again, and soon rendered unconscious as the battle raged. I magicked some stones, hoping to cover the ape's retreat after Apple managed to revive him, but as nimble as he is - was - he could not withdraw without being attacked. All three monsters surrounded him and unleashed their fury.
His death - His destruction was complete and utter.
...
I choose to believe it was too quick to be very painful.
...
Ngabulala umngani wami kuphela.
I abandoned my sling, took out The Reaper, and leapt into the fray. I recall getting one good blow in before it all went black. I awoke to find that it was the next day. My comrades had pulled me from the combat after I suffered grievous injury, but it had taken all night to restore me to some semblance of health. After I had fallen, they had eventually overcome the zombies, and AppleRabbit was said by all to be instrumental in saving my life. I made to thank her, but the witchery of Iris's ring has her manifesting monkey traits today, it was more than I could bear to relate to her.
It seemed the zombies had ravaged the farm - which I recalled to be Nackle's - killing the occupants and leaving the boy Eli an orphan. Immin had used some subterfuge with the regular Watch rangers to have him taken care of, and the party had moved north as far as possible, dragging me along.
Today, we will make a fast march, hoping to make up the lost time we spent at the farm. Immin is determined to make our goal - the lake near Aristeed's hermitage - by nightfall. I believe that Urik and Rorick are working together to summon some magick mounts for at least part of the journey. In fact, the ranger is calling us to our feet; we must be off.
C'hallah is dead.
I feel more fellowship with the defeated than with saints...
Ecgbert died today. Or maybe yesterday; I can't be sure.
Let me try to set this down in an orderly manner - though thinking of order in the shambles of what was the White Widow dining room is laughable. So much has changed, as I knew it would, once we embraced the absurd notion of defying DuChamp. But it is hard to believe that even the Corporation could have cognizance of us so soon after our conflict with their agents in the swamp. It has barely been a matter of days, and their party would hardly have been counted overdue yet, much less any investigation launched. But that means that the developments in Grelsh are coincidental... it is too much to consider; let me just record the events.
We had made camp just off the Crespin Road and passed what we thought was our last night away from home. Rorick and Urik spent much time by the firelight discussing the ancient system of - magic? power? force? - that apparently infuses The Reaper, the weapon we seized from the DuChamp agents, and also, we assume, the Death Machine that the Corporation is seeking in the vicinity of Grelsh. Apparently, this ancient thaumaturgy lies at the root of our current understanding of magic and has associations with both ethical considerations and the warmaking cultures. I have tucked Rorick's notes in the overleaf.
Looking back now, I remember thinking that conversation was for the historical-minded; I had no idea how soon I would be brought face to face with its current application.
We broke camp this morning, knowing that we could reach Grelsch before nightfall. It turned out that we never reached Grelsch at all. We were intercepted by one of the Town Guard, Santos by name, still some hours away from Trades Meet and the Widow. He told us that he had been waiting for us for several days and related two incidents, along with instructions that he said came from the lady Pasha.
The first news he gave us concerned an attack on the Grelsch lumberworks - not the hidden mill operated by the Stealer's Guild, but the official facility not far from town. Santos said that shortly after we had left town for the swamp, the mill had been attacked by a man breathing fire - breathing, or spitting, or at any rate somehow spewing fire from his face. He had killed the miller and several laborers before being killed himself - and it had take a score of guardsmen (nearly the whole contingent) to dispatch the villain. Santos said that an examination of the body revealed that the killer was a townsman - a local man - whose body had been cut and branded in a manner similar to the Witch Doctor Urik, with strange symbols.
This mystery had startled the town, of course, but close behind had come another terror: a ship had appeared in the harbor and three DuChamp "diplomats" had disembarked. They had gone to see Nackle in his town house. The Crespin emissaries, Helion and the rest, had joined whatever discussion was going on, as perhaps had the priest Releford, and maybe others. No one had come out of the house after going in, with the exception of Pasha, who appeared to be running the day-to-day activities of Grelsch for Nackle as this... negotiation? ultimatum? stand-off? ...went on. And according to Santos, it was still going on - or at least, he had not been relieved of his duty and that indicated to him that the status quo held.
For Santos's orders were to intercept our party - me, Urik, Rorick, AppleRabbit, Zinna, and young Ecgbert - and by all means prevent our return to Grelsch while DuChamp had a presence there. These were the specific and explicit instructions of the lady Pasha acting for Nackle himself. Pasha had let out the entirety of the White Widow Inn, and that was to be our refuge: we should wait there until she contacted us in person. According to Santos, it was imperative that we not return to town, although the reasons for this were beyond his ken.
The situation presented a conundrum: we had no idea what was going on, although the arrival of DuChamp agents in Grelsch was clearly bad for us no matter how the sand settled. Were Nackle and Pasha trying to protect us from DuChamp by hiding us? Were Nackle and Pasha trying to protect themselves from DuChamp by hiding us? Were Nackle and Pasha delivering us to DuChamp in exchange for something? We had nothing on which to base our reckoning, and no way to gain more information without already making a choice - perhaps a wrong choice. - to violate Pasha's instructions and enter Grelsh. Santos was insistent that the danger of our entering Grelsch was far greater than any intelligence we might gain. We considered trying to contact Cavendish of the Stealer's Guild, but could think of no safe way to do this.
We made our way north as we pondered this; even the idea of quitting Grelsh completely was raised, only to be dismissed. Leaving would not get us closer to understanding the mystery and identifying possible threats against us, and in any case, Ecgbert was insistent that he find out if his family was safe. He pressed Santos on this matter and obtained the guard's word that he would check on them himself. In an odd turn, Ecgbert also gave Santos a note for Pasha... I thought it seemed unusual at that time and even called Rorick's attention to it. Clearly, I will never get a chance to ask Ecgbert about it now, but it would be a good thing to keep in mind when we speak with Pasha.
Urik and Apple seemed to want to make some stealthy approach and camp near town elsewhere than the inn; Zinna was torn by her desire to go home and her fear of being poisoned by the food in the inn (Iris's dream had impressed her greatly); Rorick wanted to sleep indoors; and Ecgebert just seemed dazed. In the end, it was more by fatigue than by consensus that we found ourselves heading toward the White Widow; fatigue and the curiosity to find out who was protecting us or laying a trap.
We came to the Widow near nightfall and all was as Santos described: the whole place had been cleared and Mariah was waiting for us inside with a great meal cooking, to judge by the smell. We could spy Trades Meet in the distance; I could see Took and Burden closing up their stalls for the night, along with some of the other merchants, and the usual local urchins were playing in the nearby fields. My half-finished cabin off by the creek seemed to be still standing; the only unusual feature was the addition of a closed sign on the inn to keep travelers away.
Santos turned us over to Mariah and left for town, once again promising to contact Ecgbert's family and exhorting us to stay out of sight until Pasha arrived. We settled into the dining room with Mariah, thankful to be off the road. She apprised us more of the situation in Grelsh, including the detail that the man who destroyed the mill had been found to have a huge hole in his forehead - apparently he did not breathe fire but weirdly emitted gouts of flame from this hole in his head. It sounded like no beast or demon I had heard of. Mariah also told us that town life appeared to be running as usual, if a little more sedately, with DuChamp in town; the focus of sentiment seemed to waver between fear and resentment of the Corporation and the knowledge that it was their intervention that kept the Rashemi slavers from attacking the outpost. For although it had many trappings of a town or city, it was good not to forget just how remote Grelsh is; its remoteness has indeed been one of the reasons I have remained here so long, but it does create a vulnerability.
After a bit, we sat at a table pulled next to the free-standing hearth and Mariah made to serve us. We might have been a bit too relaxed, but perhaps not; Zinna, at least, was still quite nervous, checking the windows on the south, east, and west every so often, and walking out onto the west porch to look north toward Grelsh, since that view was blocked by the kitchen wall. It turned out her alertness was for naught: an ambuscade did come, but the stealth and suddenness of our attackers was such that even vigilant Zinna was caught unawares.
It began with several things seeming to happen at once: I felt a strange tingling in my ears-- I saw Mariah's face go wide with shock as she dropped a tray of crockery in fright, and the plates made no clatter as they fell to the ground and smashed-- several loosed arrows flew across the room, some, at least, striking Urik-- and the fireplace blew great gouts of flame from every opening, scorching us where we sat. We were obviously at the center of a coordinated crossfire: a quick glance through the smoke and flame revealed an orcish ambusher at each of the three sides that had windows, and who knew who else was making mischief for us outside.
The battle was joined; I called C'hallah to me, using hand signs as well as voice, for I still knew not whether just I had been rendered deaf or if greater magic was afoot. We sprang for the invader at the west window; I saw AppleRabbit crawling through the rubble toward the fire, Rorick and Ecgbert engaging at the west window, and Urik and Zinna counter-attacking at the south. After that, I was much too preoccupied to note much of the battle.
C'hallah and I clambered through the window after our foe; he made a fighting withdrawal as we stuck at him, pulling us away from our comrades. He was nimble and quick and managed several shots with his bow, dancing just out of reach of The Reaper. My new weapon betrayed me with its quality: like a fresh mount suddenly given to a rider used to a slow camel, the power and speed of the magic armament seemed just beyond my command and I landed fewer strikes with this great device than I would have with my battered old sickle. C'hallah was more effective and the brave ape took grievous injury as we fought.
We struggled on the porch for what seemed like hours, although I am sure it was merely minutes. I was dimly aware of the sounds of conflict from within and from the south side of the inn. At some point Rorick's bird joined my fight against this orc, allowing me to land what I had hoped would be a killing blow, but that luck was not with me. Victory came from another quarter: out of nowhere, the hostess Mariah appeared and fetched the orc a clout on the head with a heavy frying pan, dropping him like a sack of meat.
It would have been ridiculous if it had not been so desperate.
Rorick arrived on the scene at about the same time, but he was hugely enlarged, having learned the magicks of the Corporation agents from the swamp while we on the road. He thundered past us, not fleeing any enemy, but rather assessing my security at a glance and heading toward the door to go back into the inn and our comrades. I wanted to take a moment to thank Mariah - I could have kissed her, and where would I have been then‽ - but Rorick's urgency reminded me the battle was not mine alone, and I raced back to the window I had climbed from. The site that met my eyes chilled my desert blood.
Zinna was dancing her blood dance with an attacker outside on the south porch, but inside was a disaster. Urik was down. Apple was down. Ecgbert was down, and standing above him was some sort of orc priest, obviously an ally of the soldiers we were fighting, with a dagger raised for a killing blow on the helpless farmboy.
Too far to engage, I screamed and taunted the priest, hoping to attract his attention away from Ecgbert and onto myself. He laughed at me. Rorick tried to close on him, but his bulk made it hard for him to maneuver and the priest felled him with a gesture as he approached. I moved close enough to try to disarm him with magic, but once again the northern sun did not come to my aid - Gurzil watches the jangwa but his sight must not reach Grelsh. The priest shrugged off my feeble, fruitless spellcasting and brought his weapon down. In an instant, Ecgbert's life was over and our short association had come to the end I had warned him off. So soon, so soon.
I lament now, but in the moment all went red and I charged the priest. I might not be here to write this had not Zinna, finished with her own fight, joined the skirmish, waving me back and dispatching the mage with the brutal efficiency that has served us so well against so many foes.
As quiet settled, only Zinna and I stood among the fallen bodies; Mariah and C'hallah entered the inn - now looking more like a pig butchery - from the relative safety of the porch. Ecgbert was too far gone for any remedy; I attended to my comrades, rousing them while Zinna made sure that our foes were treated to the same fate as our fallen spearman. He looked to have died fighting; perhaps that provides some meaning to the inevitability of his demise. Farewell, Ecgbert; may Wihinam welcome you to her oasis eternal if you do not find yourself in your people's paradise.
Urik awoke bellicose and somewhat disappointed that the battle had been won (if I can use that word) without him. AppleRabbit was distraught at the loss of Ecgbert, and prepared his mortal remains with great reverence, although she still had a mind to help C'hallah with his wounds. Rorick, as usual, had kept his wits about him and set us to cleaning up as best we could.
When she had put out the fire at the start of the fray, Apple had seen two devices in the ashes of the fireplace, and she recovered and shared them now. (Rorick had found a rope on the north face of the inn and it was clear that the items had been dropped down the flue as part if the ambush.) The first was a ring that apparently was the source of the magical silence that had enveloped us; I learned that it had been effective in impeding the spellcasting of my comrades in the inn, which no doubt was its purpose. The other artifact had been some sort of globe, broken now, but still showing the etchings of Nil and Ter from the ancient alchemy. My guess is that this apparatus somehow magnified the effect of air on the fire in the hearth - it did not create fire, but magically increased the fire, the same way a gentle breath will cause glowing tinder to wrapped in flames.
But those are all minor details. Perhaps I linger on them because the bigger scene - the picture I cannot erase from my mind - is so ghastly. This is what I have tried to warn my comrades of. This fight is not a game, not an adventure. DuChamp is as powerful as they are evil: this is a rebellion, and the most elementary form of rebellion, paradoxically, expresses an aspiration for order. We will wage a grim struggle to restore order and in the end none of us will survive it any more than Ecgbert. It is absurd, but accepting the absurdity of everything around us is one step, a necessary experience: it need not become a dead end. It can arouse a revolt that can become fruitful.
I must go attend to Mariah and comrades. I hope Pasha gets here soon, so we may begin to get at some answers.
Let me try to set this down in an orderly manner - though thinking of order in the shambles of what was the White Widow dining room is laughable. So much has changed, as I knew it would, once we embraced the absurd notion of defying DuChamp. But it is hard to believe that even the Corporation could have cognizance of us so soon after our conflict with their agents in the swamp. It has barely been a matter of days, and their party would hardly have been counted overdue yet, much less any investigation launched. But that means that the developments in Grelsh are coincidental... it is too much to consider; let me just record the events.
We had made camp just off the Crespin Road and passed what we thought was our last night away from home. Rorick and Urik spent much time by the firelight discussing the ancient system of - magic? power? force? - that apparently infuses The Reaper, the weapon we seized from the DuChamp agents, and also, we assume, the Death Machine that the Corporation is seeking in the vicinity of Grelsh. Apparently, this ancient thaumaturgy lies at the root of our current understanding of magic and has associations with both ethical considerations and the warmaking cultures. I have tucked Rorick's notes in the overleaf.
Looking back now, I remember thinking that conversation was for the historical-minded; I had no idea how soon I would be brought face to face with its current application.
We broke camp this morning, knowing that we could reach Grelsch before nightfall. It turned out that we never reached Grelsch at all. We were intercepted by one of the Town Guard, Santos by name, still some hours away from Trades Meet and the Widow. He told us that he had been waiting for us for several days and related two incidents, along with instructions that he said came from the lady Pasha.
The first news he gave us concerned an attack on the Grelsch lumberworks - not the hidden mill operated by the Stealer's Guild, but the official facility not far from town. Santos said that shortly after we had left town for the swamp, the mill had been attacked by a man breathing fire - breathing, or spitting, or at any rate somehow spewing fire from his face. He had killed the miller and several laborers before being killed himself - and it had take a score of guardsmen (nearly the whole contingent) to dispatch the villain. Santos said that an examination of the body revealed that the killer was a townsman - a local man - whose body had been cut and branded in a manner similar to the Witch Doctor Urik, with strange symbols.
This mystery had startled the town, of course, but close behind had come another terror: a ship had appeared in the harbor and three DuChamp "diplomats" had disembarked. They had gone to see Nackle in his town house. The Crespin emissaries, Helion and the rest, had joined whatever discussion was going on, as perhaps had the priest Releford, and maybe others. No one had come out of the house after going in, with the exception of Pasha, who appeared to be running the day-to-day activities of Grelsch for Nackle as this... negotiation? ultimatum? stand-off? ...went on. And according to Santos, it was still going on - or at least, he had not been relieved of his duty and that indicated to him that the status quo held.
For Santos's orders were to intercept our party - me, Urik, Rorick, AppleRabbit, Zinna, and young Ecgbert - and by all means prevent our return to Grelsch while DuChamp had a presence there. These were the specific and explicit instructions of the lady Pasha acting for Nackle himself. Pasha had let out the entirety of the White Widow Inn, and that was to be our refuge: we should wait there until she contacted us in person. According to Santos, it was imperative that we not return to town, although the reasons for this were beyond his ken.
The situation presented a conundrum: we had no idea what was going on, although the arrival of DuChamp agents in Grelsch was clearly bad for us no matter how the sand settled. Were Nackle and Pasha trying to protect us from DuChamp by hiding us? Were Nackle and Pasha trying to protect themselves from DuChamp by hiding us? Were Nackle and Pasha delivering us to DuChamp in exchange for something? We had nothing on which to base our reckoning, and no way to gain more information without already making a choice - perhaps a wrong choice. - to violate Pasha's instructions and enter Grelsh. Santos was insistent that the danger of our entering Grelsch was far greater than any intelligence we might gain. We considered trying to contact Cavendish of the Stealer's Guild, but could think of no safe way to do this.
We made our way north as we pondered this; even the idea of quitting Grelsh completely was raised, only to be dismissed. Leaving would not get us closer to understanding the mystery and identifying possible threats against us, and in any case, Ecgbert was insistent that he find out if his family was safe. He pressed Santos on this matter and obtained the guard's word that he would check on them himself. In an odd turn, Ecgbert also gave Santos a note for Pasha... I thought it seemed unusual at that time and even called Rorick's attention to it. Clearly, I will never get a chance to ask Ecgbert about it now, but it would be a good thing to keep in mind when we speak with Pasha.
Urik and Apple seemed to want to make some stealthy approach and camp near town elsewhere than the inn; Zinna was torn by her desire to go home and her fear of being poisoned by the food in the inn (Iris's dream had impressed her greatly); Rorick wanted to sleep indoors; and Ecgebert just seemed dazed. In the end, it was more by fatigue than by consensus that we found ourselves heading toward the White Widow; fatigue and the curiosity to find out who was protecting us or laying a trap.
We came to the Widow near nightfall and all was as Santos described: the whole place had been cleared and Mariah was waiting for us inside with a great meal cooking, to judge by the smell. We could spy Trades Meet in the distance; I could see Took and Burden closing up their stalls for the night, along with some of the other merchants, and the usual local urchins were playing in the nearby fields. My half-finished cabin off by the creek seemed to be still standing; the only unusual feature was the addition of a closed sign on the inn to keep travelers away.
Santos turned us over to Mariah and left for town, once again promising to contact Ecgbert's family and exhorting us to stay out of sight until Pasha arrived. We settled into the dining room with Mariah, thankful to be off the road. She apprised us more of the situation in Grelsh, including the detail that the man who destroyed the mill had been found to have a huge hole in his forehead - apparently he did not breathe fire but weirdly emitted gouts of flame from this hole in his head. It sounded like no beast or demon I had heard of. Mariah also told us that town life appeared to be running as usual, if a little more sedately, with DuChamp in town; the focus of sentiment seemed to waver between fear and resentment of the Corporation and the knowledge that it was their intervention that kept the Rashemi slavers from attacking the outpost. For although it had many trappings of a town or city, it was good not to forget just how remote Grelsh is; its remoteness has indeed been one of the reasons I have remained here so long, but it does create a vulnerability.
After a bit, we sat at a table pulled next to the free-standing hearth and Mariah made to serve us. We might have been a bit too relaxed, but perhaps not; Zinna, at least, was still quite nervous, checking the windows on the south, east, and west every so often, and walking out onto the west porch to look north toward Grelsh, since that view was blocked by the kitchen wall. It turned out her alertness was for naught: an ambuscade did come, but the stealth and suddenness of our attackers was such that even vigilant Zinna was caught unawares.
It began with several things seeming to happen at once: I felt a strange tingling in my ears-- I saw Mariah's face go wide with shock as she dropped a tray of crockery in fright, and the plates made no clatter as they fell to the ground and smashed-- several loosed arrows flew across the room, some, at least, striking Urik-- and the fireplace blew great gouts of flame from every opening, scorching us where we sat. We were obviously at the center of a coordinated crossfire: a quick glance through the smoke and flame revealed an orcish ambusher at each of the three sides that had windows, and who knew who else was making mischief for us outside.
The battle was joined; I called C'hallah to me, using hand signs as well as voice, for I still knew not whether just I had been rendered deaf or if greater magic was afoot. We sprang for the invader at the west window; I saw AppleRabbit crawling through the rubble toward the fire, Rorick and Ecgbert engaging at the west window, and Urik and Zinna counter-attacking at the south. After that, I was much too preoccupied to note much of the battle.
C'hallah and I clambered through the window after our foe; he made a fighting withdrawal as we stuck at him, pulling us away from our comrades. He was nimble and quick and managed several shots with his bow, dancing just out of reach of The Reaper. My new weapon betrayed me with its quality: like a fresh mount suddenly given to a rider used to a slow camel, the power and speed of the magic armament seemed just beyond my command and I landed fewer strikes with this great device than I would have with my battered old sickle. C'hallah was more effective and the brave ape took grievous injury as we fought.
We struggled on the porch for what seemed like hours, although I am sure it was merely minutes. I was dimly aware of the sounds of conflict from within and from the south side of the inn. At some point Rorick's bird joined my fight against this orc, allowing me to land what I had hoped would be a killing blow, but that luck was not with me. Victory came from another quarter: out of nowhere, the hostess Mariah appeared and fetched the orc a clout on the head with a heavy frying pan, dropping him like a sack of meat.
It would have been ridiculous if it had not been so desperate.
Rorick arrived on the scene at about the same time, but he was hugely enlarged, having learned the magicks of the Corporation agents from the swamp while we on the road. He thundered past us, not fleeing any enemy, but rather assessing my security at a glance and heading toward the door to go back into the inn and our comrades. I wanted to take a moment to thank Mariah - I could have kissed her, and where would I have been then‽ - but Rorick's urgency reminded me the battle was not mine alone, and I raced back to the window I had climbed from. The site that met my eyes chilled my desert blood.
Zinna was dancing her blood dance with an attacker outside on the south porch, but inside was a disaster. Urik was down. Apple was down. Ecgbert was down, and standing above him was some sort of orc priest, obviously an ally of the soldiers we were fighting, with a dagger raised for a killing blow on the helpless farmboy.
Too far to engage, I screamed and taunted the priest, hoping to attract his attention away from Ecgbert and onto myself. He laughed at me. Rorick tried to close on him, but his bulk made it hard for him to maneuver and the priest felled him with a gesture as he approached. I moved close enough to try to disarm him with magic, but once again the northern sun did not come to my aid - Gurzil watches the jangwa but his sight must not reach Grelsh. The priest shrugged off my feeble, fruitless spellcasting and brought his weapon down. In an instant, Ecgbert's life was over and our short association had come to the end I had warned him off. So soon, so soon.
I lament now, but in the moment all went red and I charged the priest. I might not be here to write this had not Zinna, finished with her own fight, joined the skirmish, waving me back and dispatching the mage with the brutal efficiency that has served us so well against so many foes.
As quiet settled, only Zinna and I stood among the fallen bodies; Mariah and C'hallah entered the inn - now looking more like a pig butchery - from the relative safety of the porch. Ecgbert was too far gone for any remedy; I attended to my comrades, rousing them while Zinna made sure that our foes were treated to the same fate as our fallen spearman. He looked to have died fighting; perhaps that provides some meaning to the inevitability of his demise. Farewell, Ecgbert; may Wihinam welcome you to her oasis eternal if you do not find yourself in your people's paradise.
Urik awoke bellicose and somewhat disappointed that the battle had been won (if I can use that word) without him. AppleRabbit was distraught at the loss of Ecgbert, and prepared his mortal remains with great reverence, although she still had a mind to help C'hallah with his wounds. Rorick, as usual, had kept his wits about him and set us to cleaning up as best we could.
When she had put out the fire at the start of the fray, Apple had seen two devices in the ashes of the fireplace, and she recovered and shared them now. (Rorick had found a rope on the north face of the inn and it was clear that the items had been dropped down the flue as part if the ambush.) The first was a ring that apparently was the source of the magical silence that had enveloped us; I learned that it had been effective in impeding the spellcasting of my comrades in the inn, which no doubt was its purpose. The other artifact had been some sort of globe, broken now, but still showing the etchings of Nil and Ter from the ancient alchemy. My guess is that this apparatus somehow magnified the effect of air on the fire in the hearth - it did not create fire, but magically increased the fire, the same way a gentle breath will cause glowing tinder to wrapped in flames.
But those are all minor details. Perhaps I linger on them because the bigger scene - the picture I cannot erase from my mind - is so ghastly. This is what I have tried to warn my comrades of. This fight is not a game, not an adventure. DuChamp is as powerful as they are evil: this is a rebellion, and the most elementary form of rebellion, paradoxically, expresses an aspiration for order. We will wage a grim struggle to restore order and in the end none of us will survive it any more than Ecgbert. It is absurd, but accepting the absurdity of everything around us is one step, a necessary experience: it need not become a dead end. It can arouse a revolt that can become fruitful.
I must go attend to Mariah and comrades. I hope Pasha gets here soon, so we may begin to get at some answers.
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